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goldenhourology · 3 months ago

Text

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches.

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.”

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always.

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long.

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you.

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days.

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair.

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser.

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.)

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you.

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other.

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow.

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name.

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash.

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands.

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job.

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have.

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop.

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time.

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats.

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road.

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor.

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy.

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you.

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes?

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed.

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days.

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused.

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white.

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone.

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished.

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand.

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful.

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily.

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection.

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out.

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed.

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.”

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mercvry-glow · 1 month ago

Text

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them.

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand.

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work.

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss, “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high.

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight.

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now.

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?”

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.”

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.”

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass.

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right.

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn.

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already.

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again.

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone.

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants.

He’s aching, he’s so hard.

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt.

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you.

He was going to fuck you like you needed it.

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time.

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state.

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.”

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard.

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to.

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second.

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air.

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello.

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him.

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist.

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss.

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different.

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release.

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs.

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public.

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…” you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes.

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,”

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you.

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!”

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.”

mercvry-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbott x reader #dr. jack abbott x you #shawn hatosy #❥ - Jack Abbot

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jaysbaefie · 2 months ago

Text

the intern | pjs

synopsis: in which your constant belittling finally pushes your obedient intern too far and he decides it's time someone puts you in your place.

genre: office au

pairing: intern!jay x boss!reader

warnings: bossy!reader, bratty!reader, mean dom! jay, dubcon/noncon, forced submission, spanking, fingering, slapping, hair pulling, oral (m.rec), light breath play, rough and unprotected p in v, light choking? (i think that's it...) this fic is filthy, like so fucking filthy.

wc: 6.7k

a/n: ikik intern didn’t win the poll but i still wanted to write it as a little thank you for 1000 followers!! smth about mean dom jay and bratty reader just tickles my goddamn pickle. anyways, i am officially done with school!! that means more updates ayeeee!!! i start school early may tho so what am i rlly celebrating for.. anyways! notes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. enjoy reading!!

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jay could feel his self restraint falling thin, his eyes glaring holes into the stack of papers in front of him.

he began to question if the internship was even worth it after the way you had been treating him for the last few months.

at first you were just cold, never acknowledging his presence and treating him like a nuisance rather than a human being. but then things took a turn for the worse, you had made him into your very own stress relief dummy.

taking out your frustration and anger on him whenever someone had pissed you off. someone mess up the reports that day? jay took the fall. presentations not prepared? jay took the fall. traffic on the way to work? jay took the fall.

you embarrassed him consistently, degrading and belittling him whenever you could. just take this morning for example.

the office buzzed with low conversations as the team gathered in the glass-walled conference room for the weekly status meeting.

jay sat near the front, his pulse quickening as he arranged his notes in an effort to keep his composure. today, the stakes felt even higher—he needed to impress, to prove that his dedication was more than just blind obedience. in a few weeks from now you'd be deciding who stays and gets the permanent position and who doesn't—he needed to impress you.

you swept into the room with an air of undeniable authority. clad in a sharply tailored blazer and high heels that echoed on the polished floor, you commanded every gaze without uttering a word. even before the meeting began, your presence shifted the atmosphere, the tension around you palpable.

jay swallowed harshly, his gaze scanning over your form as you step into the room. you were gorgeous, he'd give you that—but your attitude was foul. his eyes dropping to his files as he begins to mentally prepare himself for the presentation to commence.

he feels his heart drop when he realizes that the one file he so desperately needed, wasn't on the pile he had brought. jay's hands begin to shake, shuffling through the pile of files again as he hopes that it would magically appear in front of him.

he scans the large conference room table, turning to the person next to him to ask if they had seen the file.

as you took your seat at the head of the table, your eyes briefly scanned the room before landing on jay. a slow, knowing smile curled on your lips, as if you had been waiting for this moment. the meeting kicked off with a routine overview, but it wasn't long before you steered the conversation to the pending report—the one that jay was responsible for.

you fixed your gaze on jay, your tone unexpectedly sweet yet laced with a biting edge. "intern park," you began, deliberately using his given name for effect, "what exactly about 'don't speak unless spoken to' is confusing you? or do you just enjoy hearing your own voice?"

a collective murmur rippled through the room. jay's face turned a shade of crimson. he tightened his grip on his folder, his thoughts jumbling as his cheeks burned with humiliation. every eye was now on him, and he felt the weight of public scrutiny crushing his usual determination.

he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, "i—i'm sorry, i thought i had the data compiled..."

your eyes hardened, and you leaned forward, relishing the control. "thought? no, mr.park. you should have it. if you want to be useful here, you need to step up and stop hovering like a lost puppy around every minor detail." your words sliced through the silence, leaving no room for rebuttal.

the room was silent apart from the steady hum of the air conditioner and the clatter of pens against paper. jay's pulse pounded in his ears as he felt his confidence slip further with each of your calculated remarks. he could hear his internal monologue screaming for an escape, a defiant retort—but the fear of tarnishing his only shot at this internship kept his words locked away.

you weren't done. with a casual yet deliberate gesture, you waved a hand toward the clock on the wall. "i expected that report on my desk an hour ago. now, if you've managed to forget the basics of professional competence, perhaps it's time you rethink your priorities and career choices."

the finality in your tone silenced any remaining murmurs. jay's stomach churned with a mix of humiliation and a rising spark of anger—an emotion so raw that it blurred the line between submission and rebellion. the embarrassment stung, yet something deep within him shifted. in that charged moment, surrounded by his colleagues and under your steely gaze, jay realized that this wasn't just about a report or an internship. it was about reclaiming his dignity.

even as he forced a meek nod of submission to placate your immediate anger, a quiet promise echoed through his thoughts: one day, he would stand tall and show you that he was more than a pawn in your relentless pursuit of power.

as the meeting continued, the memory of your cutting words and his silent, seething response—hung in the air.

he clenches his fists as he holds in the urge to pull push the stacks of files off of his desk, his chest heaving heavily as he closed his eyes in attempt to soothe himself.

jay had been sorting through files for the remainder of the day after the meeting, per your orders.

the afternoon was unusually quiet in the office as you strolled into the small workspace where jay was already at his desk, meticulously organizing a stack of papers. he glanced up nervously as you passed, well aware that your mood this afternoon was as crisp as your tailored suit. all because of him, of course.

you held a cup of coffee in your hand, the same cup that he had left on your desk just a few minutes earlier.

leaning over his cubicle, you tilted your head slightly and said in a tone that angered him to his core, "did i stutter, jay? i said triple shot, not double. i expect my coffee precise, or should i send you to a barista school?" your words dripped with condescension, making it clear that he was the reason that your morning was ruined.

jay immediately got up from his seat, rushing to the break room with you trailing closely behind.

you scoff, pathetic.

jay's cheeks flushed as he fumbled with the coffee machine, trying to follow your instructions to the letter. he hurriedly adjusted the settings, his fingers trembling just a bit. you crossed your arms and eyed his work like a hawk. when the machine finally hissed to a stop with the coffee ready, you took a sip and pursed your lips in disdain.

"this is unacceptable," you snapped, your voice low but sharp. "i expect perfection every single time. if you can't handle the basics, perhaps you need a refresher on how to follow orders." the words hung in the air as jay's eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and determination.

you turn away, walking back to his desk with jay following behind you like a lost puppy.

not stopping there, you swept past his desk and reached for a stack of files on a nearby table. with deliberate precision, you began rearranging them into neat, color-coded piles. every so often you'd glance back at jay, as if to remind him that even the simplest task had to meet your impossible standards.

"watch closely, jay," you ordered, turning back to him. "i want these files not only sorted but aligned perfectly. each folder must be exactly centered—no, better than that, flush against the left margin. can you manage that, or is that too much to ask?" your tone was both patronizing and commanding, a mix that left no room for negotiation.

jay nodded, swallowing hard. he scrambled to adjust the folders, his hands moving with a jittery urgency that mirrored the pounding of his heart. every minor hesitation was met with your sharp retort, your authority was over powering in this small corner of the office.

"if you think today's just another day to clock in and float through tasks, think again," you continued, your eyes narrowing as you circled back to his workstation. "i'm watching every move you make. understand that every detail matters, jay. perfection is not just expected, it's demanded."

the air in the workspace grew thick with tension as jay worked to correct his mistakes, each precise movement a testament to his desperate need to earn your approval. while other interns might have been emboldened or defiant, jay's focus remained solely on survival—on not letting you see even a hint of weakness.

as you finally stepped away, satisfied that the files were in proper order for now, you delivered one last cold remark over your shoulder, "good. now, i expect you to handle the rest of today without any more room for error." your voice trailed off, leaving jay alone with the echo of your words and the heavy burden of your expectations.

just as you begin to leave, you pause in your tracks—a smirk gracing your painted lips. "oh, and i want all my files sorted. you're not leaving till it's all done."

and that's how jay found himself sorting and organizing files, greeting his fellow colleges goodbye as he stayed back to finish his work. it was well past the end of his shift, the clock reading 11:04pm as he continued to sort endlessly.

only jay and you remained on the office, with you tucked away in your office typing away who knows what on your computer and jay outside getting paper cut after paper cut.

he could still hear your voice from earlier looming in his head—sweet, sharp, venom-laced in a way only you could pull off. mocking him, embarrassing him in front of the entire team. and now here you were again, heels echoing through the empty office as you strutted out of your office like you hadn't just made him stay hours past his shift for a task that could've waited until tomorrow.

"still here?" your tone was laced with faux innocence—leaning against his desk, arms crossed under your chest. "wow. and here i thought even you would've figured out how to sort a couple files by now. guess i gave you too much credit."

jay didn't look up. didn't speak. his jaw flexed once, twice, like he was chewing on his own patience.

you smiled, pleased with the reaction. "what exactly are you good at, jay? because it sure as hell isn't multitasking. or presenting. or getting coffee. i'm starting to wonder if your daddy pulled strings just to get you here. must be nice, huh? riding in on privilege and still failing."

that was it.

jay stood, slowly, the chair scraping harshly behind him as he pushed it back. his hands were planted on the desk, knuckles white, head still lowered. when he finally looked at you, there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. something dangerous. something done.

you opened your mouth to say something else, some cruel remark—but it never made it out.

"shut up," jay muttered, voice low and rough.

your brows lifted, stunned at his words" excuse me?"

jay had never dared talk back to you, taking every word, every complaint, every diss, wordlessly. jay stepped around the desk and you instinctively backed up. the smirk that had been on your face seconds ago beginning to falter.

"you've been treating me like shit for months," he said, walking you backward with each slow, measured step. "and i took it. every order. every insult. every little power trip of yours. because i thought i needed this job. i thought i needed you."

your back hit the edge of his desk and he didn't stop moving. didn't flinch when your eyes widened as he closed in. your hands gripped the edge of the table, your hands getting sweaty as you feel jay's nose brush against your cheek.

"but now?" his hands gripped the sides of the desk, caging you in as his breath fanned against your cheek. "now i think you need to be reminded of what happens when you push too hard."

your eyes widen momentarily when you see the wild look on his eyes, his nose flared slightly almost as if he was holding himself back. you scan his face, smooth and clean shaven with a small scar on his nose—his eyebrows maintained and his gaze sharp. it hurt to admit that he was in fact an attractive man, it was a shame that he was garbage at his job.

you scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed, but your body betrayed you—your breath caught, knees subtly pressed together.

"you forget your place, intern," you snapped, your voice weaker than you intended.

jay let out a humorless laugh. "no. you've just gotten way too comfortable in yours."

then, in one swift motion, he spun you around and bent you over the desk, your palms bracing the surface as you gasped. papers scattered in every direction, your heart hammering as the cold wood met your skin through your thin skirt.

you attempted to push yourself back up only for a hand to be secured at the back of your neck, pushing you back down so your cheek was planted firmly against the cool wood or the desk.

"jay—"

"quiet," he snapped, pressing down on your lower back as his hand slid up your thigh. "you love to give orders, huh? let's see how well you take them."

his voice was low, dark, threatening—but it wasn't just anger that drove him now. it was hunger. months of tension. resentment. control finally slipping from your grasp and into his.

"you want to act like i'm good for nothing?" he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. "then let me show you exactly what i'm good for."

your breath hitched as jay's hands ran slowly up your thighs, his touch rough with frustration, but precise—like he knew exactly how far to push you before you'd break. he yanked your skirt up without hesitation, the sharp sound of fabric dragging across your skin sending a jolt straight through your spine.

a low whistle cut the air, "who knew the boss wore such scandalous items to work, hm? a black lace thong? who are you trying to impress? me?" his hands fondling your butt, a whimper escaping you when he squeezes a little to hard.

you let out a scoff, "why the fuck would i want to impress a good for not—" jay's hand comes down to land on one cheek, a loud squeal leaving your mouth at the sudden sting.

"—you act so high and mighty," he muttered, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back into him. "always barking orders, always so smug. but just wait, i'll be having you—" his palm presses firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned to the desk. "—quiet. obedient. and right where you belong."

"yeah ri—" you don't make it far when you feel his hands tangle into your hair, yanking roughly so the top of your head was touching his chest—your back curved almost painfully as jay held you in place.

you bit your lip hard, trying to swallow down the whimper that built in your throat. but he heard it. felt the way your body twitched beneath him.

"don't get shy now," jay growled, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as he leaned down for you. "you wanted to push me. you loved watching me squirm while you humiliated me in front of everyone. so now you're going to take it."

your hands gripped the edge of the desk as he pressed his hips against you—hard. the heat between you two was suffocating, filthy. his restraint was hanging by a thread, and you could feel the power shift in real time. you weren't in charge anymore. not here. not like this.

"jay," you gasped, your voice suddenly softer, breathier than you meant.

"say it again," he demanded, one hand sliding under your blouse and gripping your side possessively. "say my name like that again and maybe i'll be gentle."

"fuck you," you hissed, defiant till the end.

he chuckled low in his throat, dark and dangerous. "wrong answer."

his hand came down hard on your ass—once, twice—each slap sharp and biting, making you jolt. the sting blended with the burn of desire, making your head spin.

"i've had to listen to you tear me down every damn day," he snarled, grabbing your hair tighter and forcing you to arch your back painfully, exposing the curve of your neck. "now you're gonna listen to me. no interruptions. no smug comebacks. just moaning my name like a good girl."

you whimpered, the sound involuntary. your thighs squeezed together, desperate for friction.

jay noticed. oh, he noticed.

"look at you," he muttered. "so fucking wet for the same intern you said wasn't good for anything. guess you were wrong."

you didn't respond, your pride caught somewhere between your teeth and your rapidly crumbling composure.

jay's hand slid lower again, teasing you through your underwear, slow and maddening. "what's the matter, boss? cat got your tongue?" he pushed the fabric aside and let his fingers slide through your slick folds, groaning at how ready you already were.

he lets your back relax, pushing you face down against the table again making you whine. you could feel his thick cock push against you as he continued to run his fingers down your slit.

"god, you're soaked," he breathed. "you've been wanting this, haven't you? you wanted someone to finally shut you up. tame you."

you gasped when he pushed two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right. your knees buckled, but his other arm was already gripping into your hips, holding you steady, refusing to let you escape. you shook in his hold, attempting to claw your way off the table as jay begins to push into your walls with more strength.

"you don't get to run now," he whispered, voice low and deadly in your ear. "you're going to take everything i give you. every inch. every word. every second."

he pressed his fingers deeper, curling them slow and hard while his mouth traced hot kisses down your neck.

"get away from me," you try to seethe out, attempting to turn around—your arms flailing.

jay only smirks, his fingers now pushing into you in a punishing pace. "we both know you don't want me away, __. look at how wet you are, you're dripping down your legs you filthy slut."

"fuck you," you spit, still thrashing weakly in his grip, even as your hips betrayed you and rolled back into his hand. "this doesn't mean anything—i still think you're pathetic."

jay chuckled darkly, the sound low and smug against your ear as he shoved his fingers in deeper, harder. "you think i care what you say with that mouth?" he growled, biting down gently on your shoulder. "when your cunt's already begging me to keep going?"

you let out a shaky moan, biting down hard on your lip to keep it in, but he noticed. he always noticed.

"so fucking bratty," he muttered, thrusting his fingers deep and curling them until your legs trembled. "running that smart mouth like you're still in charge. but look at you now—folding just like i knew you would."

"you're just some intern," you hissed, your voice breathless. "i could fire you right now."

"do it," he dared, slowing his thrusts until your body writhed for more. "fire me. but you're still gonna cum on my fingers first, aren't you?"

"i won't," you lied through clenched teeth, even as your thighs trembled around his hand.

"yeah?" he leaned in, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat. "then why are you clenching around me like you want me to fuck the attitude out of you?"

you hated him—hated how good he was with his hands, hated the smirk on his face, hated the way your body was betraying you, melting under his touch.

but most of all, you hated how badly you wanted to be ruined by him.

jay could feel it—you were close. your body gave you away more than your mouth ever could, the way your thighs shook, how your breathing hitched with every curl of his fingers. you were right there, teetering on the edge, your pride dangling by a thread.

"fuck, fuck—don't stop," you finally breathed out, voice cracking as your head dropped forward, hands scrambling to find something to grip.

jay froze.

his fingers stayed buried inside you, but they didn't move. not an inch. just deep enough to make your walls flutter, but not enough to push you over.

you let out a strangled noise, turning your head to glare over your shoulder. "what the fuck are you doing?"

"oh, now you want something from me?" he asked, voice full of mock innocence as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching your body twitch at the loss. "that's cute."

"don't be a fucking asshole," you snapped, grinding back toward him in desperation. "i said don't stop—"

"yeah, you did," jay cut in smoothly, wiping his soaked fingers on your thigh with a smug smirk. "but you've spent the last three months treating me like shit. barking at me like some entitled princess, calling me pathetic, useless—i'm just an intern, right?"

you seethed, still panting, but he was already stepping back. "you're such a fucking prick."

he let out a low chuckle, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging you upright so your back arched and your breath caught. "and you're such a fucking brat."

he yanked you away from the desk and spun you around, his grip on your hair keeping you dizzy and breathless as he forced you to your knees. the floor was cold beneath you, your chest heaving, your thighs slick and trembling—but you looked up at him with the same defiance in your eyes.

"still think you're in charge?" he asked, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. "because from where i'm standing, you're just a desperate little slut on her knees."

you tried to say something—maybe another insult, maybe a curse—but all that came out was a shaky breath, lips parting as two of his fingers pushed into your mouth.

you breathe heavily as he pushes down on your tongue, essentially tasting yourself.

"you could've cum," he murmured, looking down at you like you were something fragile and fucked up all at once. "but you don't get to cum with that mouth."

he slid his fingers out of your mouth, rubbing your saliva messily over your lips before cupping your jaw—tilting your face up to him. "you'll learn how to ask nicely," he whispered. "you'll learn how to beg."

"now open that bratty little mouth," he said, undoing his belt with slow, deliberate hands. "and maybe i'll show you what happens when you finally stop talking back."

"as if i'm going to let y—" you began, a cry escaping you when your head flys to the side. your hand coming up to cradle your red cheek as you look up at him in shock.

jay's palm was still in the air, his expression dark, unrelenting. his chest heaved once—twice—as he loomed over you, the sharp crack of his slap still ringing in your ears.

"you will," he said lowly, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "because i'm done listening to that fucking mouth."

you stared up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted—shock clouding your mind even as the heat on your cheek throbbed. you would've never thought, in a million years, that jay would have slapped you. it made your blood rush straight between your legs, the sting blooming into something twisted and hot.

jay crouched in front of you slowly, one hand gripping your chin—tight enough to make your jaw ache, tight enough to make you feel how serious he was.

"you think you're in control?" he sneered, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. "you think just because you've spent months treating me like shit, i'd always let you get away with it?"

you swallowed thickly, trying to hold onto whatever attitude you had left, but it was slipping—fast.

"you think you can call me useless, boss me around, make me beg for scraps of respect—and then what? act like you're above me when you're soaking through your panties just from a slap and a few words?"

his thumb pressed into your mouth, forceful, making you part your lips around it as he leaned in.

"go ahead," he whispered. "say something bratty again. give me a reason to make you beg for the orgasm i'm not gonna let you have."

you whimpered, eyes fluttering as your mouth opened wider around his thumb, heat blooming in your stomach despite the sharpness in his tone.

"look at you," he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb across your tongue slowly. "i haven't even fucked you yet and already, you're falling apart."

he pulled his thumb out and let it trail down your chin, slick with your spit, before gripping your hair again and yanking your head back to look up at him.

"on your knees. mouth open. hands behind your back," he ordered, belt now unfastened, hanging from one hand like a warning. "maybe if you're good now, i'll consider using your throat the way it was meant to be used."

"and if you dare bite," he added, eyes glinting with menace, "i'll remind you exactly who you belong to."

you should've hated him.

but instead, you opened your mouth—tongue out.

jay grins menacingly at your sudden obedience, his cock springing out—hitting your cheek.

"you're gonna be good f''me, yeah?" he drawls, tracing your lips with his tip slowly—teasing you.

when you don't respond he slaps his heavy dick onto your tongue, "i asked you something, sweetheart."

you mewl at the pet name, "y-yes i'll be good."

"good." and with that he pushes into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat before hes pulling out and bottoming back in again.

jay does this a few times, watching his dick disappear into your mouth before hes pulling out fully—snickering when he sees you chase for it.

he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on you as he took his time. he wasn't teasing himself—he was teasing you. dragging it out just to watch you squirm on your knees like the desperate little thing you pretended not to be.

"you've been walking around all fucking day like you run the world," he muttered, voice dripping with disdain. "snapping at me. barking orders. treating me like i'm beneath you."

he stepped closer, and your breath caught as the tip of his cock brushed your lips.

"so what are you now, huh?" he whispered. "my boss? or my personal fucktoy?"

your tongue darted out instinctively, trying to taste him—but he pulled back with a dark chuckle.

"ah, ah. not yet. beg."

your eyes narrowed, pride still flickering behind the haze, but your body betrayed you. your thighs clenched. your breath hitched. your mouth stayed open, waiting, even as your words choked out.

"...please."

jay raised a brow, pretending not to hear.

"louder."

"please," you tried again, cheeks flushed in humiliation. "i want it."

he grinned—cruel, smug, victorious.

"you want what, baby?"

your fingers curled behind your back as you bit your cheek, hating how your voice trembled. "i want your cock."

jay hummed in approval, finally guiding himself forward and pressing into your mouth. not gently. not patiently. he gave you no time to adjust, groaning low as he slid past your lips and hit the back of your throat in one brutal thrust.

you gagged, tears instantly springing to your eyes, but he didn't pull away—just groaned again and cradled the back of your head.

"fuck, that's it," he hissed. "look at you. so fucking obedient now."

he started moving—slow at first, then rougher with each thrust, using your mouth like it belonged to him. and maybe it did. maybe it always had.

your knees ached, eyes blurred, throat burning—but you didn't stop. not once.

he didn't let you.

because this was your punishment. for every eye roll. every insult. every time you called him incompetent.

and now, with spit dripping down your chin and your throat stuffed full of the intern you used to humiliate—now you were finally silent.

and jay? jay was just getting started.

his pace was ruthless and unforgiving, taking out his frustration and anger that has accumulated over the course of 3 months out on you and your mouth. his hands had created two makeshift ponytails, steering you.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you slowly began to struggle for air, unable to breath out of your nose.

"aw c'mon now, sweetheart. giving up on me so easily?" jay grunts, the squelching sounds of your wet mouth and his thick cock filling the room.

you hum, eyes opening as you stare up at him with a dazed expression.

your lips stretched around him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, chin soaked and glistening. jay growled low in his throat, his grip tightening in your hair as he snapped his hips forward, burying himself deep down your throat.

"fuck," he hissed, sweat beading along his brow as he watched your glassy eyes blink up at him. "look at you. not so mouthy now, huh?"

you gagged again, throat convulsing around him as your lungs burned, but the look on your face only turned more desperate—more ruined. there was no point pretending anymore. not when you were on your knees, completely at his mercy, submitting to him with every choke and gasp.

"this is what you needed, isn't it?" he sneered, pulling out just enough to let you inhale sharply before ramming back in. "some discipline. someone to shut that smart mouth up."

you whimpered around him, eyelids fluttering as the ache between your legs grew unbearable. your hands itched to reach for him—for anything—but you kept them laced behind your back, like he told you.

his thrusts didn't falter. if anything, they got rougher, angrier. you were his outlet now—3 months of humiliation and quiet rage spilling out with every brutal thrust into your throat.

"you use me. treat me like shit. act like i'm beneath you," he snarled, voice breaking on a groan as your throat clenched around him. "but look at you now. fucking begging for it with your eyes." jay could feel the pit in his stomach tighten, his thrusts getting deeper.

with a deep moan, jay's spilling inside your mouth—his cum painting your throat white as he forces you to stay still.

you coughed, a mixture of his cum and your spit cascading down your chest, when jay finally pulled out. your chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes wild and teary, mouth hanging open and glistening.

"swallow it." you do as your told, tongue reaching out to lick away whatever was left around your mouth.

but before you could even speak, his hand cracked across your cheek again, not hard—but sharp enough to make your head snap to the side.

"you don't get to cum," he said coldly, gripping your face and forcing you to look up at him again. "not tonight."

your heart dropped, a soft, broken sound catching in your throat.

"you don't get to cum until i say so. and you definitely don't get to act like a brat and expect a reward."

you blinked at him, trembling, body aching for any kind of release, but jay just stared down at you—cock hard again and glistening, jaw tight, breathing heavy.

"i want you bent over," he muttered. "you're not done being used."

and with that, he grabbed you by the jaw and dragged you into position—because this time you weren't in charge. and he was going to make damn sure you remembered it.

you held yourself up by your forearms, sticking your ass out just the way you knew he wanted. your breath was shallow, heart racing, skin prickling with anticipation as you waited—head spinning from the shift in power you were still adjusting to.

jay stood behind you, silent for a moment. just watching. letting the tension build. letting you squirm.

"look at you now," he muttered, voice dark and low as he ran his hand slowly down your spine. "all quiet. all obedient. where'd all that attitude go, huh?"

you tried to lift your head, to say something smart, something that might tip the balance back in your favor—but all that came out was a whimper as his palm came down hard across your ass.

"that's what i thought," he growled, gripping your hips and pulling you back until you felt the heat of him against you. "you only know how to run that mouth when no one's around to shut it for you."

his hand slid down your thigh, fingers trailing dangerously close before pulling back again, teasing. denying.

"say it," he said. "say you're sorry for being a brat."

you hesitated, biting your lip, heat blooming in your chest from the humiliation—until his hand cracked across your ass again, this time harder.

"say it."

you gasped, trembling under his touch, voice barely a whisper.

"i'm sorry."

"for what?"

"...for being a brat."

he hummed, satisfied, thumbs pressing into your hips as he leaned down to murmur right into your ear, "good. now hold still. and maybe, maybe—if you behave—I'll let you finish."

and with one sharp thrust, he filled you—setting a punishing pace that left no room for doubt. this time, you weren't in control.

he was.

and he wasn't letting go until you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

his grip was bruising as he held your hips in place, each thrust deep and deliberate, his pace merciless from the start. your forearms trembled beneath you, struggling to keep you upright as your body jolted forward with every snap of his hips.

you mewled at the stretch, feeling his thick and heavy cock fill you to the brim as you struggle briefly to accommodate him.

"you wanted control so bad," he grunted, his breath hot against your spine as he leaned over you, still moving inside you without pause. "thought you could treat me like a joke, make me crawl for you. who's the one crawling now?"

you whimpered, back arching instinctively when his hand slid around to your throat, pulling you up just enough so your back was flush to his chest. your head dropped against his shoulder, lips parted in silent moans as he tightened his fingers around your neck—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in charge now.

"you like this, don't you?" he whispered into your ear, biting down on the lobe. "being put in your place. being used." you nodded, helpless.

"words," he demanded, his thrusts slowing just enough to drive you crazy.

"yes—" you gasped out, voice hoarse, "yes, i like it."

his low chuckle rumbled against your back. "not so cocky now, are you?"

he pushed you back down, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades as his other reached around and rubbed slow, teasing circles around your clit.

your legs shook, body coiling tight, right on the edge of release. you could feel it. jay could feel it too, your walls fluttered around his girth almost painfully—squeezing him deliciously, so he did what only made sense.

he stopped.

you choked on a gasp, hips twitching back toward him. "w-what...? why—?"

jay pulled out completely, and the sudden emptiness made your breath hitch. your walls clenched around nothing, your body screaming for friction.

"you think brats get to cum?" he asked, his voice dark with amusement, chest rising and falling as he stared down at your ruined, trembling form. "not after the way you've treated me."

"p-please," you whined, all self-respect gone, your voice cracking as you rocked your hips back pathetically, desperate for even the faintest touch. "i'll be good, i swear i'll be good..."

he cocked his head, one brow arching as his fingers traced a slow line up your spine. "yeah? you'll be good?" he echoed, mocking you.

"yes—please, i need it," you gasped, pressing your thighs together for any kind of relief.

he leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "then give me what i want."

you froze, shivering at the implication. "w-what?"

his hand grabbed your jaw again, turning your head until you had no choice but to look at him.

"you want to cum?" he asked, deadly calm. "then give me the permanent position. say it. right now. say i've earned it."

you blinked, heart pounding—half from humiliation, half from how shamefully turned on you were. "y-you're serious?"

he gave you one sharp thrust, just enough to make you moan, then pulled back again. "dead serious. i'll fuck you until you can't remember your own name—but you don't get to cum until i hear it from that bratty little mouth."

you hesitated, lips trembling. it was reckless. inappropriate. insane. but your body was burning.

"fine," you breathed, eyes glossy, your voice barely audible. "you can have it. the permanent spot. it's yours."

he grinned.

"that's more like it."

then he slammed back into you, deep and unforgiving—and this time, he wasn't holding back.

you cried out when you felt him grip your ass with two hands, making you fuck yourself back onto his cock.

"fuck, look at you. so desperate for my dick, so cock hungry," he sneers softly, relishing in the feeling of your gummy walls engulfing him and the fat of your ass pushing against his pelvis.

"s'good, j-jay," you slur out, desperate for release.

"yeah? so good? first time i've heard something good come out of your filthy fucking mouth," he snickers, fucking into you at a punishing pace.

he could feel you tighten around him, grunting when he realizes that he was just as close as you were.

"m'gonna cum," you slur. "please, let me come."

jay pants, his hands planting onto your lower back to hold you down as he fucks into you deeper—his hips snapping violently.

"yeah? you wanna cum, sweetheart? go ahead then, milk my cock."

just like that you shatter, a high pitched moan leaving your parted lips as your body convulses violently.

jay's high is just around the corner, his pace unforgiving before he himself unravels—unloading himself in you. he lets out a deep guttural moan, spilling his cum deep in you as your body twitches at the sensation.

"fuck—look at that," he murmurs, pulling out of you leaving you empty. you mewl at the feeling, body twitching as you drop your head onto the desk—no longer able to hold yourself up.

jay looks down in awe, watching his cum dribble out of your used cunt before he's swiping his digits through the mess—plugging his fingers in you to make sure you keep his seed in from spilling out.

you shudder at the feeling, to fucked out to realize what jay was doing. jay on the other hand admires the mess he has created, your behind was all shades of pink and red as his cum was spilling out of your hole like a faucet.

he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, "pleasure doing business with you, boss."

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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ahundredtimesover · 2 months ago

Text

Something About You (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating (JK’s ex) (18+)

Word count: 11.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: Hi, it's here! This is a tribute to my group of friends. BTS is comfort and I love them so much 💜 Other female characters are inspired by some other fictional characters (tell me if you know who!) Also to Kim Namjoon, I'm sorry 🤣 (you'll get it). Please enjoy!

Your eyes dart to the time on your laptop screen.

4:17 PM.

This online meeting was supposed to end half an hour ago and you planned on clocking out right after so you could get to where you need to be but you should’ve known better. Your research team had taken so much time discussing operational aspects of the project that you are in charge of and you had to keep everyone on track. It worked for the most part.

But while your work chat is still buzzing with questions that you state you’ll respond to next week, your phone’s group chat is being bombarded with messages from your best friend.

[from: jiminie pabo] yooo ___ are you on your way??

[from: jiminie pabo] you better not flake on us or else tae will wrestle you

[from: jiminie pabo] reply to me!!

You manage to keep your expression neutral as you sneakily reply and say that you’re still stuck in a meeting and it’ll probably take you another 30 minutes before you could leave. Your car’s in the warehouse after a little accident so you’re gonna have to book a ride. It’s rush hour on a Friday so it’ll be tough, but you’re managing this team and you can’t just end the meeting without your members having ironed their thoughts out.

[from: jiminie pabo] kook is just finishing up. i asked him to pick you up from your place

[from: jiminie pabo] your carriage is on its way. you’re welcome

You sigh in relief internally at not having to worry about transportation. And it’s shortly after when the man in question sends you a text message to say that he’s just left the gymnasium and will get to you in 40 minutes max.

That’s enough time for you to get ready and make sure you have all your things packed and your mind devoid of all things work-related because as you’ve promised yourself, you’ll try this whole work-life balance madness and shut off for the weekend.

But then again, you don’t really have a choice when you’ve got that trip planned with your friends in the mountains. Or was it the forest? You’re not sure; the outdoors are all the same to you.

Taehyung had just arrived after a year and a half in London where he was making waves in a few theater productions. He wanted to immediately spend time with your group of 12, and a little vacation was planned right away, just like how it was in the old days.

The camping-turned-glamping weekend was because you convinced everyone that setting up tents was just gonna waste your time, and the point of the trip is to spend it together. You pretty much pouted your way through it, but they also know you well enough that not sleeping on a bed and not having proper running water just isn’t your thing. Doing it once was enough, and the last time you camped, you were miserable.

Hoseok luckily found a property that operated cabins with all the comforts of home. You saw a bed and bathroom and you locked in, and you’ve been waiting for this weekend since your older friend laid out all the activities you’ll be doing.

Adulting is stressful enough; trying to make a difference in the world is even more. The time you spend with the people who know you best and who accept all versions of you has become your key to survival.

And yes, that includes your brat of a best friend.

[from: jiminie pabo] get ur flat asses here soon, ok?

[from: jiminie pabo] i just want to eat and drink and pretend I don’t have responsibilities

You decide against defending your not-so-flat ass because it really doesn’t stand a chance against his, and instead say you’ll update them once you’re near.

You head out the door once Jungkook texts you that he’s just turned to your street, and you find him already opening the trunk and reaching out for your bag, just like the gentleman that he is. He’s donned in his usual sweats, a look you’re so used to that you forget sometimes he’s a proper adult with a proper job.

“Did your students win?” You ask as you enter the car.

“They placed, so they’ve got another tournament to go,” he smiles. “They were so shocked but I knew they could do it. They worked so hard.”

“Having a good coach helps, I guess,” you wink.

He chuckles then asks about your meeting, and you narrate how tiring this week - more like this whole month - has been. Between the weekly research conferences you’ve been organizing and the daily management of your teams, you haven’t really had time to rest.

“Is that why you insisted on going for a cabin trip?” He asks. “Honestly, I was looking forward to setting up camp and all that.”

“I know you do that for fun and stuff but why would we do all the work and set up our own tents? This isn’t a team building activity, you know?”

“Isn’t that the point of going on a friend trip? To bond and do stuff together like that?”

“We do enough bonding when we make our food,” you point out.

“Yeah? And what exactly do you contribute?”

“Excuse me, I’m the taster,” you gasp. “Trying the food before you all do is like, a crucial role.”

“You can’t even tell if a dish needs more salt or not,” he chuckles, referring to your obvious lack of food knowledge and your very basic palette.

“Uh, I didn’t know Jimin was the one who picked me up,” you scowl. “Why are you calling me out, Kook? You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“What if I don’t want to be?” he teases.

“You must! Or be the neutral one, then!”

“That’s Tae’s job. I’m just here to enjoy the show. It’s never boring with you and Jimin around,” he smiles.

Your face relaxes at this. At least you provide some form of entertainment to your friends, since you can’t really contribute in any other way. Your clumsy ass and inability to develop practical life skills won’t let you. It’s your shared helplessness that has you and Namjoon bonding every trip.

“Why are you so against camping anyway? You literally don’t even have to do anything.”

“Kook, there are four things in this world that make me angry - heat, bugs, Jimin, and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.”

“You forgot cold food,” Jungkook adds.

“Because hot food is supposed to be eaten hot. Duh.”

“And Mo-eum’s chewing.”

“Because she eats like a child.”

“And Tae’s headlock.”

“Dude can choke me with those arms,” you exclaim.

“Text that’s not justified also drives you nuts. And indented paragraphs. And non-use of the Oxford comma. And Gill Sans. And—”

“Yah!” You exclaim, smacking his chest with the back of your hand.

He responds with the kind of laugh that Jungkook reserves for your group of friends - squinted eyes, scrunched nose, wide open mouth, and bouncing shoulders. With a 10-year friendship under your belts, you know this is him teasing. And genuinely enjoying it.

“You’re having too much fun making fun of me, huh,” you frown.

He settles into a smile - the cheeky yet comforting one that you’ve gotten used to over the years.

“___, I coached the high school swim team all afternoon. You know how intense those matches get,” he groans. “Getting on your nerves and then telling all our friends about it is my chosen relief for tonight.”

“You make me sound like I whine a lot,” you pout.

His pursed lips tell you that you actually do, and you smack his arm this time and whine some more.

“I was just making the point that many things, in fact, make you angry. Not just four,” he corrects.

“This is why I’m single,” you sigh, sinking into your seat. “And why I forever will be.”

Jungkook turns to you and your faraway eyes tell him you’ve fallen into that corner of your mind again that always drowns in thoughts. He doesn’t know how you went from thinking of what makes you angry to believing you’ll forever be single but that’s how conversations with you go all the time.

Your mind goes from one realm to another.

And you ramble. A lot. A moment of being lost in your own mind is immediately followed by a period of vocal self-reflection and bouts of existential crisis, which is odd for a person who seems to be so sure of herself and what she stands for.

But that’s how you are. You could go 30 minutes straight just talking about one of the research projects you’re working on without breathing. One time, Hoseok asked you about what was going on with the women’s protests and you ended up presenting a whole ass thesis about social movements, complete with some conceptual framework and other things Jungkook didn’t understand.

And while your friends looked at you in bewilderment - except for Namjoon, who probably had read that same piece of work and was giving side comments during your impromptu lecture - Jungkook applauded you internally. You were very passionate about it. And you clearly knew your shit.

When he met you during your first year of university after Jimin, his best friend from middle school, brought you and your best friend Mo-eum to dinner, Jungkook thought your rambling was typical of a political science major who just had too much to say. He later on realised that you were actually one of those rare types who had such a rich, active mind with the ability to eloquently express all her thoughts. Majority of the time at least, but even if he couldn’t always grasp what you were saying, he knew it was substantial.

And much as he enjoys teasing you about all these quirks you have, it’s also his job as your friend to assure you that you’re doing alright.

You’ve already got your legs folded on the passenger seat and your face distorting with every new thought that crosses your mind, so he nudges you with his elbow.

“Yah, your being single has nothing to do with your grocery list of things that make you mad,” he says. “They’re harmless, okay? Plus, being angry isn’t always a bad thing, right? Like the great Kim Namjoon said - anger is necessary. It’s our history because anger has changed the world. And while you may be angry at all these little things, you and I know it’s that same fire in you that makes you good at what you do. And it’s what makes you a good person and a good friend.”

Your eyes turn to the man next to you, no doubt exhausted from a full day of teaching middle school kids and coaching the high school swim team but breezing through traffic while dealing with your whiny ass.

You’re a words of affirmation type of girl. All your friends know that. But you also know that when they assure you about something, they genuinely mean it.

“True, anger is good sometimes,” you nod and smile.

“I mean, who else would willingly fight their friends’ nasty exes and lay all the receipts to their faces?” Jungkook points out. “And you know already that even if I don’t understand half of the things you say about your research projects, I know enough that your work has changed lives. So good job, ___. Not everyone can do what you do.”

“Hmm, says the Teacher of the Year winner for three years in a row,” you say, wanting to be the supportive friend this time. “You’re helping the students a lot in healthily dealing with the world and you don’t even have to expend your energy on anger.”

“But we’re both still changing lives, aren’t we?” He asks you.

“We are. God, how did we even get to talking about this?” You laugh.

“It was Namjoon and his great speech,” Jungkook chuckles. “Imagine if he was a poet or a songwriter or something.”

“Well, his grandparents decided that his pen game would be beneficial for a future political career and who knows? Speech writer one day, assemblyman the next? Maybe then he’d help us dismantle the patriarchy and make this place safer for women,” you start. “Because actually, men’s role in addressing gender inequality is so understated and—”

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s and both of yours are saying the same thing - here you go again. You both laugh in understanding and you shake your head in submission, stating that you just want to chill and won’t go into one of your rants this time.

It does give Jungkook an opening to tease you about another thing, though.

“Speaking of Namjoon, I still think you two would’ve made a good couple.”

“Yeah, but who’s gonna cook the food? Slice the fruits? Change the frikkin lightbulb? Repair whatever breaks in the house?”

The thought of how helpless you and Namjoon would be cracks Jungkook up.

“True. Clumsy people can’t be together if we want world peace,” he hums. “He’s proof that God is fair. He saw the brain and dimples and thought, yeap let me mould him into a klutz.”

“And you are not wrong,” you laugh. “Plus, we’ve known each other for a decade. How does one decide to just… date their friend?”

“That kind of normally happens, ___,” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “That’s literally how Seokjin and Hayoung got together. Met at college, became good friends, and then boom, went to a concert together then realised they like each other. And now they’re engaged.”

The thought brings a smile to your face. Thinking about your cousin’s love story with the most handsome and thoughtful man you’ve ever met gives you hope. You’re glad you entered the same university two years later than she did, in time for you to witness that friendship blossom into something more. And of course, to meet her other equally awesome friends.

You’re just not quite sure if that kind of thing is for everyone. Your two former relationships had been whirlwind romances, but the flame died as quickly as it sparked. You keep a small group of friends and none of the men, including the one next to you, had ever been a prospect.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone rings.

“Gyu-rim and I are at the supermarket right now,” Yoongi says, straight to the point as always. “We’re buying all our food already. Can you pass by the one nearest Seokjin’s house so we can put some of the drinks in Jungkook’s cooler?”

“Got that, uncle,” you reply, with the man no longer reacting to your term of endearment for him. “Can you get me a whole pack of sour gummy worms please? Thank you!”

You drop the call and instruct Jungkook to turn the corner. You meet Yoongi and Gyu-rim, who haul half of the groceries in the trunk. You place your pack of gummies in your bag, but you catch Jungkook eyeing it, so you ask him if he wants to nibble on something or if he’s hungry.

“I’ve got red bean bread with me,” you say. “Do you want some?”

“We’ve got a long drive so might as well,” he says. “I didn’t really get to eat during lunch because the kids were too nervous to eat and I didn’t want to show them that I still had an appetite.”

“I’m sure Seokjin and Tae’s parents prepared something for us like they always do,” you say.

There’s a reason why their house is your meeting point before every trip. Other than it being your hangout spot throughout your university years, their family also always serves a lot of food when you’re all around.

You offer Jungkook your container of the bread and he picks up two, devouring them immediately before eating another one in two bites. You grab his water jug from the backseat and hand it over to him. Just as he finishes, you enter the village and arrive at the house.

You pinch and pull his cheek as you often do to express your thanks, and you get out of the car before he pinches you in return.

You enter the living room and the scene before you is one you’ve seen hundreds of times over the past 10 years.

There’s Jimin being dramatic over losing in Mario Kart, Mo-eum being happy just placing higher than him, Hoseok laughing hysterically even if he’s second, and Seokjin cheering for himself as the winner like always. Hayoung and Suhyeon are busy chatting, Yoongi and Namjoon are munching on something while trying to convince Gyu-rim that it’s still possible to find a decent man in their thirties, and Taehyung is at the center, singing opera just because.

But once they see you, they stop what they’re doing, accept the hug you always give them, and ask you how you are. Even the not-so-affectionate ones have learned to give in. It’s the perk of being everyone’s baby, you think.

Being the youngest of five kids and with large age gaps with your siblings, it was natural for you to seek and receive affection from your friends, just as it was natural for them to take care of you. That’s mostly because you’re clumsy and clueless about many things, and you’re used to convenience and being looked after.

It’s nothing they’ve ever complained about, and you’re just glad that you found people who genuinely love caring for you.

Taehyung gives you the tightest hug instead of the headlock he greeted you with the last time. You’re still not used to his large arms wrapping around you, but the warmth hasn’t changed. He bulked up for his role in that West End production, and somehow he got even bigger since the last time you saw him, which was four months ago when you went to London to watch his play.

The welcome of Jungkook is a lot less doting than yours. Even if he’s the youngest amongst everyone, they know he doesn’t require the same affection as you do.

In fact, they depend on him more than anyone, and it always amuses you how, despite being the baby of his family as well, he developed life skills that allow him to naturally figure things out. Perhaps it’s his being a teacher but he’s always been like this since you met him - an all-rounder who seems to know what to do in every situation.

It’s not long after when Yoongi suggests you should all get going. It’s a two-hour drive to Chungbuk, after all, and it’s predicted to rain on your way there.

You get in Jungkook’s SUV with Jimin and Mo-eum while the older ones get in two other cars. Taehyung delivers a bag of food to the others before he takes the seat behind you. He hands you a roll of gimbap that his mother had made, and you pop pieces in your mouth while holding the container out for Jungkook to eat while he drives.

Despite the long day and each one of you having full time jobs, the ride is still filled with banter and karaoke sessions. Taehyung has to referee when you and Mo-eum butt heads with Jungkook and Jimin, as the boys always like to tease and push your buttons.

All that is temporary though, as at the end of the day, you stick to each other like glue. The five of you always opt to sleep together in one room or one suite and in this case, one cabin, even if you have to make adjustments with the sleeping arrangements.

“So…” Jungkook starts, his eyes darting from one end of the cabin to the other. “Us boys are definitely not gonna fit in that.”

The bed by the window is the larger of the two, but it’s still too small for the three of them, not with their build and ways of sleeping. It’s a situation you’ve had before, so you go with your backup combination.

“Jimin can sleep with me and Mo-eum,” you state. “Kook, you and Tae can take the loft bed.”

“Sure, that works,” Jungkook nods.

He looks around and appreciates the coziness of your lodging for the weekend. It’s definitely fancier than a tent, but it also just houses the basic necessities. There’s a small table right by the door with three stools and a small kitchen counter and refrigerator across from it. The bathroom is surprisingly spacious though, and he can already guess that’s one reason why you chose this property. He forgot to point out earlier that small bathrooms also drive you nuts.

Next to you, Jimin groans and warns that if you hit him in your sleep again like you’d done before, he’s gonna push you in the river. You can only smile innocently, as not hurting him is a promise you’re unsure you’ll be able to keep.

After that’s settled, you meet up with the rest of your friends outside. The seven of them have split up in two other cabins - Seokjin and Hayoung with the girls in one, and the rest of the boys in another. They’ve also just put away their things and it’s time to get dinner going.

Everyone gets to their tasks like clockwork - some are organising all the groceries in the cupboards, some are chopping up ingredients, and some are building the fire. You, Namjoon, and Taehyung - the designated cleaners - decide you’ll at least try to be useful and start assembling the camping chairs.

You surprisingly find it quite therapeutic. Between the scent of rain that just stopped and the sounds of nature, there’s something that feels so healing about doing all this with your friends.

Sure, it’s smoky. The ground is a tad bit soft from the downpour earlier, too. And the bugs are having a party everywhere, causing you to shriek every time one of them gets near you.

But there’s chatter and laughter and anticipation. There’s this calmness despite the chaos, and it’s all this that you’ve missed this past year.

Driving out of town to get away during school breaks was a thing you all did during your university days. When the five of you finally graduated and joined the rest of your friends in full-time adulting, the trips became less. Post-work drinks and weekend hangouts were frequent, but it was difficult to align everyone’s schedules for something that was more than a day.

Taehyung was the one who made sure they still happened somehow, even if it was every couple of months. It’s the first time you’re all complete after a year and a half, and the last trip you had was before he flew out.

Having this again after so long feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It’s as if you don’t feel like you have to carry all your burdens on your own. And seeing your friends’ smiling faces despite their respective high-stress jobs, you know they feel the same way, too.

Your sentimental thoughts are disturbed by Jimin yelling for someone to get something before he disappears into your cabin. You still follow him inside to find out what he needs, learning then that he’s back in the bathroom for the second time since you arrived.

“What does he want?” You ask Jungkook, who stands by the tiny kitchen.

“I asked Jimin to get me gochujang from the guys but he, well… he’s got some business to do,” he laughs. “Can you get it for me, please?”

You nod in response then tease your best friend about not clogging the toilet before you get the condiment from the resident cooks outside. You return to the cabin and watch Jungkook skillfully mix a bunch of things in a pot.

“What’s that for?” You ask next to him.

“We’ll fry chicken later for dinner number two and this is the sauce,” he answers.

“Oh,” you nod. “It smells good. And spicy.”

He sees your slightly nervous face then reassures you that he’ll set aside some for you and Taehyung before adding more chili, knowing your low tolerance for heat. You smile in response, and wanting to know if it’s manageable for you, Jungkook scoops some for you to try.

You take the teaspoon he hands out and taste it. You let it linger before deciding it’s something you can definitely eat.

“Does it need anything else?” He asks.

“Uh,” you trail, your eyes darting from him to the sauce, clearly clueless if there’s more he needs to add, but you act like you’re trying to figure it out.

He tastes it himself.

“Sugar,” he states, then looks at you with a slight smirk. “That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

“Totally,” you lie, but he sees right through you and laughs.

It’s a Jungkook thing, you think - to tease and be a bit cheeky but never overdoing it.

He sets aside a mound of sauce in a bowl before adding more chili powder in the pot that the rest of them will have. He chills them all then says he’ll help prep the rest of the chicken outside and you follow him out. It’s the same time that Jimin opens the door and you fake gag to his face before asking him if he’s okay.

“My tummy’s been a bit weird since this morning,” he groans.

“Take something before it gets worse,” you advise. “Ask Mo-eum. Surely the paramedic would know what to give you, right?”

He nods, and you already feel bad for him with this rough start to the weekend. But you stay with Jimin the whole night. He hates having to skip on the pajeon and chicken because they’re too oily, but you give him half your share of the kimchi stew to make up for it. You also know it’s his favorite.

You serve him water whenever he runs out, and even if he was told to pass up on alcohol tonight, you let him take sips of your beer just so he doesn’t completely miss out. You wrap a blanket around him so he doesn’t get too cold, and he sweetly smiles at you and comments how nice you are to him.

“It’s my apology in advance in case I unconsciously hurt you later,” you sweetly smile back.

Everyone laughs, knowing that’s not far from happening.

The night goes on with the bright stars in the sky and the crackling of the fire pit while you all take turns washing up.

It’s close to midnight when you’ve finally settled in bed, with Jimin laying in between you and Mo-eum. You lost rock-paper-scissors so you’re on the outer side of the bed, even if you argue that you’re more likely to fall off it because you definitely cannot stay in one position when you sleep.

But you’re required to honor the results of the game so you stay on your side, your left arm and leg wrapped around Jimin’s side. Despite the possibility of you pulling him along if you do fall, your best friend lets you; he knows you can’t sleep without hugging something.

Mo-eum lays fetus-curled on Jimin’s right, and both of you have your eyes on his screen as he goes through TikToks that have you three in controlled giggles. You shush them when Jimin snorts, as he sends one of the videos to your group chat. Just then, you hear Jungkook control his laughter from the loft bed, too, prompting you all to laugh even harder.

“Go to bed, you weirdos,” he groans, trying his best to just get to sleep.

“You’re just jealous you’re missing out on the fun down here,” you tease, turning around to stick your tongue at him.

He shakes his head at you.

“Yup, talk about fun when you can’t get your ass off the bed in a few hours,” he counters, making a face before lying back down.

Jungkook starts to do breathing exercises, following the rhythm of Taehyung’s soft snores next to him. It works, as the next thing Jungkook remembers is waking up to his alarm at 5 in the morning.

He nudges the man next to him then heads down the ladder to wash up before your morning activity.

He’s caught in surprise when he finds Jimin sitting on the stool, holding a bottle of Soju on his nose.

“What the heck happened to you?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin groans and turns towards the bed with angry eyes.

“She did.”

Jungkook chuckles because much as he expected this, it’s still funny when it happens.

“Was it her fist or her elbow?”

“Her elbow,” Jimin sighs. “That woman doesn’t even exercise. I don’t know where her strength comes from! Ugh, I should’ve made her sleep in the loft with you instead.”

“And be the one to get smacked on the face? No, thanks.”

“Your nose can handle it,” Jimin teases.

The younger man bends his arm to fake slap his friend who’s nursing a possibly bruised nose. But that’s one of the things Jungkook is thankful for - not being your go-to bed mate, which saves him from any possible injury to his face or any other part of his body. You’ve claimed many of your friends already, and he still doesn’t know how you’re able to do all that in your sleep.

Seokjin and Hoseok enter your cabin to yell that there’s 10 minutes left until you all have to leave for the hike to the nearby mountain in time for the sunrise. You’re the last one off the bed because you were in such deep sleep that it feels like you’re still dreaming.

You’re oblivious to the damage you caused, as you half-mindedly do your morning routine and dress up appropriately for this chilly morning. It’s when you notice Jimin’s slightly red nose and his angry eyes that you realise you might’ve unknowingly done something last night, and his growl when you ask him if he’s okay is your confirmation of that fact.

You try to make it up to him with hugs and a reminder that you’d taken care of him last night but he’s still sore and you’re still sorry.

He dramatically narrates what happened on your way to the mountain, and while most of your friends are laughing because it’s just an insane yet predictable thing to happen, you actually feel bad for him.

Jimin pretends to not care about you during the hike. He stays ahead of the pack instead of walking side-by-side with you because he knows that things like this bore you and you need him to feel entertained.

But not today, as you see him laughing about with Gyu-rim and Suhyeon while you’re stuck at the back of the pack with Yoongi who’s still half asleep and Mo-eum who’s so lost in her surroundings that she barely notices you, even when you trip on stones or shriek because of the bugs.

You groan to yourself.

You love sunrises and pretty skies. You’re just not particularly fond of the early wake up call and long walks you have to make to see them at their best.

Plus, you’re sweating. And because of the energy you’re exerting, you’re starting to feel hot, too. You take a deep breath and try to rein in all your negative aura so you could release them because being annoyed is not how you want to spend this beautiful morning.

You exhale all that and it comes out as another groan.

“I didn’t know you hated hiking that bad,” a teasing voice calls you out. “You could just stay here and wait for us to come back down. That’s an option.”

“Hey, that’s mean,” you pout and try to give your best puppy eyes to the man who’s now leveled himself with you.

“Of course I’m kidding,” Jungkook shakes his head.

He pulls your wrist to continue on the walk, and that’s when you realise that everyone else has gone ahead. And just as your eyes widen in shock that they had indeed left you behind, Jungkook gets to it first and explains that the back group was waiting for you but he insisted that they go ahead so as not to miss the sunrise in case you opt to not continue.

“No one leaves anyone behind, you know that,” he says. “And for the record, Jimin was the one asking if you were okay and then ordered me to check on you and make sure you get to the top on time. So yes, he’s worried even if he’s still upset that you elbowed his nose. Especially since Joon accidentally hit it with his backpack.”

You stop yourself from laughing because Jimin just really can’t catch a break, but you also truly feel bad for him that he has to suffer in more ways than he deserves.

“Fine. Drag me up this mountain, then. My legs will give up soon,” you grunt.

“Stay upright for me, yeah? I don’t really plan on carrying your ass all the way up there,” he chuckles.

You make a face and he just laughs again, then proceeds to take the bag off your back and swings it over his shoulder.

You make it to the top in time, just before the sun begins its slow ascent up the sky. It’s much cooler at the peak and the thick fog covers the quaint town below. It’s much more peaceful here, too, and you embrace the tranquility alongside your friends, as the view has left everyone speechless. You snap some photos - enough to remind you of the moment - and then settle on a rock to watch the sky change its colors.

“So pretty, isn’t it?” Hayoung sighs in awe as she sits next to you. “Just like the ones our grandparents would drive us to see.”

“I’m sure they’re enjoying this from up there,” you smile in response, recalling your summers in their home with the rest of your cousins, when life was simpler and you didn’t have responsibilities that weighed you down.

Once the sun has found its place above the clouds, you all gather on a flat area of the mountain and get your portions of the rice cake soup that Seokjin and Yoongi prepared this morning. Coffee is passed around and Jimin is the one who hands you your cup. He sits next to you and shows you your work of art on his face, and you both decide that having Mo-eum’s curled body in between is the best option on your last night. She fortunately agrees.

It’s close to 8AM when you get back to the cabins, as all of you took much longer on the hike down. It’s an hour of hanging outside and by the river before you’re all driving out into town for some lunch. The nearby market had you buying fruits and clams for tonight’s dinner while your ATV ride in the afternoon had you squealing in both excitement and fear.

It was your first time driving on your own, and after Jungkook had taught you which buttons to press, he drove away at maximum speed. Much as you nag him for his risky tendencies when it comes to things like this, you’ll admit it was refreshing hearing him scream in exhilaration.

All your friends like to have fun and that includes you. It’s why you go on trips like this - to try new things and get your heart racing, maybe live on the edge a little and sustain that passion for life that you all promised each other you’d find and live out outside of your respective careers that you put your whole selves into.

Adulting, you’ve learned, is about maintaining that part of yourself that still finds joy in changing seasons and pink-colored skies. It’s about carrying out your responsibilities while parking them on the side for a weekend over good food and bottles of beer. It’s about planning for the next 10 years while living in the moment. It’s not easy, but perhaps you’re able to do it because you all have each other.

And so watching Namjoon’s tense face relax in enjoyment, seeing a timid Suhyeon let go a little, and hearing Seokjin and Hayoung giggle in their shared ride are things that give you energy, because you know they’re enjoying this moment right here with you.

You finish right before sunset and return to your accommodation exhausted yet still somehow refreshed. There’s less to do now, as much of your dinner is grilled meat and seafood, so Jungkook suggests watching Halloween on the outdoor projector. It’s one of the features of the property that you were excited about, but you didn’t really consider a slasher movie for your last night in the forest.

No one else seems to do so aside from Jungkook, who insists that it’s all part of the fun. While a part of you thinks this is a stupid idea, you also don’t know what else could be more perfect than a thriller film in this environment. So you support him and it’s not long after when you find yourselves in front of the screen, with plates of meat and clams, bowls of rice, and cups of ramyeon around you.

There were definitely jump scares and men and women alike shrieking, either because of the movie or some sound from the woods. Seokjin dropped his can of beer more than once, and Hoseok gave up midway and hid behind Namjoon for the rest of the movie. You were seated next to Jimin on the outdoor couch and yelled in his ear several times that he banned you from being close to him for the rest of the night.

It’s how you found yourself next to Jungkook on the picnic bench where he was so unbothered while you cussed out every time you were surprised, either because of the movie or because of him. Which was many times.

Your heart is pumping by the end of it but you admit it was still fun. It’s the kind of stress you don’t mind feeling every once in a while.

It seems that everyone else felt the same, as the reactions and string of curses somehow made up for the unexpected horror of the night. Naturally, you all gather towards the fire pit.

The air is chilly and despite the tension from earlier, everyone seems relaxed and at peace. Conversations go from Seokjin and Hayoung’s wedding plans, to Taehyung’s audition clip that he sent for a Broadway production in New York, to Jimin’s recent blind date. The latter topic leads to Gyu-rim stating how hard it is to date in her thirties, an exchange she was having just a day ago.

“You literally just turned 30,” Yoongi nudges her knee. “You have a decade to go before you can be sure it’s really that difficult.”

“Well, I don’t have that many options to start with,” she counters. “You’re my only friends. People at work are shit. And my mom’s friends’ sons are either too young or too old.”

“Don’t you have that cute neighbor?” Mo-eum asks. “Or what about the owner of your favorite cafe? Doesn’t he leave little smiley faces on your cup every morning? Or the guy from the gym!”

“Well, the cute neighbor orders so much beer and chicken, it might be an obsession. And the cafe owner might just be flirting with all his female customers with doodles, who knows? And gym dude with nice hair talks to his mom all the time. That’s not exactly a green flag.”

“Now you’re just projecting,” Namjoon states. “You’re calling out red or yellow flags that might not actually mean anything, and you’re only doing that because–”

“I dated someone with a weird food habit, liked someone who turned out to be a serial cheater, and got dumped because this guy’s mom told him to,” Gyu-rim finishes. “In short, you never really know something’s wrong until it goes wrong, and when it does, it sucks like hell.”

“That’s why you get to know someone,” Yoongi says. “You date and then learn things about them and then break up if you don’t like what you see. You know they’re the one when you like them despite it all.”

“It’s just too much effort,” your older friend sighs. “And yes, I know that’s what relationships are supposed to be about but like, I want to work on communication and learning how to understand someone… not accepting some ick or skeletons in the closet type of shit. Those are things I want to know before I decide I’d like to date them.”

“Well, I guess it’s hard when there’s no one to vouch for them,” Suhyeon chimes in. “I mean, we knew Seokjin’s a good guy because we’ve known him for years. It wasn’t hard for either him nor Hayoung to make that decision about dating. Maybe that’s what makes it hard at this age and our prospects are people we barely know anything about. You’re kinda going into it blindly.”

Her words feel like a slap on the face to you, something Suhyeon is totally unaware of because these are the questions you’ve been having about your own past relationships that just live in your mind.

Your exes have been people you dated shortly after meeting them. The attraction was immediate and when two people gravitate towards each other that intensely so soon, it usually means something really special. Somehow you thought that feelings that strong and that certain meant you could overlook the flaws and imperfections of the other person.

Both times you were wrong. And while you’re glad you got out before you got in too deep, both times you still wondered if it would’ve worked out if you just held on a little longer, or if it would’ve even started had you known fully what you were getting into.

But the unknown excites you, at least when it comes to relationships. It’s kind of like research - you learn a bit about the person, make a hypothesis, then test it. You could be totally off mark or very close to it. Still, the process is always different. It keeps you on your toes because you don’t know what to expect even if, ironically, you already had an idea of what you wanted out of it in the beginning.

Perhaps that was your undoing - focusing on the high, anticipating the excitement of being right, then copping out when it wasn’t what you expected.

It’s not something you’ll say out loud though, at least not right now.

So you stay comfortable in your seat with a jacket over your tired body. You listen to your elders with two years more experience hash out what went wrong in their past relationships, and if they think they’ll end up settling for someone they know or are comfortable with, just for the sake of having a companion in this life.

It gives Jimin the opportunity to pitch to Yoongi and Gyu-rim this “40 and still single” pact, where they should just date if they don’t have anyone by that age, but both of them just look at him incredulously and shake their heads.

For some reason, your best friend is an advocate of friends-to-lovers type of stories even if he goes on blind dates all the time. He’s said he believes in it for other people but not really for himself. You share a mind like that - intense feelings from the onset are genuine and unmistakable. Sometimes you meet someone and immediately just know. You may have been wrong both times but it doesn’t mean you’ll always be wrong.

Who knows? Your future husband might be on a camping trip in some lakeside area not far from here, and you meet him in a chance encounter and things pick up from there. Suddenly the thought excites you again, but it’s something you keep to yourself.

You all make a toast to your existent and non-existing love lives. It’s enough to keep the energy hopeful until you all decide to retire for the night.

You lay in bed with thoughts suspended in your mind, just like the stars spread across the sky. Your eyes wander to their twinkling lights as you stare out the skylight.

That is, until you hear a voice whispering your name. You look upward, towards the left, and there’s Jungkook and his head peeking from the loft bed’s railing.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

You shake your head in response.

“Got any tips?” You ask, the tiredness hitting you once again.

“Tense your muscles and then relax them slowly. Do your 4-7-8,” he instructs. “Works like magic.”

“You’re just tricking me into making weird faces,” you frown.

“You do that even without me saying it, ___,” he chuckles. “Just try. You’re thinking too hard, I can almost see the thought bubbles appearing over your head.”

You roll your eyes this time but you follow his advice. You feel your muscles loosen and that does something to your brain, as if it, too, is relaxing on its own. And it works.

The next thing you know, your eyes are opening to the sun’s bright light, and there’s those same doe-eyes from last night, somehow content because maybe even he can see it - you had a really good sleep.

You wait for your mind to fully wake up while you curl under the covers. Mo-eum’s in the same position as she was last night and Jimin seems to be peaceful and unhurt. That appeases you at least. Up in the loft, you can see Taehyung already taking up the empty space next to him.

The bathroom door opens and Jungkook exits with his hair sprout bouncing as he walks, prompting you to giggle.

“What’s funny?” He asks with furrowed brows.

“You look like a baby with your hair,” you say.

“It won’t go down,” he groans, attempting once more to flatten the top of his head.

“Just tie the whole thing then. At least it’ll be intentional.”

“Yeah, so you can make fun of me some more?”

“Maybe,” you playfully shrug.

He walks towards you and flicks your forehead, and you try to kick him without disturbing the two people still asleep next to you. But Jungkook, like the athlete that he is, manages to grab your foot wrapped in your blanket before it hits him, and now you’re his hostage.

You glare at him - half pleading and half threatening - but he just makes a face at you. His grip on your heel is a little hard but it seems like it’s what you need, as the hike from yesterday morning has your leg and feet feeling a little sore.

“Hmm, Kook. Massage it please,” you moan, pushing your limb towards him.

“Only if you massage mine.”

“But I don’t wanna touch your toe socks,” you whine.

“Hey. Don’t be mean to them,” he frowns, eventually giving in as he starts massaging your calf.

“It’s just funny. That’s what my nephew wears. And he’s four,” you giggle.

“Toe socks know no age, you brat,” he says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Your chuckle turns to another groan at the expert way he kneads your muscles. You could easily fall asleep with this, but just when you think you’re about to, Jungkook pinches your leg and you cover your mouth before you yell out your expletives.

He giggles in that child-like way he does when he teases, and all you could do is glare at him. But he makes it up to you with another minute of massaging, and you softly smile at him in thanks.

“So, no incidents last night?” He asks, gesturing towards your bedmates.

“None, although I think Jimin went to the bathroom again in the middle of the night,” you respond, raising your arm for Jungkook to pull so you could get the energy to get out of bed.

“Poor guy,” he shakes his head. “Goes on a trip only to get hit in the nose and get a stomach bug.”’

You shake your head at the absurdity of things but then again, if there’s anyone who’d roll with the punches and even laugh at his own misery, it’s Jimin. That��s always been the kind of optimism and easygoing energy you need in your life.

You and Jungkook head outside to make coffee. You’re one of the first ones awake even if you were both probably the last ones to fall asleep last night. It’s your last day here and you want to savor as much of the air and the tranquility as much as possible.

You sit next to him on the picnic bench and watch him pour hot water over the filter for the drip coffee, alternating between your cup and his. The scent is relaxing, so is the cool breeze. You shift your body to be parallel to the seat, and with your head on his shoulder, you stretch your legs and arms out to try to get a bit of sun.

“Wow, you got yourself a coffee maker and a makeshift lounge chair,” he huffs. “Let’s not forget a driver.”

“I’m photosynthesizing. You always tell me to get my vitamin D,” you explain. “And also, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll treat you to a really nice meal, I promise.”

“Why, what else do you need?”

“A ride to this event I need to attend in Cheonan. On Saturday. Please?”

You turn to him with your best attempt at puppy eyes.

“My car won’t be ready for another two weeks and I don’t wanna stress over how to get there since, uh, since I’m a panelist for a session. And it’s my first time to speak to a large audience about my research and I’m starting to freak about it and–”

“What! ___, of course I’ll drive you! That’s huge!” Jungkook exclaims.

You don’t miss his proud smile and the excitement in his eyes, and it somehow makes it all so real.

“Why aren’t we celebrating that this weekend, then?” He asks. “I wouldn’t have risked you getting attacked by bugs during the hike had I known.”

“Because I’m so nervous and talking about it makes me even more nervous,” you explained. “Mo-eum convinced me to not think about it this weekend because I’ve been stressing about it like crazy so I’ve just been trying to keep my mind off it to calm myself down.”

“And is it working?”

“Surprisingly, it has,” you nod. “I’ve had my talking points ready for a month now. I’ve been practicing for weeks. I had to be intentional in really switching off this weekend and it’s helped. It only entered my mind because the warehouse messaged me earlier about my car needing another few days in there so I’ve just been thinking about how to get to the venue after my field work in the morning.”

“Sure. I was just gonna stay at home and play games but a drive south isn’t bad,” he says. “I can stay around and drive you back home, too.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, relieved at not having to worry about your commute at night.

“Yeah. I mean, you did mention a really nice meal, so…”

“I did,” you laugh. “My session’s in the afternoon and I won’t stay long after. We can grab dinner on the way back.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Thanks, Kook. I would’ve asked Jimin but he’s got an important shoot and Mo-eum’s on duty,” you reason.

“Being a third option isn’t bad,” he chuckles. “So if you’ve been successful in keeping your mind off it, does it mean that’s not why you were so quiet last night? You barely spoke after the movie.”

“You mean when we were talking about failed relationships and possibly being single for the rest of our lives?” You laugh dryly.

“Well, it’s what twenty and thirty-somethings worry about. You were rambling about that in the car the other night,” he reminds you.

“True. Let’s just say when I’m around more experienced and mature people, I prefer to just listen and reflect,” you say.

“And what did you reflect on?”

“Just things I’ve already thought of before,” you shrug, somewhat ready to verbalize them now. “I get intense and excited when I have a new relationship and I overthink but at the same time, I don’t think at all. It’s nice and fun then I see something I don’t like then I just… get out of it. I think what got to me was what Suhyeon said about going into it blindly,” you continue.

“Like, we enter a relationship with someone we’re interested in because we want to get to know them but we don’t know if we’ll actually like the person we’ll get to know. Kind of tricky, right? I mean, do we date to get to know them, or do we date them because we already know them?”

“Does it even matter?” Jungkook asks. “We have to make the decision to stay if we want it enough either way.”

“Even if we don’t like certain things about them?”

“Depends on what you can tolerate. Or what you think you deserve,” he replies, his tone a little weary at the memories rushing in. “We don’t really know anyone well enough. A friend or a colleague or whatever becomes a different version of themselves when they become your lover and you have to deal with that, and then stick around or walk away.”

Jungkook’s face falls and you apologize for bringing it up, knowing it’s quite a touchy subject.

“We’ve talked about this before. It’s nothing new,” he assures you. “You don’t have to feel sorry. Joo-yun went from pursuing me one day to deciding she didn’t want me in her life the next, and then imposing some shitty deadline. And Si-an, well, you know how that went.”

You and Jungkook don’t have deep conversations that often. You tend to reserve your deepest thoughts and feelings for your best friends and he was never really the type to talk about his. He was with Joo-yun for the most part of university so you spent more time with the other guys. She was also the jealous type so you always found yourself being cautious around Jungkook when she was there.

But you remember when he opened up about the breakup, on the night of your graduation. You all slept over at the Kims’ residence and you, Jungkook, and Jimin stayed up until dawn, just talking about your shared pain over soju and beer.

Joo-yun wanted to go abroad and didn’t want to have a long distance relationship, so she told Jungkook they could only see each other until they graduated, which was three months away. He broke it off right then. It was in the same month when you broke it off with Jeong-su after your nth fight over your busy schedule.

Three years after that, you were saying goodbye to your shared apartment with Mo-eum and starting a new role at the research firm. Everyone was at your place to celebrate. It was when you casually said that you’d broken up with Seungho - the guy who worked at your building and that you pined for two weeks before you asked him out. It was also when Jungkook had drunkenly shared that he broke up with Si-an the night before because he caught her cheating on him. You let him stay over then drove him to his place the next morning. He never really talked about her after that.

Your mind drifts to those years. They feel so far away even if some of the thoughts and feelings from that time still linger. Breakups are never easy but somehow you always manage to get over them quite easily. You suppose it’s the insecurity and self-doubt that follows that you couldn’t really move on from.

“So on both times, did you break up with them because you knew what you deserved?” You ask Jungkook.

“Thinking back, I tolerated them longer than I should have,” he hums. “Joo-yun was a bit controlling at times and I always just justified her tendencies in my head. I think she wanted me to beg her not to leave or to take me with her but I didn’t. And that hurt her pride so she lashed out then I broke it off.”

“I always felt like she dimmed your shine,” you sigh. “You’d turn quiet and not be your bratty, fearless, dumb self. It was kinda sad.”

They’re terms of endearment you always use with the younger guys. Jungkook knows this, and he agrees. He also agrees with your observation because it was true. He couldn’t joke around or have fun around his friends when she was there. She dimmed his light like you said. No one ever really put it into words like that.

“And Si-an was just foolish,” you add. “I have so many other mean words for her so I’ll just shut up.”

So does he so he laughs in response.

“For the record, Jeong-su was too up in his ass and too lazy to make time for you, and Seungho rubbed me the wrong way,” Jungkook says now. “Not acknowledging waitstaff is a red flag to me.”

“I agree,” you smile, knowing that unlike Jimin and Taehyung who always had a field day shitting on your exes - and for good reason - Jungkook isn’t the type to say things like that unless he feels it intensely.

There’s a brief moment of both of you drifting away while sipping your coffee until the cabin door opens. Your three roommates exit and start bringing out fruits and cold cuts for snacks before your morning trip to the lake. Soon enough, the others gather around your table, too, and the somber mood from earlier immediately switches to something more lively and positive.

And you’re glad it does. You’re not used to seeing Jungkook dispirited or looking dejected over a memory and you try to erase that from your mind by taking a good look at him this time.

Donned in his black sweatpants, oversized shirt, and a bucket hat, sometimes you forget he’s a 28-year old man who does teaching for a living, only because anyone could easily mistake him for being one of the students. But that’s his charm, you learned over the years.

There’s something so relatable and wholesome about him. It’s in how he pokes your puffed cheeks full of watermelons and in how he chases a frog that’s hopping towards the other side.

Yet he’s also dependable and possesses this certain level of maturity. It’s in the way he prepared coffee then unfolded the camping chairs for the rest of your friends earlier. He’s pure-hearted even if he’s cheeky and playful, as he now asks you to collect stones with him so you could both make a tower and make a wish for your peace of mind and his students’ win and for the toxins to be removed from Jimin’s body so he could eat properly today.

You let that image of Jungkook linger because seeing your friends happy makes you happy, too. It’s what this trip is about, anyway, regardless of the thoughts that plague your mind.

You take the mid-morning drive to a lake to kayak. It’s the perfect day for it, as the skies are in a stunning shade of blue and the clouds look overwhelmingly soft and pure.

Hoseok and Yoongi, who aren’t fond of the water, sit out. The rest of you play rock-paper-scissors on who gets to ride solo and in pairs.

To Jungkook’s dismay, he ends up getting paired with you.

“We literally had a heartwarming conversation earlier and now you’re acting like your life is cursed because you’re riding a kayak with me,” you scowl at him.

“___, I might as well be rowing alone because you suck at it. And now I have to do it with more weight,” he complains.

“Yah!” You smack his arm. “I’m not that bad.”

“You barely made it past the dock the last time we did this,” he deadpans.

“And that was five years ago. People can always improve, you know?”

He deep sighs and frowns at you to the entertainment of your friends, and while you’re a little nervous of what mishap you’ll cause again, you also can’t wait to get in the water and maybe prove to him that you’re not that clueless about things like this.

Except you might actually just be, because not long after you get on the kayak and start paddling, it slowly tips over until it capsizes.

You panic for a moment but manage to get your head out of the water where you’re met with a frustrated Jungkook and a yell of your name. You’d say sorry if you could but you’re halfway through an apologetic smile and a restrained chuckle over how he looks but the latter wins. And you laugh.

“___, Kook!” Jimin, who was just about to get on his kayak, yells out from the dock. “What happened! Are you both okay?”

You turn around where the staff are telling you to swim back and the captain is requesting another boat.

You look back at Jungkook again with his damp hair and his baby boy pout and you try to hold your laughter in again but you just can’t. He looks so upset that it’s actually adorable. It helps keep your mind off the fact that you’re soaking wet and it feels incredibly uncomfortable.

But he finally cracks a smile and he playfully shakes his head before splashing water on your face with his hand.

“Why are you like this, ___?” He groans, but you can tell he’s not upset anymore, even with the way he pulls you by your life vest as you both swim back to dry land.

“I don’t even know what happened,” you exclaim. “Everything was so fast!”

“Your center of gravity was off,” Yoongi explains, as he stands on the edge, helping you up. “And you paddled right away before being stable and then… yeah. Hoseok caught it on video.”

“What!” You shriek, walking to your older friend, with Jungkook following.

Hoseok shows you the clip and even the man behind you can’t stop laughing. One second you were both there and the next, you just disappeared.

Jungkook feels uncomfortable in places but there’s not much he can do now. He just really wants to get back in the water and paddle out there.

You first insist that you’ll just stay behind. When Jimin encourages you to still go because you’ve been excited about this, you then say you’ll just do the individual one so Jungkook can, too, and he can catch up with the rest of your friends who, from a distance, are still laughing.

But like the good friend that he is, he says it’s fine, and that going together means you’ll both actually get somewhere. You just have to let him take control and do what he says. And sit properly.

So you follow his and the instructor’s orders. You keep yourself seated at the center and align your arms, making sure you have a good grip on the paddle and are following Jungkook’s counts. You know you’re not doing as well as he is but he still tells you that you’re doing fine. He’s good at instructing so you find a good rhythm, and soon enough, you catch up with your friends who tease you endlessly.

“It was still funny even from here,” Seokjin teases. “But are you okay? We know how much you hate being soaked in your clothes.”

“I’m dying inside,” you admit. “But yeah, I’m okay. I think Jungkook’s halfway there.”

“I’m good,” he assures you. “At least we get to see the view from here.”

He points towards his right where the scenery of the sun atop the mountains and against the clear skies is so beautiful. You’re definitely a long way from dry land but you feel so stable. It was definitely worth getting back on the kayak despite fearing another tragedy. Jungkook made sure you were okay and that you got to enjoy this, too.

Jimin takes pictures and you all explore some more. Once you’ve seen enough, you paddle back and your friends watch the video and chuckle in amusement. It’s another one of those that’ll come up in your group chat’s memory and you’ve already accepted that it’ll be a story they’ll share and bring up.

“You two get washed and dry up, okay?” Hayoung says. “They have a shower room here and I’ve got towels in the trunk. You can just buy some clothes at the shop right there.”

You follow your cousin’s advice and find the locker rooms. Mo-eum hands you a pair of shorts and a shirt she got from the store then heads out with you where Jimin offers you a cup of fresh juice. Standing by the car is Jungkook with a pair of shorts and the same crab shirt you’re wearing.

“Why’d they have to get us matching clothes?” He laughs as he enters the driver’s seat.

“They probably think it’s cute,” you shrug, taking your seat in the passenger side. “Or it could be a peace pact, I don’t know. I mean, you were getting angry at me earlier after all.”

“I wasn’t angry,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s like, I expected it but I was still surprised you made us fall over. Like, why does it always happen to you?”

“Well, God is fair. He gave me the brains but said, ‘let's also make her dumb.’”

This causes him to laugh.

Jungkook isn’t the type to voice things out but he truly finds you endearing. Even when you’re being clumsy, or asking him to do stuff, or making fun of him, or complaining about a hundred things at once, there’s something so genuine about you. You can get a little intense about things you’re passionate about, which he admires, but you’re also able to roll with the punches and find joy in things once you’ve calmed down.

He pats your head as his form of affection and you smile at him. He finds that endearing, too.

You all make your way back to the cabin to make some lunch. The resident cooks prepare black bean noodles and marinated ribs while the rest of you start packing up. It’s a breezy afternoon despite the sun, and it’s a perfect last meal in the mountains before you do the last thing on your itinerary.

It’s a short trip but you feel like you’ve done so much. It used to be like this during your university days when you’d just drive out to somewhere, do various things in town, soak up nature, and eat your hearts out. There have been changes, too, like preparing your own meals, no longer getting passed out drunk, and spending time just talking and reminiscing. Your respective jobs and other responsibilities don’t give you much time or space to enjoy being around people, and you’ve always found peace and comfort in each other.

It’s not a long drive to the pier where you’ll go on a yacht cruise. It’s a size that comfortably fits all 12 of you, and it’s a perfect last hurrah, as you all lounge by the deck and enjoy the wind and the changing skies. It’s mostly quiet by now, as everyone’s energy has slightly drained, especially with Monday right around the corner.

But it’s still peaceful, as you take in the fresh air and scent of the lake and the seagulls flying about. You let these last few hours be your reprieve, before another week rolls ahead and that panel discussion becomes your reality in a few days.

You watch until the last of the sun disappears, then it’s back to the car for a trip back home, and a dinner at a restaurant as your pitstop.

With your apartment being a 15-minute drive to Jungkook’s without traffic, he offers to take you home. He carries your bag and walks you to your door like the gentleman that he is and with your droopy eyes, he wishes you goodnight with a pat on your head.

“Get some rest, okay?” He smiles. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook series #jungkook fluff #jungkook comfort #fic: something about you

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furioussouls · 3 months ago

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LADS guys as yanderes

[chubby reader]

Warning: yandere behaviour (soft, but yandere behaviour nonetheless), fem! chubby reader, manipulation, suggestive themes, reader is mc (in some parts), mentions of injuries (not through the boys), I'm not romanticising or condoning yandere behaviour in real life

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they are from a game called "love and deepspace", which was created by Infold. Any lore refrences and worldbuilding belong solely to them.

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Zayne:

• Zayne would be the overprotective and overbearing yandere. He is so furiously obsessed with your health and monitors it all to an unhealthy degree. You would not notice it at first, because he'll hide it extremely well from you and always hides behind his icy facade, but once it clicks in your head, its impossible to unsee.

You sat in front of Dr. Zayne in his office, the pungent odor of disinfectant lingering in the air as your plush thighs sat firmly on top the familiar chair. "Excuse me, Dr. Zayne? I am very thankful for your care, but I can't drop out of my missions every other day for routine check- ups. Is there a reason why you keep telling me to come back?". Zayne flexed his long, slender and scarred fingers and pushed his glasses closer to his face. He firmly starred at the screen of your medical scan and compared it with the one he took of you last week. "Do we have to wait for it to get worse in order for me to take care of your health? Your heart could get worse in the blink of an eye.", his voice rang out. You sighed and watched Zayne obsessively click from one picture to the next without blinking.

• After a mission gone wrong, you informed Zayne that you would arrive at the hospital shortly. You sighed and limped through the doors of the hospital. You were alright, your injuries not too grave, but you weren't quite sure if you had any internal injuries. You knocked on Zayne's office and walked through it. Zayn was hunched over, his hands buried tightly in his hair. When the door shut behind you, he jumped up with shaky hands. Before you could ask him whats wrong, he took long steps toward and scanned your injuries from top to bottom. His large hands pat down your body. "Where are your injuries?", before you could respond, he had hastily already taken off your shirt and shoved you down on the examination table and poked and prodded every part of your ample torso. You squealed "Dr. Zayne! I'm fine. My leg is the only thing that's injured.", he paid you no mind and continued to examine you while breathing heavily.

• After you two started dating, you felt like you were in paradise. Zayne was the biggest gentleman you've ever met. He helped you get dressed in the morning, tied your shoelaces, cooked for you, did the chores at home and walked on the outer side of the sidewalk. Sure, he was a bit annoying with his constant health examinations, but that can easily be ignored. Alright, maybe it's also annoying that he wants to know your location at all times, but it seriously has nothing to do with him not trusting you. He's just scared that you'll need his help and he won't know where you are. Zayne bounced his leg up and down and loosened the tie around his neck. His pulse quickened as he stared at his phone. 'My love, where are you? Should I come and pick you up?', why haven't you responded yet? Are you okay? Is your heart okay? Zayne's mind was racing and he thought about you, his perfect little love, passed out in some alleyway. He jumped up and made move to grab his jacket when his phone alerted him of your new message. 'Hi Zayne, I'll be home soon! I'll get us some ice cream.'

• he hopes you'll quit your job, so that you wont go on these dangerous missions anymore. He'll take care of you, you won't have to move a muscle. You also wouldn't have to do chores or anything, please just stay home.

• If you talk with him about his behaviour and tell him to tone it down a notch, he'll apologise profusely and tell you that he'll be more mindful, but his behaviour only grows more obsessive. He'll hide it from you, but his heart breaks whenever you do anything that could endanger you and he switches to a different type of surveillance. Sometimes he‘ll also give you “doctors orders“ on how you need to rest for a week if a dangerous mission pops up.

Xavier:

•Xavier is the possessive, jealous yandere. He's the wolf hidden beneath a fluffy, wooly facade.

You made your way to your apartment with grocery bags in your hand. When you reached your old, sturdy door, you heard a familiar soft voice behind you. "Who were you just talking to?". You spun around quickly and saw Xavier's soft smile behind you. You smiled at him and he bent down to take the grocery bags out of your soft hand. You smiled in gratitude and unlocked the door. He put the bags down on the table and began taking everything out of your bags. "Hm?", he asked and you looked at him in confusion. "Who was the man you were talking with earlier?", he repeated softly. You informed Xavier that he was your guys' new neighbour. Xavier nodded and walked slowly over to you. He wrapped his arms around your wide hips and gently gripped the fat of your back. "Is he nice? Nicer than me?", he asked softly and you rolled your eyes. "No, Xavier. Don't be jealous, again." He nodded and tenderly kissed your squishy cheeks.

• If he saw anybody he deemed a threat, he would take care of it. Quietly and without your knowledge. He wouldn't hurt or kill anyone, (unless they've hurt you in some way) but he would make sure that they would never be around you, ever again. If some girl had been gossiping about your weight like an insecure middle schooler? Suddenly she had to move cities. Somebody is standing in the way of your promotion? They were just relocated to a different place. Hmm, suspicious.

• he would never lay a hand on you. Ever. none of the guys would, They all adore and worship you too much.

•Xavier is lowkey like a kitten. If you scratch at his scalp and play with his hair, he'll lean into your touch and moan softly. He will happily lay down on your big thighs and sleep the whole day ever. Also, has a bite kink-, who said that?

• loves to go to sleep on top of you because you cannot leave while hes sleeping on top of you. He cuddles up on your chest and wraps his arms around you and kneads you like a stress ball, all of his troubles disappear when your comforting smell on body are underneath him. If both of you sat on the couch, he’d make sure that his lanky body is touching your plump one in any way possible. Sitting side pressed against side? Hell yeah. Sitting with your legs on his lap? Perfect. You sitting on his lap or him sitting on yours? Genuinely amazing. He’s happy.

• Sometimes, when somebody else would try and tell you that he's not as sweet as you think he is, he'll look at you with a hurt expression. You don't believe them, do you? Why would he lie to you? Who can be purer than him? His evol is light, after all. He means well.

You look at Xavier's wide, glossy eyes, his lips streched into a slight frown. "I just don't know why they would say something like that about me? Have I made a wrong first impression? Is it because I’m so sleepy?". You wrapped your soft arms around Xaviers lanky body and gently swiped over his blond hair. “No, Xavier. I’m sorry that they’re saying that about you.“

He sighed happily into your shoulder and smiled. He loves you so much. Don’t leave him, okay? He‘ll find you anyway.

Rafayel:

• Rafayel is a bratty, manipulative yandere. Don't be fooled by his sweet, pouty lips. We all know not to mess with sirens, and how persuasive they can be.

• If the two of you are engaged in a conversation with somebody who shows a little too much interest in you, Rafayel turns everything they say into something negative.

"So, our company works closely with the animal shelters in Linkon.", the sleazy business man told you with a bright smile as his eyes scanned you from top to bottom. You were nodding along and fixing your dress, which seemed to accentuate every little curve of yours. Rafayel's face contorted in disgust, his beautiful, plump lips streched into a grimace. "Wait, that means you don't want to get rid off the horrible loneliness that animals go through? Is that what you're saying?".

The business man's face jaw dropped and he blinked at Rafayel. "I don't under-", Rafayel interrupted the man and gripped your hand tighter, "Well, you're saying your company depends on the poor, lonely animals being dropped off into shelters, which means if you were presented with the opportunity to give all of these animals a home, you wouldn't do it, since that's where you'd be getting your money from.", Rafayel exlaimed with a fake outrage. You raised your eyebrow at him and the business man turned on his heel and left the conversation. Rafayel's fake outrage dropped and a neutral expression bloomed on his face. "Really, Raf'?", you asked him incredulously and he shrugged and gently kissed your knuckles. “Cutie, he was annoying me!“, he exclaimed in a whiny voice.

• If anybody gets on your nerves, just tell him. He'll take care of them and you won't ever have to see them again. He doesn't understand human morals and also does not abide by them. The only thing that matters to him is that his cutie is okay and that you love him. The rest of the world could perish.

• he'll act bratty and needy so that you would touch him. He wishes that you would never stop paying attention to him. Your hands on him is the best kind of heaven that he could imagine. Just dont ignore him, he'll wither away and break down. Please stop acting all cool and just him as your own personal stress reliever /plushie!

• he wants to be the prettiest thing that you’ve ever seen. He wishes you would ogle at him or sexualise him- at least a little bit. He wants to feel wanted and loved. If you make a raunchy joke to him or reply jokingly with a “without me?“ when he tells you about his baths, he’ll act shocked and outraged but warmth spreads in his chest and if he had a cat tail, it would fluff up.

• he will paint your naked body in every position and with every sort of art media. He will never show them to anybody else, sometimes not even to you, but he prides himself on knowing your gorgeous round body inside and out and draws you in different positions, only using his memories of you. Anybody that sees these vulnerable pictures of you will be disposed of.

•If you're about to get yourself into a dangerous situation, he'll use his siren song on you. He would never use it on you in any other situation, but your well- being is the most important thing in the world to him. Everything else is secondary. He‘ll make you forget ever hearing it and he’ll use it again and again if you think he‘ll let you head off into danger.

Sylus:

• Sylus is the protective yandere, who monitors your every move. However, he'll hide it so well that most of the time you won't even notice his tendencies. Of course, you know about Mephisto, but he also wasn’t trying to hide Mephisto from you.

“Can you believe he would do that? Ugh! It’s so annoying, I’ve been working my ass off for this job, and he just ruined it all in one second!“, you complained to Sylus, your soft cheeks wet with your own tears.

“I‘m sorry, sweetie. You worked so hard for this. I can’t believe he would ruin it for you.“, Sylus said with his deep and husky voice. He gently wiped your tears away and you sniffed. His big hand gently smoothed over your head and he gently pushed your head into his chest. Sylus looked over your shoulder to Kieran and Luke and nodded at them.

Both of them left quietly and made sure to find the man who has hurt you. Don’t worry, they’re supposed to bring him back alive.

• He watched the cameras to your room and sighs softly. He can’t go one day without seeing you, he needs to see you at all times. You were cuddled into your bed while watching your favourite show, and so was Sylus. He scanned every part of you, basically inhaling all of your essence and his tension drained from his shoulders. You made his life better- you made it feel like life was worth living.

• if by any chance he does miss any disrespect or danger thrown your way, and you happen to tell him about it, he‘ll laugh along with you. He‘ll smirk at your story and chuckle at how happy you’re reenacting the situation, but the moment he’s alone, he‘ll find every person, who was involved in this situation and ruin them. He will either kill them or drain them of their money til they kill themselves.

“I don’t even know why he tried to fight me without backup“, you chuckled and Sylus grinned at your words. “My, my. Seems like the boxing lessons I gave you helped you tremendously, kitten.“ He teased you and gently smoothed his warm fingers over your bruised eye. Your phone rang and you excused yourself from Sylus. He nodded with a soft smile. After you left the room, Sylus‘ big grin fell and his nostrils flared. A big ball of anger spread from his chest to his arms and he clenched his hands and jaw. The name of the perpetrator echoed through his head like a drill. He picks up his phone and told Luke and Kieran that they would go out tonight.

•loves to be your personal pillow and plushie. If you want to cuddle with him gently to forget about the weight of the world for a moment? Go ahead. If you wanna take your anger out and wrestle with him, please feel free to do so, he lives and breathes to please you after all. He wants to take care of you and your mental health, and he wishes you would tell him every single thought running through your mind. But since that’s unrealistic, he‘ll settle for being your emotional and physical plush toy.

•he buys you all the clothes in your cart. You’re always shocked on how he knows your exact size and the clothes in general, since you’ve never showed them to him before.

“Oh my god, Sylus! This is exactly what I wanted. It’s so damn hard to find fat- friendly clothing. But- wait. How do you know that this is the dress I wanted?“, Sylus chuckled deeply and pointed to Mephisto. “He saw you adding it to your cart“. Mephisto definitely didn’t see you adding it to you cart. Sylus just sees everything you’re doing on your electronic devices, but he just loves you so much, dont blame him. He'd never judge you for anything on there.

Caleb:

• Caleb is the worshipper and isolating yandere. He wishes he could spend the rest of his life servicing your every wish. You’re the only thing in his life that he needs. You’re his very oxygen, the blood running through his veins. So, naturally he should treat you as well as you deserve to be treated. By himself. Alone. Nobody else loves you as much as he loves you, they wouldn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated- they couldn’t.

“Caleb“, you scolded gently when he kneeled in front of you. He laid his head down on your plump thighs and closed his eyes.

“Pipsqueak, how can I get you to quit your job, hm? There must be something that can convince you, anything at all. Please. There must be something I can do for you to stay here with me, forever.“

You sighed and gently ran your fingers through his hair. He let out a sigh of relief and pressed his face into your thighs. “I do want to stay with you, Caleb. I will not quit my job, though. I will not stay here, cooped up in your house while you’re in one dangerous mission after the other. No, no way.“

• cooks for you. Seeing you eat something that he made makes his heart beat faster. He loves everything about your expression, your happy face and your grateful praise. He feels like a puppy with a tail that's wagging too fast for its little body. That's how you make him feel. Caleb loves your praise and appreciation. He would take care of you regardless of your appreciation but he loves you so much, hearing your sweet words make him even more obsessed with you.

•he‘ll sit you on his lap and massage every inch of your ample skin. Not once inch will be untouched. He loves the smell and feel of your body on top of him. If you‘ll let him, he’ll massage your body until his hands cramp up. He‘ll do it for the rest of his life. From your cute round toes to the top of you’re pretty head. Also- he‘ll learn the perfect hair care routine for your hair type and will perform it for you. You haven’t done your own hair in such a long time.

•works out with you on his back. If he can’t carry you out of a dangerous situation, all of his workouts and muscles would be for nothing, so he’d try many different positions and with many different handicaps. Sometimes he‘ll only carry your weight with one arm, in another scenarios he’s missing a few other limbs. (He can carry you btw, all of them can and no I don’t care how much you weigh. All of them can)

• kills any threat mercilessly. Nothing will harm you ever again. If you want, you can think of him as your knight or better yet, your guard dog. There is nothing that you have to be scared of doing, just make sure you allow him to come with you and let him take care of everybody that's standing in your way. In his eyes you deserve to rule the world but thankfully you're not an evil villain.

•sometimes when he’s awake and you’re not, he‘ll cancel your alarms so that you would miss work. You don’t have to go, after all. And if they fire you, he can eliminate them for upsetting you and he can take care of you. Don’t leave him. Just stay with him and let him love you til you die. He’ll die with you and he can keep worshipping and taking care of you wherever you both go.

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reidmarieprentiss · 8 months ago

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Forever & Always

Summary: At 28-years-old Spencer Reid finally has his first girlfriend, you. You are bold, confident, and experienced, everything he's not, and he feels very insecure because of it. You own your own nightclub, and when Sean Hotchner needs a job, you let him come and work for you. Spencer can't handle this attractive womanizer being in your space all day long. Will the two of you make it through this?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, virgin Spencer, insecurities, not trusting partner, arguing, threatening people, therapy

Word count: 22.3k

a/n: Sean Hotchner is a treat for the eyes ,, but no one will ever be better than Spencer -- genuinely one of my favorite fics !!

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Additional warnings: grinding, finishing in pants (m), light breast play, handjob

Spencer had always been confident in his knowledge, his intelligence a constant source of reassurance in his life. But this—this was different. Sitting across from you in the dimly lit coffee shop, his eyes flickered nervously to the table, then back to you. You were animated, telling a story about your friends, your laugh bright and infectious, but Spencer found it hard to focus. His mind kept drifting back to that quiet, gnawing feeling that had been lurking for a while now.

You were his first real girlfriend. At 28, Spencer Reid had never been in a serious relationship, at least not one that had progressed beyond awkward dates or brief romantic entanglements that always seemed to fizzle out before they even began. But you were different. You were confident, experienced in ways he wasn’t. It wasn’t just about the relationship itself. It was everything. You had dated other people before him, had your fair share of relationships and even casual hook-ups. The weight of it pressed down on him like an invisible burden, one he wasn’t sure how to navigate.

Spencer forced a smile, willing the tension in his chest to settle as you finished your story, your words floating through the air like a melody. He didn’t want to let on that something was bothering him, not when he saw how happy you looked. He couldn’t be the one to disrupt that joy.

“Spence?” Your voice softened as you noticed the subtle shift in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long, as if he was lost in thought. “You okay?”

He blinked, his face instantly smoothing into a look of reassurance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, his voice a bit too light. “I was just really... engaged in what you were saying. You always tell such great stories.”

Your smile brightened, the warmth of his words making you feel lighter, like you were walking on air. You chuckled, your fingers playing with the rim of your coffee cup as you gazed at him. “You smooth talker.”

Spencer returned your smile, but beneath it, a twinge of doubt lingered. He didn’t want you to think there was anything wrong—didn’t want to give away the insecurity gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to feeling unsure about something. But the thought of appearing inferior to you, of not being enough, was something he couldn’t shake.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious to the internal struggle he was masking. You were just happy—so incredibly happy. In all your past relationships, there had been a constant feeling of walking on eggshells, of waiting for things to fall apart. But with Spencer, it was different. He was different. His kindness, his gentle heart, his brilliant mind—it was everything you hadn’t even realized you were searching for.

Spencer was the best person you had ever dated. And it scared you, deeply. The fear of messing things up gnawed at the back of your mind constantly. What if this ended the same way your past relationships had? What if this incredible thing you had with Spencer was fleeting, destined to crumble just like all the others?

But you didn’t want to think about that now. Not when you were sitting here with him, sharing moments that felt real, that felt good. You let out a breath, pushing away the nagging thoughts. Spencer made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

You caught his gaze again, your eyes softening as you took him in. “You know,” you started, leaning in a little closer, “I feel so lucky to have met you, Spencer. You’re... you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever been with.”

Spencer's heart ached at your words, a bittersweet pang that settled deep in his chest. You said it with such sincerity, such affection, but all he could hear were the things that made him different in a way he didn’t want to be. Of course, he was unlike anyone else you’d been with. How could he compare to the others? He was awkward, inexperienced, and—by his own assessment—weird. The guy who overthought everything, who could recite obscure facts but had no idea how to casually flirt or initiate a kiss without rehearsing it a dozen times in his head first.

So he forced a weak smile, nodding as if your words had filled him with the same happiness they brought you. But inside, it only made him feel more out of place, like he was somehow failing at this relationship without you even knowing.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell you that being with you was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But instead, he let the moment pass, watching as your face lit up with excitement, diving into another story.

He focused on your words, or at least tried to. You had this way of captivating him, of pulling him into whatever you were talking about, but right now, it was harder to stay present. The feeling of inadequacy, of not being enough, pressed heavily on him. As you talked about past adventures, dates with friends, and experiences that felt so far removed from anything he’d ever known, Spencer couldn’t help as his fingers nervously tapped against the side of his cup, his mind wandering.

—

It was late, well past midnight, when you noticed Spencer’s quiet sigh as he shifted beside you in bed. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. You had been reading, but you couldn’t focus on the book in your hands. Not when you could feel the weight of something pressing down on Spencer.

You set the book aside, turning onto your side to face him, your hand resting gently on his chest. “Spence,” you whispered softly, “what’s going on?”

His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he sighed again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your arm where it draped over him. “I don’t know,” he muttered, though the heaviness in his voice said otherwise.

You waited, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. That was how these late-night conversations always started. Sometimes it took a while for Spencer to find the words to express what was on his mind, and you had learned to give him that space.

Eventually, he turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowed, eyes shadowed with the insecurities he often tried to hide. “It’s just... I keep thinking about how different we are. You’ve had all these experiences, and I... haven’t. I’m still figuring things out, and sometimes I worry... I worry that it’s not enough for you. That I’m not enough.”

Your heart ached for him, the depth of his vulnerability cutting through the quiet of the night. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could. “Spencer,” you whispered against his shoulder, “I don’t care about any of that. You being a—less experienced… doesn’t matter to me. It never has, and it never will.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath, his arms coming around you in return, but the tension in his body didn’t fully ease. “But what if... what if you change your mind? What if one day you realize I’m... I’m just not enough? I don’t know how to be what you deserve.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. “Spence, listen to me,” you said firmly but gently. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I didn’t fall in love with you because of some checklist of experiences or expectations. I fell in love with you. All of you. The dorkiness, the brilliance, the way you look at the world. I don’t care if you never want to have sex, or if we figure it out together. What matters is that I love you, exactly as you are.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to where your fingers were tracing soothing circles on his chest. “I want to believe that,” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile.

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “I know it’s hard,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. With you. Always.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the world outside. Spencer’s grip on you tightened as if holding on to the reassurance you offered. The doubt didn’t disappear entirely—it never really did. But you could feel him relax into your embrace, letting himself lean on you, trusting in your words even if the insecurities still lingered.

“You know,” you said after a while, a playful lilt entering your voice to lighten the mood, “you’re not the only one who has insecurities, Spence.”

He turned his head, curiosity softening the edges of his earlier worry. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m terrified of messing this up. Of somehow ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Your voice was light, but the truth behind it was evident.

His brow furrowed, clearly confused. “You? You’re worried about messing things up?”

You nodded, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah. Every relationship I’ve had before this… it’s ended in an unsavory way. I don’t want that to happen with us, I don’t want us to end at all. You’re different, Spencer. In the best way. And I want this to last.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “I guess we’re both a little scared, then.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, resting your forehead against his. “But we’re in this together, okay? No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”

He kissed you then, a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. When you pulled away, he whispered, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “You deserve every bit of happiness, Spencer Reid. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Though the insecurities never fully went away, they didn’t define your relationship. Over time, those late-night conversations became a safe place for both of you, a time to share your fears and your hopes, to remind each other of what you had.

And despite the occasional moments of doubt, you and Spencer were happy—truly happy. You built a relationship that was healthy, full of love, trust, and understanding. You were a team, navigating life together, and every step forward only brought you closer.

Because, in the end, it wasn’t about who had more experience or who was more confident. It was about being there, for each other, in every way that mattered. And that was more than enough.

—

Sean Hotchner leaned against the doorframe of Aaron’s office, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the professional atmosphere of the BAU. His hair was longer than Aaron remembered, tousled in a way that made it look like he had just rolled out of bed. The leather jacket slung over his shoulder was worn, his jeans frayed at the edges. Aaron barely looked up from his paperwork as Sean cleared his throat, but the tension in the room was palpable.

"Sean," Aaron greeted flatly, his tone carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken frustrations. He didn’t even need to ask why his younger brother was here. Sean only showed up when he needed something.

“Aaron, man, I need help,” Sean began, already trying to soften his tone as he stepped inside. He glanced at the bullpen behind him, noticing the open door but not caring enough to close it. "I, uh, got fired from my job. Again."

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his hand clenching around the pen he held. "And?"

"And I lost my apartment," Sean continued, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have anywhere to go. I was hoping… I could crash with you for a bit. Just until I get back on my feet."

Aaron finally looked up, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied his brother. His fingers drummed impatiently against the desk as he exhaled through his nose. “So, let me get this straight—you got fired, again, and now you’re asking to live with me? Sean, this is the third time. When are you going to take responsibility for your life?”

Sean shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his boots. “I know, I know. It’s just... I hit a rough patch, alright? I’ll figure it out, I just need some time.”

Aaron’s frustration boiled just beneath the surface, his voice rising slightly, enough that it carried out into the bullpen. “You always say that, Sean. ‘I’ll figure it out.’ But you never do. I can’t keep bailing you out every time you screw up.”

In the bullpen, the conversation didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone sat at their desks, their eyes darting toward Aaron’s office. Emily leaned over to JJ, lowering her voice but not enough to hide her words.

“Is that Hotch’s brother?” Emily whispered, her eyes widening as she watched Sean from across the room.

JJ nodded, her gaze flicking between Aaron’s stern expression and Sean’s slouched posture. “Yeah, that’s Sean. He hasn’t been around in a while.”

Penelope, standing nearby, leaned in with wide, curious eyes. “Okay, but, uh... is it just me or is Sean... kind of hot?”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk forming on her lips. “Oh, it’s not just you. He’s definitely got that... bad boy thing going on.”

JJ chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You two are terrible.”

Penelope shrugged dramatically. “What? I mean, I’ve heard stories, but I didn’t know Hotch had such an attractive brother! Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I’d be thinking some very impure thoughts right now.”

“Garcia,” JJ admonished lightly, but she was clearly amused.

They all tried to suppress their laughter, watching as Aaron’s stern voice carried into the bullpen, his frustration with Sean evident. But they couldn’t help the whispered commentary as Sean stood there, looking like the picture of trouble.

“I’d hate to see what Hotch is going to do to him once that door closes,” Emily mused, shaking her head. “But I have to admit, he’s got a certain... charm.”

Penelope wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Maybe I should go in there and offer him some moral support.”

JJ rolled her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs right now.”

Back in the office, Aaron had stood up, his hands planted firmly on his desk as he glared at Sean. "You need to grow up, Sean. This can’t keep happening. I’ve got Jack to think about now. I’m not running a halfway house."

Sean's shoulders slumped, his voice lowering as he tried to appease his brother. "I know, Aaron. But I don’t have anyone else. Please, just this one last time. I swear I won’t mess it up."

Aaron ran a hand over his face, torn between anger and the sense of duty he always felt toward his family, no matter how much they disappointed him. His voice softened slightly, but only just. “This is the last time, Sean. I mean it.”

Sean gave a small nod, grateful but visibly embarrassed, as he mumbled, “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

As he turned to leave the office, the gossiping trio quickly straightened up, trying to look busy. But as Sean made his way toward the exit, Penelope couldn’t resist shooting one last glance, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... Hotch’s brother, right? Who knew?”

JJ stifled a laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to her paperwork. Meanwhile, Emily just smiled knowingly, her eyes trailing after Sean for a moment longer before settling back into work.

No one noticed Spencer sitting at his desk behind them, listening to every word.

—

That evening you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, plates of food between you, but Spencer’s voice held an unusual tension as he recounted the events of the day. His fork poked absentmindedly at his meal, his eyes flickering between you and his plate as he spoke.

“So, Sean Hotchner showed up at the bureau today,” Spencer began, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. “Apparently, he’s having a tough time. Lost his job again.”

You tilted your head slightly, setting your fork down to give him your full attention. “Sean? Aaron’s younger brother, right?”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah. He’s... been bouncing around, trying to figure things out. He came to Hotch for help, and it sounds like he’s pretty desperate.”

You sighed softly, a familiar pang tugging at your heart. You knew that feeling all too well—the desperation, the uncertainty of trying to rebuild when everything felt like it was crumbling. “That’s rough. I feel for him. It’s not easy trying to make something of yourself when you’ve hit rock bottom.”

Spencer glanced at you, his brows knitting together slightly. He knew your story, knew how hard you had worked to pull yourself up and build something successful out of nothing. Owning a nightclub wasn’t just a job—it was a symbol of everything you had overcome.

You took a sip of your drink, lost in thought for a moment before something clicked. “Does Sean have any bartending experience?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question. “Uh, yeah, actually. He’s worked at a few bars. That’s where he got fired from, this last place.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you reached for your phone, fingers quickly typing out a message. Spencer watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his curiosity was piqued.

You looked up, still smiling as you explained, “I’m texting Hotch. I can offer Sean a working interview tomorrow at my club. We’re always looking for good bartenders, and if he’s in need, it’s worth a shot, right?”

Spencer froze, his fork hovering in mid-air, his brain scrambling to catch up with what you’d just said. He forced a smile, but there was a storm brewing inside him. Not because you had texted Hotch—Spencer had long accepted that your relationship with his boss had developed into a friendly, professional one—but because of Sean.

He had seen Sean walk into the bureau today, watched as the women in the office had practically swooned when they saw him. Sean was tall, undeniably attractive, with an easy charm that Spencer knew was irresistible. It didn’t help that Sean had a reputation. Spencer knew he had “gotten around,” experienced in ways that Spencer wasn’t. And now, Sean was going to be working for you, in your club, where you’d be seeing him regularly.

Jealousy gnawed at Spencer’s insides, dark and insidious, feeding on his deepest fears—that one day, someone else would come along. Someone like Sean. More experienced, more charming, more… everything.

But he couldn’t let you see that. He couldn’t let you know how much this was eating at him. So, instead, he plastered on a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.

“That’s... that’s really generous of you,” Spencer said, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “I’m proud of you, honestly. It’s such a kind thing to do, helping him out like that.”

You beamed at his words, unaware of the storm raging inside him. “Well, it just makes sense, you know? If he’s a good bartender, why not give him a chance? It’s not like I’m handing him the job—he still has to prove himself.”

Spencer nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you. He could see how happy you were to be able to help, how genuine your intentions were, and it only made him feel worse for the insecurities twisting in his gut.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “I love you, Spence,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re okay with this. I was worried you might think I was overstepping by getting involved.”

Spencer swallowed hard, squeezing your hand gently. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he lied, his smile still in place. “I love you too, and I’m so proud of how much you’ve accomplished. You’re always looking out for people, giving them chances. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

You smiled again, leaning across the table to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Spence. That means a lot.”

As the conversation shifted to other topics, Spencer kept his mask firmly in place, not letting his doubts show. But deep down, that gnawing feeling refused to go away. No matter how much he tried to push it aside, the thought lingered: What if one day, you realized someone like Sean was better?

—

Sean had already impressed you the moment he walked through the doors of your nightclub, right on time for his working interview. Dressed in the attire you had specified—black from head to toe—he looked sharp and professional. You had expected someone more casual, maybe even a bit cocky given his reputation, but Sean Hotchner showed up ready to work.

Aaron had called earlier that morning, expressing his gratitude for your offer. "I really appreciate this," he had said, his voice heavy with something between relief and exhaustion. "But you don’t have to feel obligated to help Sean. He’s not your responsibility."

You had assured Aaron you didn’t mind at all. After all, you were always on the lookout for good bartenders. "Especially since I just promoted my best bartender to the VIP level," you had explained. “We’ve got space to fill, and if Sean can handle the bar, it’ll be a win-win.”

Now, as you watched Sean behind the bar, you felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He moved with precision, taking orders smoothly, mixing drinks quickly, and keeping up with the flow of the night like a seasoned professional. It was clear he had experience, and that gave you a sense of relief. You had taken a chance on him by allowing him to skip the usual server stage, something you typically required of all new hires. But it seemed like that gamble was paying off.

You made your way over to the bar as Sean finished serving a group of customers. He noticed you approaching and straightened up, giving you a nod. "How’s it going?" you asked, leaning against the counter with an approving smile.

“So far, so good,” Sean replied, a hint of confidence in his voice. “I’m used to a fast pace. It feels good to be back behind the bar.”

You smiled, appreciating his composure. “I have to say, you’re doing a great job. I usually don’t let people jump straight to bartending, but you’ve handled everything perfectly tonight.”

Sean’s face lit up with a genuine smile, his posture relaxing a little. "Thanks, that means a lot."

You nodded, understanding the weight of those words. "I think we can skip the formalities—if you’re interested, the job’s yours."

Sean’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by the offer. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," you confirmed. "You’ve shown me enough tonight. You know what you’re doing, and I could use someone like you on the team."

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the swiftness of it all, before breaking into a grin. "Thank you. Seriously, I won’t let you down."

"You’d better not," you teased, giving him a wink. "Welcome to the team."

As Sean returned to his work, you stood back, watching him interact with customers and noticing how well he fit in with the atmosphere of the club. He was a natural behind the bar, and you were already confident in your decision.

The next day, before the crowd came in, Aaron stopped by to check on his brother. As you greeted him, he glanced toward the bar, where Sean was preparing before what was supposed to be a busy shift.

"I have to thank you again," Aaron said, his tone sincere. "Sean needed this, more than you know."

You shook your head, brushing off the sentiment with a smile. "He’s doing a great job. Honestly, I think I’m the one who got lucky. You were right—he’s not my responsibility, but I’m happy to have him here."

Aaron gave a small, appreciative nod, his face softening. "I’ll make sure he knows how grateful he should be. You’ve done more for him than you realize."

You smiled, watching as Sean continued his work, his focus sharp and his movements steady. "He’s earned it, Aaron. I’m glad I took the chance."

Later that night, the club was in full swing, lights flashing in sync with the beat of the music, and the energy was palpable. People crowded the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, while others clustered around the bar, talking and laughing as they sipped their drinks. You navigated the floor easily, greeting regulars and keeping an eye on how things were running. It was a typical Friday night—lively, loud, and just the way you liked it.

In the center of the dance floor, Derek and Emily were having the time of their lives. Derek had drawn Emily out to dance almost as soon as they arrived, and now the two were lost in the music. Emily laughed as Derek spun her around, her dark hair flying as she moved effortlessly with him. Their laughter echoed even over the thumping bass, and it was clear that they were in their element, shaking off the stress of the week.

“Come on, Em! You can do better than that!” Derek teased, flashing her that playful grin he was famous for.

“Oh, you think so?” Emily shot back, her competitive side kicking in as she matched his dance moves with a flick of her hips. “Watch and learn, Morgan.”

Nearby, JJ stood at a high-top table, sipping a cocktail while watching them, shaking her head with an amused smile. “They’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing softly.

“They’re having fun,” Penelope added, her eyes glowing with excitement as she scanned the room. “This place is amazing! Y/N has really outdone herself!”

But Spencer was quieter than the rest, standing a little farther back from the group, his drink untouched in his hand as his eyes remained locked on the bar where Sean worked. He wasn’t dancing or chatting like the others; his focus was entirely on you and Sean. Spencer’s jaw tightened slightly as he watched the two of you exchanging easy conversation. You stood at the bar, laughing at something Sean said as he mixed drinks with practiced ease.

Sean was good, no doubt about it. He looked completely in his element behind the bar, effortlessly charming customers as he handed out drinks, his smile quick and easy. And there you were, standing beside him, looking equally relaxed and at home in your own nightclub. You smiled at Sean, gave him a friendly nudge as you helped out, your laughter ringing out above the hum of the crowd.

Spencer’s grip on his glass tightened just a fraction.

"Spence?" JJ’s voice pulled him out of his spiral. She was looking at him with concern, her head tilted slightly. "You good?"

Spencer quickly forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

JJ gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. “You sure? You’ve been staring at the bar for a while now.”

Spencer swallowed, forcing his gaze away from the scene. “Just... keeping an eye on things,” he said, trying to sound casual.

But his eyes drifted back, drawn to the way you leaned in close to talk to Sean, laughing easily at something he said. Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the irrational jealousy. He didn’t want to feel this way—not when he trusted you so deeply. But the insecurities simmered just beneath the surface, no matter how much he tried to tamp them down.

At the bar, you noticed Spencer’s gaze from across the room, giving him a quick wave and a bright smile, unaware of the storm brewing in his head. Spencer waved back, forcing himself to return your smile, but his heart was still heavy with the weight of his unspoken fears.

As Derek and Emily continued to dance, their carefree energy a stark contrast to the tension building inside Spencer, he tried to push his jealousy aside. He wanted to trust in what you had, to remind himself that you loved him, not Sean.

But as he watched you lean against the bar, your attention completely on Sean as he worked, Spencer couldn’t help but feel that gnawing insecurity settle deeper in his chest.

Spencer’s eyes flickered toward you again as you moved across the club, checking on customers, making sure everything was running smoothly. Even in your all-black uniform, which was meant to look professional, you somehow made it look effortlessly chic. The fitted black blazer, the lace tights, and that sleek skirt—it all came together in a way that caught people's attention. And it wasn’t just the customers. Spencer saw how Sean’s gaze lingered a little too long every time you walked away, his eyes drifting down to the hem of your skirt, to the low neckline of your top.

It didn’t sit right with Spencer. He tried to tell himself that Sean wasn’t doing anything out of line—he was just looking, and maybe that was normal. You looked amazing, after all. But it gnawed at him, the way Sean’s eyes followed you, the way he smiled that easy, flirtatious smile at customers and coworkers alike. There was something too comfortable about the way Sean was acting, and Spencer couldn’t shake the irritation growing in his chest.

JJ was talking with Penelope next to him, her attention catching on Sean’s antics at the bar. She chuckled, leaning closer to Spencer, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Classic Sean,” she said, shaking her head as she watched him chat up a group of women by the bar. “Talking up every person within earshot.”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He didn’t find it funny. His fingers gripped his drink a little tighter, his jaw tensing as he tried to ignore the bubbling jealousy rising inside him. Sean wasn’t just talking to the women, he was clearly charming them, making them giggle and blush with every word.

Why did I even come tonight? Spencer thought to himself. Maybe staying home would have been the better option. Watching Sean work the bar—watching him charm the customers, and worse, watching him look at you—was a slow burn of frustration that Spencer didn’t know how to handle.

JJ nudged him lightly with her elbow. “You sure you’re alright, Spence?”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I promise, I’m fine,” he said quietly, though his thoughts were far from fine.

He didn’t want to seem insecure, didn’t want to show just how much Sean’s presence was bothering him. But it was hard to shake the image of Sean’s lingering glances, the flirtatious air about him, and the unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe, Sean was good for you in ways that Spencer wasn’t.

As you made your way over to Spencer and his friends, completely unaware of the internal storm that had been brewing inside your boyfriend all night, your smile brightened when you saw him. “Hi, baby,” you said sweetly, leaning down to give Spencer a quick peck on the lips.

But to your surprise, instead of the brief kiss you were expecting, Spencer’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. His lips lingered on yours longer than usual, and the intensity of the gesture caught you off guard. You could feel the heat of his hands through the fabric of your blazer, the possessiveness in his grip that was unlike him, especially in public.

When you finally pulled back, slightly dazed, your cheeks flushed as you whispered, “Damn, baby, what did I do to deserve that?” You playfully tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, grinning at him.

Spencer’s grip on you didn’t falter. In fact, he pulled you even closer, positioning you between his spread thighs from where he sat on the stool. His gaze was soft, but there was something in his eyes, something deeper. “You just look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling heat rise to your face. Spencer wasn’t usually so bold, so forward—especially not in front of other people. The sweet boy you loved was often shy, reserved, but this moment? This was different. It was as if he was trying to show you something, stake a quiet claim that you couldn’t quite understand.

You gave him another quick kiss, smiling softly against his lips before pulling back. “Well, thank you,” you said, feeling your own cheeks flush. You glanced at the group with a bright smile before excusing yourself to check on a few things at the bar. As you walked away, Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand still resting on his thigh, feeling the lingering warmth where he’d held you close.

No sooner had you disappeared from view than Penelope was already nudging Spencer with a playful grin. “Spencer Reid!” she teased, her voice brimming with amusement as she lightly slapped his shoulder. “Save it for later, horn dog!”

Spencer felt his entire face turn scarlet, his heart pounding with embarrassment. He wasn’t trying to be… well, that! But the way Penelope’s eyes twinkled, the implication that she thought the two of you were all over each other in that way, made him squirm in his seat.

“Oh, come on, don’t blush, pretty boy,” Penelope giggled, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “You’ve been staring at her all night. We know what’s on your mind.”

JJ joined in, her laugh warm and teasing. “Yeah, Spence, is that why you’ve been keeping an eye on her all night? Can’t wait to get Y/N all to yourself later?”

Spencer wished he could disappear into thin air. He shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the heat rising to his ears. “Something like that,” he muttered, but the truth weighed heavier on him than he wanted to admit.

It wasn’t that Spencer wasn’t physically attracted to you—he adored every part of you—but the teasing only made him feel more inadequate, more aware of the gap between your experience and his. The others didn’t know. They had no idea that he hadn’t crossed the line into physical intimacy with you yet, despite your relationship being serious, despite you having already moved in together and said “I love you.”

Most couples would have by now, he thought bitterly. And everyone else, Penelope and JJ included—they probably assumed you two were just like everyone else, that he was just another guy in a committed relationship. The teasing implied as much.

But Spencer knew the truth, and it gnawed at him—those dark fears he kept bottled up, that you would eventually find someone more experienced, more capable, someone who could offer you more than he ever could.

The soft click of the door echoed through the apartment as you stepped inside, already feeling the exhaustion from the long night creeping in. It was well past 3:00 a.m., the time when the world was quiet, and you expected the same from your apartment. Usually, Spencer would be fast asleep by now, his rhythmic breathing a comforting sound you’d find when you crawled into bed after closing the club. But tonight, as you set your bag down and kicked off your heels, you were surprised to see the warm glow of a lamp in the living room.

Spencer was sitting in his favorite green armchair, the soft pages of a book resting in his lap as he looked up, a sleepy but genuine grin spreading across his face. The sight of him there, waiting for you, made your heart swell. His hair was slightly disheveled, his long fingers trailing off the edge of the chair as he beckoned you closer with open arms.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice warm and low, the kind of greeting that made you feel instantly at home.

You couldn’t resist the invitation, crossing the room in a few quick strides before slipping into his arms, settling into the chair with him. “Hi, my love,” you sighed, leaning into his warmth, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you inhaled his familiar scent. The combination of coffee and books was something uniquely Spencer, and it always made you feel safe.

“How was closing?” he asked, his voice gentle as his hand moved to stroke your back in slow, soothing circles.

You shivered lightly at his touch, enjoying the familiar rhythm of his fingers. “It was fine,” you murmured, your breath soft against his neck. “Sean is so much faster than Amber was. It makes things a lot easier.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you felt it. The way Spencer’s body tensed beneath you, the way his hand paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe he was just tired—but then his touch changed. The gentle strokes on your back turned into something more deliberate, more intent as his hand slid lower.

“Hmmm,” Spencer hummed, his tone almost too casual. “I’m glad he’s been helpful.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but your thoughts trailed off as Spencer’s hand slid down further, past the small of your back, coming to rest on your thigh. His fingers pressed into the fabric there, his thumb tracing slow circles that sent a shiver through you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—Spencer’s touch was always affectionate, but this felt different.

“Yeah, he really has been—” Your sentence was cut short as Spencer’s hand traveled higher, his fingers brushing over your ass with a boldness that caught you off guard. His touch was unmistakable now, filled with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing from your typically gentle and reserved boyfriend.

You lifted your head, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind this sudden shift. His gaze was dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—jealousy and possessiveness that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked, his voice a little rougher than usual, his hand still resting firmly on your body.

You blinked, your heart racing a little faster as you processed his question. “Yeah, baby, of course,” you whispered, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb. You gave him a reassuring smile, letting him know there was nothing to be uncertain about. “You can touch me anywhere.”

At your words, you felt something shift in Spencer. A quiet storm brewing behind his soft exterior, flared up. His hand flexed against you, and you could see it in his eyes now—he was staking his claim, reminding himself, and maybe even you, that he was the one who had the right to be close to you like this.

He was the one allowed to touch you, to hold you, to love you. Not Sean, not anyone else. Only him.

Without another word, Spencer pulled you closer, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to make sure you understood. You weren’t sure where this sudden intensity came from, but it made your heart race in a different way. This wasn’t the soft, shy Spencer you were used to. This was something deeper, something more primal. And for a moment, you were both wrapped up in it, the quiet room charged with unspoken tension.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, slow and tender, hoping to ease whatever storm was brewing inside him. “Spence,” you whispered against his lips, “I’m yours.”

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest as the moment stretched between you. He had always felt a deep sense of attraction for you, but acting on it had been something he’d carefully avoided—out of nervousness, out of insecurity. But tonight there was something about the way you had reassured him, the way you said he could touch you, that ignited a new kind of confidence in him.

He leaned down, closing the space between you, and kissed you with a passion that surprised even him. It was much like the kiss you’d shared earlier at the club, only this time there was an intensity behind it—a hunger that had been quietly building for a long time. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved with yours, no longer tentative, but sure, as though he had made a silent decision within himself.

You were taken aback for only a brief moment, but not at all upset by the new direction your night was taking. If anything, you were thrilled to see this side of him, this bolder, more assertive Spencer. You brought both hands up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently stroking his jawline as you kissed him back, pouring all your affection into the moment. His hands, meanwhile, began to roam your body, exploring what little he could in this current position, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips, your thighs. There was an eagerness in his touch, a yearning that you could feel pulsing from him.

You could sense that he wanted more, that he wasn’t sure how to ask for it, but you knew. You knew exactly what he needed. Without a word, you sat up from where you were nestled in his lap, moving slowly so you could shift your position. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap and settling back down, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Then, with a teasing smile, you took his hands in yours, guiding them back to where he seemed to want them the most—onto your ass.

“Better?” you asked, your smirk playful, though your heart was racing just as fast as his.

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the weight of your body on his lap combined with the newfound freedom in his touch making him dizzy with need. His fingers instinctively squeezed the flesh beneath them, reveling in the feeling of holding you like this, of having you so close.

“Much,” he managed to say, his voice weak with desire, his eyes wide as he looked up at you. He leaned forward again, capturing your lips in another kiss, more urgent this time. His hands tightened around you, holding you as if afraid you might slip away. You could feel the tension in his body as he leaned into the kiss, the way he was holding back so much yet giving in more than he ever had before.

The kiss deepened, and you could feel the heat between you building as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, then found their way back to your ass, squeezing you with newfound confidence. He wasn’t just nervous Spencer anymore—he was Spencer who wanted you, and that thought made you smile against his lips.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath and look into his eyes. His gaze was filled with a mix of awe and desire, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, yet he was determined to take the leap.

“I love this side of you,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair as you leaned your forehead against his. “But we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

As you whispered those reassuring words, you saw the subtle flicker of doubt flash across Spencer’s face. His confidence, which had been so bold a moment ago, seemed to waver. You could practically see the question forming in his mind—Did you not want this? Was he misreading the situation?

You were quick to close the gap between his fear and your truth. “I want to do everything with you, baby,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing against his with tender intent. Then, in a playful move, you gently bit down on his bottom lip, just enough to make him whine, a small, needy sound escaping his throat that sent a thrill through you. “I just don’t want to rush anything,” you continued, your voice soothing but firm. “We have all the time in the world.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, making sure your next words landed where they needed to. “I am not going anywhere, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.”

Spencer’s chest rose and fell with the deep breath he took, his gaze softening as your words sank in. He nodded, his hand still resting possessively on your waist. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath but carrying the full weight of his emotions.

You smiled at him, a loving, genuine smile that only deepened his feelings. “I love you more,” you whispered back before leaning down to kiss him again.

In that moment, the kiss was everything. Soft, slow, reassuring, full of the love and trust that you’d both built together. But then, as you shifted in his lap, your body moved instinctively—rolling your hips ever so slightly. You hadn’t meant to, but the unmistakable hardness beneath you pressed against your core, causing a delicious friction that neither of you expected.

Spencer whimpered into your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained, his hips jerking upward involuntarily in response to the sudden, new form of pleasure. The sensation seemed to spark something deep inside him, a rush of need that had been bubbling under the surface for so long. You felt his fingers tighten on your waist, his breath hitching as he chased the friction, his body moving beneath you as if on autopilot.

The way Spencer reacted to the brief touch, the soft sounds of desperation coming from him, sent a thrill through your own body. You could feel the heat rising between you both, the chemistry shifting from sweet to something more electric. Your lips hovered just above his, your breath mingling with his as you caught the look in his eyes—dark, yearning, and yet still so full of love.

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring every second as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Spence…” you whispered, his name a quiet plea on your lips, “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Mhm,” he whined softly, eyes closed as he leaned into the feeling, chasing the sensation your touch brought him. His body responded instinctively, moving with you, completely lost in the moment.

You were just about to suggest something more, thinking about shedding some of the clothing between you, when suddenly, Spencer stilled beneath you. His entire body tensed, and before you could ask what was wrong, he let out a long, unexpected moan. You felt it—an undeniable wetness seeping through your tights.

Spencer’s eyes shot open in mortification, his face flushing crimson as he realized what had just happened. Panic set in immediately, and without a word, he scrambled out from under you, pushing you off gently but urgently as he bolted toward the bathroom.

You barely had time to process what had happened before he disappeared behind the door. The sound of it closing echoed through the quiet apartment, leaving you sitting there, still feeling the heat of the moment but now overtaken by concern. You stood up, adjusting yourself and taking a deep breath, your mind quickly shifting from your own arousal to Spencer’s sudden distress.

You followed him to the bathroom, heart heavy as you heard him breathing heavily on the other side of the door. Gently, you knocked, your voice soft and filled with care. “Spencer? Honey, are you okay?”

A sniffle came from the other side, a sound that broke your heart. “No,” he whimpered, his voice small, ashamed.

You leaned your forehead against the door, trying to offer him comfort without pushing too hard. “Can I come in?” you asked, your tone gentle and filled with reassurance.

“No,” he answered again, his voice cracking, clearly embarrassed.

You sighed softly, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to make sure he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of. “Why not, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but persistent.

Spencer hesitated, his breath shaky as he tried to find the words. “Because... because I... I... ruined it,” he stammered, his voice thick with tears.

Your heart broke at his words. Ruined it? There was nothing to ruin. You leaned against the door more firmly, wanting him to hear the sincerity in your voice. “Spencer,” you said softly, “you didn’t ruin anything, my love. Please let me in. We can talk about it, okay?”

He sniffled again, his breathing still shaky. You could hear him shifting on the other side, his back still pressed against the door. “I... I couldn’t control it. I didn’t mean to... it’s so embarrassing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you reassured him, feeling your own heart ache for him. “It’s normal. It happens. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise.”

There was a pause, and you could hear him take a deep breath, as if he was trying to gather himself. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

Slowly, you opened the door and found Spencer standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding yours out of sheer mortification. Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

He hesitated at first, still feeling the weight of his embarrassment, but eventually, his arms came around you, holding on tightly as if you were his lifeline.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. Your eyes were filled with nothing but love and understanding. “Spencer, you don’t have to be sorry,” you said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He blinked at you, clearly still struggling to accept that. “But... it was... I didn’t even—”

“Shh,” you soothed him, gently placing a finger against his lips, your voice soft but reassuring. “How about we focus on how that felt, yeah?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, tilting his head at you, still unsure how to navigate this moment. His embarrassment was still fresh, but your calmness helped ease the tension that had built up inside him.

“Did it feel good, baby?” you asked, your tone gentle and coaxing. “Like something you’d want to try again?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the realization hit Spencer—what you were doing. You weren’t focusing on his embarrassment, his mistake. You were helping him see past it, guiding him back to what mattered: the feeling you had shared, the intimacy of the moment. His heart swelled with gratitude, a soft warmth spreading through his chest.

“Yes,” he said softly, his voice filled with relief and sincerity. “It did.”

You smiled up at him, and that smile was all it took to melt the remaining tension in his body. Leaning in, you kissed him, a slow and tender kiss filled with the reassurance that everything was okay, that he was okay. “I liked it too,” you whispered against his lips. “Maybe we can do that again soon?”

Spencer’s lips quirked into a small smile, more confident this time. “I would like that,” he admitted, his voice steady, a little more sure of himself.

Your heart swarmed with affection as you pulled him close, pressing your cheek against his as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his body relaxing into yours. You gently rubbed his back, feeling the tension ease from his muscles as he sighed against your skin.

“Do you want to shower, Spence?” you asked softly, your hand trailing soothing patterns up and down his back.

Spencer nuzzled closer to you, his voice a low mumble into your skin. “Together?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “We can,” you hummed, “but if that’s too much right now, I don’t mind leaving. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Spencer shook his head rapidly, pulling you closer. “Don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“Okay, okay,” you soothed, your fingers still brushing lightly across his back. “I won’t leave. We can shower together.”

Spencer sighed happily, his arms tightening around you as if to confirm that you were staying, that you weren’t going anywhere. He pressed a soft kiss to your neck before mumbling, “Just… don’t look at my penis, please?”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up, but you quickly reassured him, kissing his cheek as you whispered, “Of course, my love. My eyes will stay on your face.”

With that promise, Spencer relaxed further into you, his trust in you deepening with every passing second. The shame and embarrassment from earlier slowly dissolved, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you accepted him fully, without judgment. You held him for a moment longer, your arms wrapped securely around him.

The shower was filled with steam and laughter, the sound of water splashing mixing with your playful giggles and Spencer’s rare, carefree chuckles. It was the first time you had shared the shower, a new experience that was turning out to be much more fun than either of you had expected. Usually, one of you would sit outside on the toilet, talking through the curtain while the other showered. But now, the barrier was gone, and the playful side of both of you was in full swing.

You couldn’t resist puffing your cheeks full of water and spitting it in Spencer’s direction, making him laugh out loud as droplets hit his chest. “Hey!” he protested, though his grin betrayed him as he retaliated with a splash of his own, his hands sending a wave of water your way.

You laughed, dodging the water as best as you could, enjoying this lighthearted, silly moment between you two. It was refreshing to see Spencer like this, so relaxed, his usual careful demeanor replaced with playful mischief.

But there was something else too. Spencer tried his hardest to keep his eyes on your face—his eyes darting up quickly whenever they drifted a little lower. You couldn’t help but giggle each time he looked away, a blush creeping up his neck, his face flushed for reasons beyond just the heat of the shower.

After the fourth or fifth time of catching him sneaking a glance only to immediately avert his eyes, you decided to call him out on it. “Spencer,” you giggled, crossing your arms over your chest playfully. “I am your girlfriend, you know?”

Spencer looked back at you, his brow furrowing in that adorable, confused way he did when he was trying to figure something out. “I know that, why are you asking?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, genuinely perplexed.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his expression, shaking your head in amusement. “Because, you big dork,” you cackled, “you’re allowed to look at my boobs! You can even touch them if you want!”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his blush deepening as he processed your words. “I—well, I just didn’t want to... I mean...” He stammered, looking flustered but also a little curious, his gaze flickering down before darting back up to your eyes. “I didn’t want to seem disrespectful.”

You burst out laughing, stepping closer to him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Spence,” you said between your giggles, “you could never be disrespectful. Trust me.”

He blinked, still looking a little unsure but also charmed by your playfulness. “I... I guess that makes sense,” he murmured, his lips curving into a shy smile.

You rolled your eyes affectionately, moving his hands from your waist to your chest with a smirk. “Here, I’ll even help you.”

Spencer’s face turned crimson as he felt the softness beneath his hands, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin as if he were still processing what was happening. His touch was tentative, delicate, like he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his nose. “See? Not so scary, right?”

He swallowed, finally letting himself relax a little, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “Not scary,” he echoed softly, his eyes filled with a mix of wonder and affection. Then, as if realizing the silliness of it all, he let out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself.

You both stood there in the warmth of the shower, your bodies close, the steam curling around you as Spencer finally allowed himself to look, to touch, to enjoy this new level of intimacy with you. It was another step in your relationship, one that made both of you feel more connected, more comfortable with each other.

But as always, you couldn’t resist keeping the moment light. With a mischievous grin, you puffed your cheeks full of water again and spat it playfully in Spencer’s direction, causing him to sputter in surprise and laugh as he wiped his face.

“Hey!” he laughed, shaking his head as water dripped from his hair. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, backing up against the wall of the shower with a grin. “What are you gonna do about it, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, the playful dynamic back in full swing, earlier embarrassment long forgotten. It was just the two of you now, laughing, teasing, and enjoying each other in the most carefree way. And that, in the end, was what made this moment perfect.

—

As the weeks rolled on, Spencer found himself spending more and more time at your nightclub. It had become a routine for him during his free weekends, a way to be closer to you. On the busier nights, he would sit at the bar, watching you work, admiring the way you effortlessly ran the place. And on weeknights, when you invited the bartenders in during closed hours to practice making new drinks, Spencer would linger in the background, quietly observing.

But each time he visited, something gnawed at him. It wasn’t just the crowd, the music, or the dim lighting of the club—it was Sean. At first, Spencer tried to brush it off. He chalked it up to Sean’s naturally charming personality, how bartenders often carried themselves with confidence, flirting with customers as part of the job. But now, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like there was something more.

Sean’s eyes seemed to linger on you longer than they should, or at least that’s how it appeared to Spencer. Over the past few weeks, with Spencer spending more time at the club, he became convinced that Sean had started flirting with you. His words seemed just a bit too smooth, his smiles lingered a little too long. Spencer couldn’t ignore the casual way Sean would lean in when he spoke to you or how he seemed overly attentive whenever you checked in at the bar.

What Spencer didn’t know, however, was that Sean had recently confided in you about his lack of attraction to women. While he wasn’t out of the closet yet, he wanted to make sure his playful, flirtatious behavior was never misunderstood. It was all in good fun, a way to keep the atmosphere light and easy at work, and he trusted you enough to share his truth, knowing it wouldn’t affect your friendship or professional relationship.

One night, after a long day, you and Spencer were curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as the two of you settled into your usual post-work relaxation. You were absentmindedly playing with Spencer’s hand while a TV show played in the background, the glow of the screen filling the cozy living room. But Spencer’s mind wasn’t on the show. His thoughts were elsewhere—back at the club, and back on Sean.

“Hey…” Spencer began, his voice hesitant as his fingers traced small circles on your knee.

You looked over at him, smiling softly. “Yeah, babe?”

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to sound paranoid, but the thought had been eating away at him for days now. “I think… I think Sean’s been flirting with you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his statement. “What? Sean?” The idea made you laugh—not to be dismissive of Spencer’s feelings, but the thought of Sean flirting with you, his boss, was almost comical. “Spence, no way.”

He frowned slightly, feeling a bit vulnerable after putting it out there. “I’m serious. He looks at you… and I’ve heard him make little comments. I don’t know, it just feels like he’s always trying to get your attention in a certain way.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, though your tone was softer this time, recognizing the seriousness in his voice. “Baby, bartenders flirt. It’s literally part of the job. They flirt with everyone—it doesn’t mean anything.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped slightly. He knew you didn’t mean to dismiss his concern, but it stung a little. “Yeah, I know, but… it’s different with him. I see the way he acts around you. It’s not the same as with other people.”

You shifted, sitting up a bit to face him, brushing a hand through his hair. “Spencer, I promise you, Sean’s just doing his job. If he’s flirting, he’s doing it with every customer that walks through the door.” You smiled warmly, leaning in to kiss him softly. “And even if he was flirting with me, it wouldn’t matter. You’re the only one I have eyes for.”

Your words were meant to reassure him, but Spencer still felt that unease. He didn’t doubt your loyalty or love for him, but there was something about Sean that bothered him. He could sense it—the subtle charm, the lingering glances that made his stomach twist with jealousy. But he didn’t want to seem overly paranoid or insecure, especially not after you had laughed off the idea. So, instead of pushing it further, Spencer just nodded, giving you a weak smile in return.

“Yeah… you’re probably right,” he murmured, though the knot in his chest hadn’t untangled.

You kissed him again, resting your head on his shoulder. “Of course I’m right. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

But even as you both settled back into your cozy position, Spencer couldn’t shake the nagging feeling. He didn’t want to keep bringing it up, didn’t want to seem annoyingly jealous or insecure, so he kept it bottled up after that night, silently watching from the sidelines each time he visited the club. But each time Sean’s eyes lingered too long on you, or every time Spencer caught the slight inflection in Sean’s voice when he spoke to you, the feeling festered inside him, unresolved.

—

Spencer hadn't realized just how much his pent-up frustration was affecting him—at least, not until the team started to notice. What began as subtle shifts in his demeanor during interrogations had gradually turned into something much more obvious. Spencer had always been the calm, logical one. The genius with a kind heart, who often sought to understand unsubs and their motivations. But recently, something had changed.

During takedowns, Spencer's grip on suspects was firmer, his actions more aggressive than they needed to be. When it came to interviews and interrogations, he was no longer the patient profiler with a steady voice. His words were sharp, cold, and sometimes downright cutting. He'd lean in too close, his eyes dark with intensity, and his voice would drop to a low, threatening tone that made even the most hardened criminals flinch. He became a version of himself that no one on the team recognized.

It all came to a head when they brought in a person of interest—someone who wasn’t even officially connected to the crime yet, just a potential witness. The woman had been nervous enough as it was, but the moment Spencer stepped into the interrogation room, his usual warmth and understanding were gone. Instead, he stared her down, his eyes hard, his tone biting as he drilled her with questions. The more she stammered, the harsher he became, until finally, the woman broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

Hotch had seen enough. The moment Spencer walked out of the interrogation room, his jaw tight and his hands clenched at his sides, Hotch made the decision to pull him aside.

“Reid, conference room. Now.”

Spencer barely glanced up, his frustration still evident, but he followed Hotch without a word. The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances as they watched him disappear into the room, the door closing firmly behind them.

Hotch turned to face Spencer, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. "What the hell is going on with you, Reid?" His voice was stern but not unkind, giving Spencer the chance to explain himself.

Spencer, still bristling with residual anger, shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Hotch meant, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

“You made a person of interest cry, Spencer,” Hotch said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That woman was barely connected to the case, and you broke her down like she was the unsub. This isn’t like you.”

Spencer crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “She wasn’t cooperating. I was just trying to get the truth out of her.”

“There are ways to get the truth out of people that don’t involve scaring them,” Hotch countered. “You’ve always known that. But this—this isn’t the Reid we all know. What’s going on?”

Spencer clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, making some excuse about the stress of the job, but he knew Hotch wouldn’t buy it. The truth of it was, Spencer didn’t even fully understand what had been driving him lately. All he knew was that something inside him had shifted, a growing aggression that he couldn’t quite shake.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Spencer muttered, though he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

“Reid, you and I both know that’s not true,” Hotch said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve been on edge for weeks. I’ve noticed it, and so has the rest of the team. Whatever’s going on with you, you need to talk about it. Before it gets worse.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of the one thing that had been eating away at him for weeks: Sean and the club. The jealousy, the fear, the constant feeling that he wasn’t enough. He had tried to keep it bottled up, had tried to pretend that everything was fine, but clearly, it wasn’t. And now, it was affecting his work—affecting who he was.

“I…” Spencer’s voice faltered, his throat tightening as he realized how ridiculous it might sound to Hotch. But there was no point in hiding it anymore. “It’s personal.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, his gaze steady as he waited for Spencer to continue. The silence stretched between them, a gentle but firm reminder that Hotch was giving Spencer space to be honest.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the conversation hanging over him. He knew what Hotch was expecting, what he should say, but the truth was harder to face than he anticipated.

“I’ll talk to someone,” Spencer finally said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a tired gesture. His voice was laced with reluctance, but there was a genuine attempt to reassure his boss. “I promise.”

Hotch studied him for a moment longer, the skepticism clear in his eyes, though he didn’t vocalize it. He knew Spencer well enough to recognize when he was pushing something down, burying it beneath layers of self-control and avoidance. And as much as Hotch wanted to push further, he also knew that Spencer was an adult—one who had to take ownership of his own emotions.

“Alright,” Hotch finally said, his tone even. “I’m trusting you to handle this, Spencer. Don’t let it get worse.”

Spencer nodded, though a small part of him wasn’t sure if he’d follow through. But the weight of Hotch’s gaze made it clear that this conversation wouldn’t be forgotten easily.

Hotch gave a final nod, his demeanor softening just slightly as he spoke. “Take care of yourself, Reid.”

Spencer forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I will,” he said, though the truth of the promise felt heavy.

With that, the conversation ended, and Spencer made his way out of Hotch’s office, feeling the quiet pressure of everything that had built up inside him over the past few weeks. He knew he had to do something about it—he had to talk to you, or someone, before this spiral led him further down a path he didn’t want to follow.

For now, though, he’d keep the promise to himself, hoping that he’d find the strength to follow through.

—

Spencer had barely set foot through the door before you were there to greet him, your usual warmth and love surrounding him as you kissed him softly, welcoming him home. But instead of the usual sense of relief he felt in your embrace, something inside him snapped. The frustration from the case, from everything that had been building inside him, surged to the surface.

Without thinking, Spencer grabbed your face, pulling you into a deep, urgent kiss. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you were used to from him—it was rough, almost desperate. He devoured your mouth like he was trying to lose himself in you, his hands gripping you tighter than usual. You assumed it was just the result of a tough case, and maybe he just missed you. But something about the intensity of it was off.

As Spencer’s hands tugged at the hem of your shirt, right there in the walkway by the front door, you tried to pull back slightly to ask him if everything was okay. But he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care—because he kept tugging, his fingers working to get your shirt over your head.

You let him pull it off, still unsure of what was going on but trusting that Spencer wouldn’t act like this without reason. Maybe he just needed you, needed to feel close to you. But when he backed you towards the bedroom with that same roughness, something in the pit of your stomach twisted with unease.

Then, when he pushed you onto the bed—aggressively, without the usual care he always showed—alarm bells started ringing in your head.

"Spencer!" you called out, your voice louder than intended, hoping it would snap him out of whatever was happening.

But Spencer didn’t stop. If he noticed your tone, he either misread it or ignored it, because he crawled over you, his hands fumbling with your pants now, too focused on what he was doing to realize you were uncomfortable.

Panic set in then. This wasn’t your Spencer. He had never acted like this before. You pushed at his hands, your heart racing as you called out again, louder this time.

“Spencer, stop!” you shouted, finally shoving his hands away from your waist.

Spencer froze, his body going rigid above you as your words seemed to cut through the fog of whatever had taken over him. His eyes widened slightly, and you could see the mix of confusion and shame washing over his face as he registered what you had said.

“What’s gotten into you?” you asked, your voice breathless but firm, your hands still on his chest to keep some distance between you.

For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything. He looked away, the sting of rejection clear in the way his shoulders slumped and his hands fell limply to his sides. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice quiet and defensive.

You sat up, pulling your shirt back on, your concern growing with every second that passed. “It’s obviously something, Spence. You’ve never acted like this before.”

Spencer kept his eyes down, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I just missed you,” he mumbled, though you could tell there was more to it than that. The way he was avoiding your eyes, the tension in his body—it all told you that this wasn’t just about missing you.

You reached for his hand, gently pulling him to sit down on the bed beside you. “I know you missed me,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone calm and reassuring. “But this isn’t like you. Please, talk to me.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might stay silent. But then, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if he was trying to push away whatever emotions were swirling inside him.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with frustration. “I’ve just… I’ve been feeling so off lately. Angry. Insecure. And I keep telling myself not to, but… I can’t stop thinking about Sean, and how he looks at you, and how much better he is at everything, and—” He stopped abruptly, his hands clenching into fists in his lap as he tried to control the storm of emotions building inside him.

You blinked, finally starting to piece together the reason behind his behavior. “Spence, this is about Sean?”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, his silence confirming your suspicions. He finally looked up at you, and in his eyes, you saw all the fear, jealousy, and insecurity he had been trying to hide for weeks.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you love me, and I know he’s just a bartender at your club, but… I can’t stop feeling like I’m not enough. Like you’ll realize you could have someone… better.”

Your heart broke at his words. You cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Spencer,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “You are more than enough. I love you. There is no one better for me. Sean is just a coworker. You’re the man I want, please believe me.”

Spencer sat back on his heels, looking down at his hands, feeling the weight of his own frustration and shame. He had never wanted to make you uncomfortable, never wanted to act like this, but the jealousy that had been building inside him finally broke through. Now, here he was, on the edge of ruining something so precious to him.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we talked about it, and I know you don’t see Sean that way. It’s just… it’s so hard, watching him flirt with you every day. And you don’t stop him. It feels like… like I’m not enough.”

You sat up, still catching your breath from the intensity of the moment, but your heart ached hearing his words. You hadn’t realized how deep his insecurities ran. The playful flirting from Sean, which you had brushed off as part of the job, had been festering inside Spencer for weeks, and you hadn’t seen it.

“Spencer, baby,” you started, your voice gentle but firm as you reached for his hand. “You are enough. More than enough. I don’t let him flirt with me because I want him to, or because I’m interested. It’s his job to be friendly, charming even, but that’s all it is. I don’t see Sean the way I see you. I only have eyes for you.”

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “But what if one day… what if one day you change your mind?” he asked softly, the fear evident in his voice. “What if one day, you find someone who’s more… experienced, more everything?”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “That’s not going to happen, Spencer,” you said firmly. “I love you. Not because of experience, or because of anything physical, but because of who you are. You’re kind, brilliant, thoughtful, and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. No one else even comes close.”

Spencer swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to… to act like that. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You stroked his cheek, offering him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “But we need to talk about these things, okay? If you’re feeling like this, I want to know. I don’t want you to keep it bottled up until it explodes like this.”

Spencer nodded, his head dipping down as he let out a shaky breath. “I know. I just… I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You’re not weak, Spencer,” you said softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And I’m here for you, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”

He let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing as the tension drained out of him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if he were afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.

“I love you too, Spencer,” you whispered back, holding him just as tightly. "Always."

Later that evening, after Spencer had unpacked his things and taken a long, soothing bath, the two of you settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie playing softly in the background. The warm, familiar glow of your living room felt comforting, but you couldn’t help but notice how hesitant Spencer was. He sat beside you, his body tense, his hands resting awkwardly in his lap, as though he was afraid to touch you.

It broke your heart to see him like this, to see him so uncertain. You knew he still felt guilty about what had happened earlier, worried that he had somehow ruined everything.

“Honey,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “You can still hold me, you know… or if you’d rather, do you want me to hold you?”

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and hesitation. But then, slowly, he nodded, his expression softening as he shifted on the couch. He leaned over, laying his head gently in your lap, and you couldn’t help but smile at how vulnerable and sweet he looked in that moment.

As soon as his head was settled, you instinctively began playing with his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands as you stroked him gently. You felt him relax under your touch, his body finally easing into the comfort of your presence.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice soothing as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. “Earlier, I was worried because we haven’t gone that far before. That doesn’t mean I never want you to touch me again. Okay? I just want us to be on the same page, to make sure we’re both ready.”

He nodded again, his face nestled against your thigh as he let out a soft sigh. “I get it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to push you or anything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling.”

You leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. “I know, baby. And we’ll figure it out together, at our own pace. There’s no rush.”

Spencer shifted slightly, looking up at you with soft, grateful eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “For being so understanding.”

You smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss his forehead once more. “I’ll always understand, Spence. You never have to be afraid of that.”

As you continued to play with his hair, Spencer closed his eyes, letting the comfort of the moment wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body melt away, and soon enough, he was relaxed and peaceful, knowing that everything between you two was going to be okay.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Spencer felt like he could truly breathe again.

—

You had taken a Friday night off to be with Spencer, trusting your number two to keep things running smoothly. Spencer had taken you to dinner, wined and dined you before bringing you home and kissing you sweetly. Now the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate atmosphere around you both. You had been kissing for what felt like hours, tender and slow, taking your time with each other. Spencer’s hands had wandered, tentative at first, but growing more confident as the moments passed. You had already reassured him a dozen times over that you were ready, that this was something you wanted to share with him.

And now, the moment was here. You laid in front of him, completely bare, your skin bathed in the soft light. Spencer’s eyes roamed over your body, wide and filled with awe. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands shaking slightly as they reached out to touch you. He was gentle, reverent, as though he were afraid of hurting you by merely looking.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his fingertips ghosted over your skin. He took his time, memorizing every curve, every line, as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection as you leaned down to kiss him. “Thank you, baby.”

Spencer swallowed hard, still staring in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re perfect.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with warmth. "I’m not perfect, Spence."

He looked at you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "You are to me," he said, his voice full of honesty and affection.

With only mild hesitation, Spencer leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone, his lips trailing slowly down to your breasts. He explored every inch of you with care, his lips brushing your skin tenderly. You couldn't help but let out soft whines of pleasure, and Spencer, trying to learn what you like, paid extra attention when your sounds grew louder, lingering in the spots that made your breath hitch.

As your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, gripping softly, Spencer's teeth accidentally grazed your nipple when his lips suctioned to your breast. The unexpected sensation caused you to arch your back and moan loudly, the sound filling the quiet room.

Spencer immediately pulled back, his face filled with concern, eyes wide in alarm. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice was thick with worry, afraid he had crossed a line.

You shook your head quickly, reassuring him as your hands stroked his hair gently. "No, no, baby, I liked it," you whispered, your breath still shaky from the pleasure. "It's okay. It felt good."

Relief washed over Spencer’s face, his lips curling into a small, nervous smile as he realized he hadn’t hurt you. He leaned back in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and this time, he allowed himself to explore you with even more confidence, knowing that you were both in this together.

Spencer froze for a moment, his eyes wide with concern, his breath shaky as he pulled back just enough to search your face. His brow furrowed, worry evident in every inch of his expression. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. His hands hovered over your body, not daring to touch you until he knew for certain that you were alright.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection at just how much he cared. Reaching up, you gently brushed a hand through his hair, guiding him back toward you. “I’m sure, Spence. I liked it, I promise,” you whispered reassuringly. “You didn’t hurt me. In fact, I liked it a lot.”

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, still looking for any signs of discomfort, but all he found was warmth and trust. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, the tension in his body easing as he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though his face softened with a hint of relief. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, pulling him closer, your hands threading through his hair again, this time more gently. “You don’t have to apologize,” you murmured against his lips. “I love everything you do, Spencer. Just… trust me, okay? Trust that I’ll tell you if something is wrong.”

He nodded, still looking a little unsure but reassured by the sincerity in your voice. His eyes softened as he leaned back down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before trailing them once more along your collarbone, and then lower, toward your chest. This time, there was a careful gentleness in his touch, though the intensity hadn’t faded.

You arched your back again, your body responding to his kisses, to the way his lips brushed against your skin with both tenderness and a growing confidence. As he felt you grip his hair again, Spencer’s lips paused just for a moment, as if waiting for any sign that you weren’t comfortable. But when your soft moans filled the room, he took that as all the permission he needed to continue.

His lips pressed harder, his hands exploring your body with more intent, and this time, when his teeth grazed your skin, he did it purposefully, testing the boundaries of your pleasure.

And when you moaned again, louder this time, Spencer felt a surge of something—both pride and desire—swell inside him. He kissed you again, his lips and teeth finding the spots that made your breath hitch, his hands moving with a confidence that he hadn’t known he possessed until now.

In that moment, you both shared something deeper, a connection that wasn’t just about trust but about exploring each other fully, knowing that in this space, in this moment, there was nothing but love, vulnerability, and acceptance.

—

The bookstore was a haven of calm, a peaceful retreat from the world. The scent of old paper, leather-bound books, and the soft rustle of pages being turned created an atmosphere of quiet serenity. It was the perfect place for you and Spencer to spend the afternoon.

From the moment you walked in, hand in hand, you could see how at home Spencer felt here. His eyes lit up with excitement as he scanned the shelves, fingers trailing over spines as if each book held a personal story he was waiting to uncover. You loved watching him like this—so in his element, so absorbed in his passion for knowledge and discovery.

But, of course, the playful side of you couldn’t resist adding a bit of mischief to the day. As Spencer dove headfirst into the non-fiction section, his attention already lost in the spines of ancient history volumes, you snuck off into a different aisle, peeking around the corner like a spy on a secret mission. You had been teasing him since you arrived—jumping out at him from behind shelves, sneaking little pokes and playful scares.

You watched from your hiding spot, stifling a giggle as Spencer carefully examined a thick book, oblivious to your plan. His brow furrowed in concentration, a small smile playing on his lips as he skimmed the pages. You took the opportunity to tiptoe closer, hiding behind a row of shelves, waiting for the perfect moment.

Finally, when Spencer rounded the corner, deep in thought about which book to buy next, you jumped out, arms raised in mock menace. “Gotcha!” you shouted with glee.

Spencer yelped, his eyes going wide in surprise as he stumbled back a step. For a split second, his brain went into overdrive, trying to process the sudden "threat." But then, his startled expression melted into laughter. “You’re ridiculous!” he chuckled, shaking his head at you, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with him, your giggles filling the quiet space between the rows of books. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug, your face pressing against his chest as you felt his warmth seep into you.

“Maybe,” you said with a grin, looking up at him, “but you love it.”

Spencer’s smile softened, his arms coming around you as he held you close. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “I do,” he murmured, his voice gentle, full of affection. “I really do.”

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other, the world fading away as the quiet of the bookstore enveloped you. Spencer's hand moved up to your back, rubbing slow circles as you soaked in the comfort of the moment. There was something magical about being here together, surrounded by the books he loved and the peaceful intimacy of just being with each other.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly, your playful grin returning. “Alright, Dr. Reid,” you teased, “what book are we getting?”

Spencer's eyes lit up again, and he immediately turned his attention back to the stack of books he had been eyeing. "Well," he began, his voice taking on that enthusiastic tone you loved so much, "I’ve been looking at this one on the history of cryptography. It has some fascinating insights into early codebreaking techniques used in ancient times, and—" He caught himself, his eyes flickering to yours as he smiled sheepishly. “But I’m not sure you want to hear me ramble about that.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to him and placing your hand on his arm. “I always want to hear you ramble, Spence,” you said sincerely. “Tell me all about it.”

His eyes softened, and for the next few minutes, he explained the intricacies of the book, his voice animated and full of passion. You listened intently, loving every second of seeing him so in his element.

After Spencer finished his enthusiastic information dump, the way his eyes lit up while talking about cryptography and ancient codebreaking made your heart swell. You couldn't resist the urge any longer. Without saying a word, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his, filled with all the affection you felt in that moment.

Spencer blinked in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face as you pulled back. “What was that for?” he asked, his tone playful, though his cheeks flushed pink from the unexpected kiss.

You shook your head, smiling warmly as you looked into his eyes. “I just love you so much,” you said softly, feeling your chest fill with warmth at how easy it was to be with him, how completely in love with him you were in moments like this.

His grin softened into something more tender, and his hand found yours on the table, squeezing it gently. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and that same vulnerability that always made your heart flutter.

—

The next time you found yourselves in an intimate position, the energy was different. The tables had turned, and now it was Spencer’s turn to be vulnerable, to bare himself completely to you. As you stood together in the hallway, you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of the moment pressing softly between you two.

“Spence, are you sure?” you asked gently, guiding him by the hands into the bedroom, your fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles. “There’s no rush, baby. We can take our time.”

Spencer paused, meeting your gaze with a nervous but determined smile. His heart was pounding, but he trusted you—more than anything. “Yeah,” he said, giving you a small nod. His voice trembled slightly with nerves, but his eyes were soft with affection. “You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine, right?” He laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly, trying to lighten the tension.

You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for him. “Exactly,” you said softly. “But only if you’re ready.”

He nodded again, more confidently this time. “I’m ready.”

Once inside the bedroom, the atmosphere felt warmer, more intimate. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, and as you stood in front of Spencer, you gently reached for the buttons on his shirt. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly as you carefully unbuttoned the fabric, your fingers brushing over his skin as you went.

With each button undone, you let your hands glide over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. You couldn’t resist the urge to lightly trace the curve of his sides, your touch featherlight as you tickled him just enough to make him giggle.

Spencer’s reaction was instant—his eyes squeezed shut as a small, surprised laugh escaped him, his hands quickly grabbing yours to still them. “Behave,” he playfully warned, his face flushed but full of affection.

You laughed softly, loving the way his guard was down, how he trusted you so completely in this moment. “Sorry,” you teased, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his collarbone, your lips brushing against the smooth skin. “I couldn’t resist.”

He let out a soft hum, his fingers still holding yours but more gently now, as if to anchor himself. He was nervous, you could tell, but he was also present, allowing himself to be open with you in a way that made your heart swell.

As you helped him slip off his shirt completely, you took a step back, your eyes scanning his body with nothing but admiration. Spencer’s vulnerability in this moment only made you love him more. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, but he was doing this for you, for both of you, and that meant the world.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice sincere as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. “You don’t have to be nervous with me, Spence. I love all of you.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, the tension in his body easing slightly as your words settled over him. He leaned into your touch, his hands resting gently on your waist as he let out a small, relieved breath. “I know,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude and affection. “And I love you, too.”

Spencer took a deep breath as you carefully removed the last of his clothing, leaving him completely bare before you. The tension in the room was palpable, but you couldn't resist easing it with a light-hearted joke. “Can I look this time?” you asked with a teasing grin.

Spencer laughed, the sound nervous but genuine, and it was enough to break the heavy silence hanging over you both. “Yes,” he replied, his voice still a bit shaky. “You can look.”

So look you did, your eyes trailing down his body with genuine admiration. And when your gaze settled, you couldn’t help but let out a playful gasp, your tone incredulous. “You’ve been hiding this from me? Are you kidding, Spencer?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face for a brief second. “What? Is it… is it bad?” His voice trembled, the insecurities he’d tried so hard to suppress bubbling up to the surface again.

You immediately shook your head, moving closer to him, gently pushing him to lie back on the bed as you sat beside him. “No, baby, it’s not bad,” you reassured him softly. Your hand reached out, wrapping around him gently, and Spencer’s body tensed at the sensation. “It’s really not bad.”

“Ah—fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips instinctively bucked upward. It was the first time he had ever felt someone else touch him like this, and the overwhelming sensation sent shivers through his entire body. His breath hitched, and his hands fisted in the sheets, the intensity of the moment almost too much for him.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, your thumb gently brushing over his tip as you whispered, “You are so pretty, baby.”

Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest, his face flushing as he absorbed your words. The mix of vulnerability and pleasure left him almost speechless, his mind reeling as you continued to touch him, each movement slow and careful. He had never felt anything like this before, and the way you handled him with such care only made him fall even more in love with you.

As your hand moved with gentle strokes, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering between kisses, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Spencer’s groans turned softer, his body melting into the bed beneath you as he let go of his fear, letting himself trust in you completely. “I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice laced with both awe and gratitude.

“And I love you,” you whispered back, knowing that this was more than just a physical connection—it was a moment of deep trust and love between you both.

You took your other hand, softly stroking Spencer's thighs, your fingers trailing gently over his strong, lean muscles. His body, always so unassuming beneath his clothes, was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. The way his thighs tensed under your touch made your mouth water, a thrill running through you as you explored this new side of him.

“Your body is so beautiful, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice tender and full of affection. “I hope you never hide it from me again.”

Spencer’s breath hitched at your words, his face flushed as his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, but also a growing confidence, fueled by the love and desire you showered him with. “I-I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, “that you’d think that.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his thigh, feeling his body tense beneath your lips. “Well, I do. And I always will.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his hand reaching out to grip your arm, needing something to ground himself as the intensity of your touch overwhelmed him. “You’re… amazing,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to caress him.

You smiled against his skin, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. “I’m just showing you what you deserve, Spence.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as your hand shifted from his thigh to gently cup his balls, rolling them softly between your fingers. His breath stuttered, and his body instinctively arched off the bed, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of pleasure. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white as he fought to hold on for just a moment longer, but it was no use. His back arched further, his hips jerking as he reached his peak, a loud, unrestrained moan escaping his lips as he came.

“There you go, baby,” you whispered softly, your voice soothing, filled with nothing but love and reassurance. “Let it go.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over him. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but not in the way that used to scare him. This time, it was different. This time, he felt safe with you, completely open and raw, knowing you wouldn’t judge him.

He tried not to feel embarrassed as the aftershocks pulsed through him, knowing full well he didn’t last long—especially not when it was you touching him like this. But there was something comforting in the way you held him, in the way your hands never faltered, even in moments like this. You didn’t mind.

And that reassurance made all the difference.

As he slowly came down from his high, Spencer let out a long, deep sigh, his body sinking into the bed beneath him. He blinked up at you, his cheeks still flushed, his breath still uneven. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t last long again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but there was less hesitation this time.

You smiled gently, brushing a hand through his messy hair and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Spence,” you said softly, your tone full of affection. “You know I don’t mind. I love you exactly the way you are.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at your words, the lingering tension in his body slowly dissipating. He gave you a small, shy smile, his hand finding yours and squeezing it lightly. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice full of sincerity.

You lay beside him, pulling him into your arms as his body finally relaxed, his breathing evening out. You continued to stroke his hair, the gentle rhythm calming him as you whispered sweet reassurances. And in that moment, Spencer realized just how lucky he was—to have you, to feel this safe, and to be loved in a way he had never known before.

—

It was the kind of lazy Sunday morning that begged you to stay in bed, curled up in soft blankets with no obligations pulling you away. The sun streamed lazily through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the room, but the promise of fresh pastries and coffee was too tempting to ignore. The two of you reluctantly peeled yourselves from the comfort of the bed, Spencer stretching languidly while you threw on something cozy for your impromptu breakfast outing.

The local bakery was a short walk away, and as you strolled hand-in-hand, the air crisp with a touch of autumn, you could smell the fresh bread and sweet confections wafting through the air long before you even arrived. The warm scent wrapped around you like a comforting hug, and Spencer squeezed your hand gently, smiling down at you as the two of you walked in step, enjoying the quiet simplicity of the moment.

Once you stepped inside, the small bakery was bustling, the display case filled with perfectly baked croissants, éclairs, and muffins, each one more enticing than the last. You and Spencer made your way to the counter, excitedly picking out a selection of pastries along with two steaming cups of coffee.

After grabbing your tray of treats, you found a little table tucked in the corner by the window, where the morning light spilled across the tabletop, catching the powdered sugar that had already dusted the surface. You sat down, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as the two of you settled into your seats, a quiet bubble of comfort surrounding you amidst the hum of the bakery.

The moment felt perfect, simple in its beauty, as you and Spencer started tearing into the pastries, the flaky layers scattering crumbs across the table. You picked up a piece of your croissant, the sweet filling spilling out, and with a playful grin, you held it up to Spencer’s lips.

“Here, try this,” you said, your eyes twinkling with amusement as you offered him the bite.

Spencer leaned forward, always eager to try something you loved, but as he took a bite, he purposefully let some of the creamy filling smear across his lips. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking your head as you leaned over the table to wipe it away with your thumb.

“Messy,” you teased, your voice full of affection as you swiped the pastry cream from his lips.

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched you, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, am I?” he said with a grin, and before you had a chance to react, he swiped some frosting from the sticky cinnamon roll and playfully dabbed it on your cheek.

“Now you’re messy,” he declared triumphantly, his smile widening as he watched your eyes go wide in surprise.

You gasped dramatically, reaching up to touch your cheek and finding the sticky frosting smeared across your skin. “Spencer!” you protested, laughing as you grabbed a napkin to clean yourself up, but not before flicking a tiny crumb in his direction in retaliation.

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! No more food fights,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he was enjoying every second of your playful exchange.

The two of you dissolved into laughter, the kind of uninhibited joy that made your sides ache and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the crumbs covering the table, not the frosting still clinging to your face, not even the curious glances from the other patrons. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in your own world of love, playfulness, and laughter.

—

The local library had always been Spencer's sanctuary, a place where he found comfort in the stillness, surrounded by shelves filled with knowledge, each book a portal to another world. He had spent countless hours there over the years, developing close bonds with the librarians who worked there. So, when the head librarian’s birthday party was being celebrated, Spencer was eager to bring you along, excited to introduce you to the people who had been a significant part of his life for so long.

As you walked through the library doors, Spencer’s hand tightly holding yours, you could sense how much this place meant to him. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a lightness in his step that spoke of his deep connection to this space. The library wasn’t just a building filled with books—it was part of his identity, a place where he found peace, knowledge, and belonging.

The event itself was small, intimate, just a gathering of close friends, staff, and patrons who knew the librarian well. Balloons were strung around the circulation desk, and a small table was set up with cupcakes and tea. The room buzzed softly with the chatter of people who clearly adored each other, and the air was filled with the smell of old books and sugary sweetness. It was simple, but it felt special, like you had stepped into a warm, welcoming corner of Spencer’s world.

As you entered, Spencer’s excitement was palpable. He gently tugged you along, his face beaming as he navigated the crowd with ease, weaving through the maze of bookshelves toward a small group of people near the front desk. The closer you got, the more you could feel his pride radiating from him.

Finally, you reached the librarian, a kind-faced woman in her sixties who immediately lit up when she saw Spencer. She welcomed him with open arms and a big smile. “Spencer!” she exclaimed warmly, her eyes twinkling with genuine affection. “I’m so glad you made it!”

Spencer smiled back, his hand never leaving yours as he took a step closer. “Of course,” he replied, his voice soft but full of enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Then, with a hint of excitement, he turned to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with love and pride as he introduced you. “I’ve been dying to introduce her to you.”

You could feel the weight of those words, how much it meant to him that you were there with him in this special place, sharing a piece of his world.

The librarian turned to you, her warm smile widening as she reached out to shake your hand. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she said with a knowing grin, her eyes flicking back to Spencer for a moment. “He never stops talking about how wonderful you are.”

Spencer blushed instantly, the pink flush creeping up his cheeks as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter, embarrassed but clearly proud at the same time. “She’s pretty amazing,” he said softly, glancing at you with such affection that it made your heart swell.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, your chest fluttering with warmth and love. In that small, cozy room filled with Spencer’s friends and colleagues, you felt like you were truly a part of his world, welcomed into the parts of him that were private, cherished, and deeply personal.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in easy conversation, with Spencer introducing you to more of the people who had become like family to him over the years. You could see how much they cared for him, how deeply they admired his intelligence and gentle nature, and how excited they were to meet you. Every introduction was filled with kind words and warm smiles, and each time Spencer’s hand remained in yours, his grip a reassuring constant, a reminder that this moment was as important to him as it was to you.

Later, as you both stood by the cupcake table, Spencer absentmindedly brushing crumbs off your chin from the chocolate cupcake you’d indulged in, you caught him watching you with a soft, almost reverent expression. “What?” you asked, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks under his gaze.

He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a tender smile. “I’m just really happy you’re here,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible above the low hum of chatter in the room.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “I’m happy to be here,” you replied softly. “I love seeing this side of you, Spence.”

He leaned down and kissed you gently on the forehead, his thumb stroking your hand as he pulled back. “You’re a part of it now,” he whispered. “A part of all of this.”

And in that moment, you felt like you truly were. Spencer’s world, filled with books, warmth, and the people who had shaped him, now included you. You were building something beautiful together—slowly, steadily, and with every shared experience, you were growing closer, learning more about each other, and weaving your lives together in ways that felt as natural as breathing.

—

Spencer had returned to the nightclub feeling confident and secure in your relationship. After all the beautiful moments you had shared—bookstore dates, Sunday mornings filled with laughter and pastries, intimate nights spent wrapped in each other's arms—he thought nothing could come between you two. But as soon as he stepped back into the club, all of that confidence started to erode.

At first, Spencer tried to keep calm, to enjoy the night as just another visit to your world. He watched you from across the room, smiling and laughing with the staff and customers. But then his gaze landed on Sean, who was standing much too close to you, his body language too familiar, his laugh too casual and comfortable. Spencer’s stomach churned, but he kept it to himself, telling himself that it was just work—that Sean had no place in your personal life.

But then it happened.

Spencer saw Sean’s hand casually smack your ass. You had your back to Spencer, so you couldn’t see his reaction, but you laughed at Sean’s action, clearly finding it harmless. You didn't think twice about it, but Spencer's vision blurred with a sudden surge of anger. His blood boiled, his breath caught in his chest, and every rational thought flew out of his mind. The sight of someone else—Sean, of all people—touching you like that felt like a punch to his gut.

Before he could stop himself, Spencer stormed across the club, his footsteps heavy with intent. His jaw was clenched, his hands balled into tight fists as he closed the distance between you and Sean. He didn’t care about the crowd or how it might look. All he could see was red—his insecurities and fears bubbling up to the surface with a force he hadn’t expected.

By the time he reached you, Sean was laughing, clearly oblivious to the brewing storm that was Spencer. Without a word, Spencer grabbed Sean by the collar, pulling him toward him with more aggression than he’d ever shown before. The music in the club seemed to dim in Spencer’s ears, and the people around him faded into the background.

“Don’t you ever touch her like that again,” Spencer growled, his voice low and dangerous, the words spilling out before he could even process them.

Your eyes widened in shock, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to see Spencer—his face twisted in anger, his usually calm and collected demeanor gone. You had never seen him like this before, never seen him this furious, this close to losing control. You quickly stepped between them, putting a hand on Spencer’s chest to stop him from doing something he’d regret.

“Spencer, stop!” you exclaimed, your voice laced with confusion and concern. “What are you doing?”

But Spencer’s gaze was locked on Sean, his grip on the bartender’s collar tight. Sean, for his part, looked stunned but didn’t fight back, raising his hands in defense.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, man,” Sean stammered, trying to defuse the situation. “It was just a joke.”

But to Spencer, it wasn’t a joke. It was a direct assault on everything he feared—the fear of not being enough, the insecurity that had been festering inside him since the day he first saw Sean. And now, all that pent-up jealousy and anger was pouring out in one destructive moment.

You could feel Spencer’s chest heaving beneath your hand, his breathing ragged as he stood there, frozen in his fury. Your heart raced, and you knew you needed to stop this before it escalated any further.

“Spence,” you said softly, trying to get through to him. “Baby, please let go. This isn’t you.”

For a long moment, it seemed like he hadn’t heard you, his eyes still boring into Sean’s. But then, slowly, the tension in Spencer’s body began to ease. His grip on Sean’s collar loosened, and finally, he let go, stepping back and running a shaky hand through his hair. His face was still flushed with anger, but the look in your eyes—hurt, confused, pleading—cut through the haze of his rage.

Spencer glanced between you and Sean, suddenly aware of what he’d done, of how far he’d let things go. Guilt washed over him like a cold wave, and he took a step back, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to fade.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the thumping music. “I didn’t mean to…”

But the damage was done. You stood there, still in shock, trying to process what had just happened, while Sean backed away, clearly wanting to put some distance between himself and the situation.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of what had just unfolded. Spencer—your Spencer—had never acted like this before. And as much as you wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, you couldn’t ignore the heaviness in your chest, the weight of what had just happened.

Spencer looked at you, his eyes wide with regret, but all you could do was stare back, unsure of what to say, unsure of what came next.

The tension in the air was palpable as security started making their way over, eyes locked on Spencer with the clear intent of handling the situation. Your heart sank even further, realizing that this night had spiraled so far out of control. Before you could say anything, Sean held up a hand to stop them. “It’s fine, Steve,” Sean sighed, shaking his head. “We’re good.”

But his words didn’t ease the knot in your chest. You looked at Sean, “Are you?” Then at Spencer, who stood there looking lost and ashamed. “Are we?” you muttered, your voice heavy with sadness. Without waiting for an answer, you turned on your heel and walked away, unable to even look at Spencer right now. The weight of his actions, of what had just happened, was too much to process in that moment.

Spencer’s heart dropped as he watched you walk away, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with every step you took. “Y/N! Please wait!” he called after you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too upset. He chased after you, his feet moving quicker as the panic set in. “Sweetheart, please!” Spencer begged, following you all the way back into your office.

You stepped inside, your hands shaking as you slammed the door shut behind you. The lock clicked into place, but before Spencer could say another word, you whirled around, the anger and frustration bubbling over.

“He’s fucking gay, Spencer!” you yelled, the words coming out with a mix of hurt and exasperation.

Spencer froze, his face falling in utter confusion. “What?” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what you just said.

“I didn’t tell you because it’s not my place,” you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of the emotions swirling inside you. “And frankly, it doesn’t fucking matter, but Jesus, Spencer!” You raised your hands in disbelief, the frustration too much to contain.

Spencer stood there, his mind racing as he tried to grasp what you were saying. “I—I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice weak, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know… I just, he slapped your—your butt, and I saw red. I lost control.”

You ran a hand over your arm, trying to calm yourself down, trying to make sense of why this had gotten so out of hand. Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there as you asked, “Spencer, you’ve seen my friends do it all the time. Hell, your team smacks your ass, and it’s all in good fun. How is it different?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes dropping to the floor as guilt washed over him. He didn’t have an answer—at least not one that made sense. The truth was, it wasn’t different. But somewhere in the haze of his jealousy and insecurity, he had convinced himself that Sean was a threat. That somehow, Sean’s friendship with you, the easy banter and playfulness between you two, meant he had something Spencer didn’t. And tonight, all of that had come crashing down in the worst way.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his shame. “I—I guess I just got scared. I got jealous. I didn’t think.”

You shook your head, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t think at all,” you muttered, your voice tinged with disappointment. “You didn’t trust me.”

Spencer winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him harder than any reprimand could. “I do trust you,” he said quickly, stepping forward, his hand reaching out for yours. “I trust you more than anyone. I just… I let my insecurities get the best of me. I know it was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing your temple as you tried to process everything. You wanted to believe him, to believe that this was just a one-time mistake, but the hurt still lingered. “Spencer, I love you,” you began, your voice softer now, but still firm. “But you can’t keep letting your insecurities drive you. I’ve told you time and time again—there’s no one else. No one but you.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that, I do. But when I saw that… when I saw him touch you, it just—everything I’ve been feeling came to the surface. And I’m so sorry I didn’t handle it better.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk, still trying to calm your racing heart. “You scared me, Spencer. I’ve never seen you act like that.”

He stepped closer, his face full of regret, his hand reaching out again as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to scare you. I just… I messed up. I know I did. Please, sweetheart, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t walk away from me.”

You looked at him, his eyes filled with guilt and desperation, and you knew he meant every word. Spencer was never one to lash out like this, never one to let his emotions get the best of him. But tonight, his insecurities had taken over, and now you both were left picking up the pieces.

After a long moment, you took a deep breath and nodded, your voice steady but still firm. “You need to work on this, Spencer. This jealousy, this need to protect me from something that isn’t even there. We can’t have this happen again.”

“I will,” he promised, stepping closer and taking your hands in his. “I swear to you, I’ll work on it. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just please… forgive me.”

"You need to go apologize to Sean," you said, your tone firm but not unkind. "And maybe... maybe you should think about seeing a therapist or counselor. This—this kind of insecurity, it’s not healthy for you or for us."

Spencer nodded, his head hanging low as he absorbed your words. He knew you were right. He had let his own fears and jealousy take control, and now he was faced with the aftermath. "You're right," he repeated, his voice tired and remorseful. "You’re absolutely right."

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. His mind was racing, filled with guilt and the weight of what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, and it hurt to think that he had not only disrespected Sean but also hurt you in the process.

"I’ll go apologize right now," Spencer said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremble beneath the surface. He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret, but also determination. He wanted to make this right. Not just for you, but for himself.

You gave him a small, encouraging nod, knowing that this was a step in the right direction. "Good," you replied quietly. "But Spence, don’t just apologize for what you did—make sure you understand why you did it. That’s the only way this is going to get better."

"I know," he said softly, his hand reaching out to take yours, squeezing gently. "I’ll fix this. I swear."

You watched as Spencer turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders slightly slumped with the weight of everything he had to face. As he left the office, you let out a long breath, hoping that this moment would be a turning point. For both of you.

Spencer walked up to the bar with hesitant steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the weight of what he needed to do, the guilt and embarrassment swirling together in a tight knot in his stomach. As he reached the bar, he stood there for a moment, awkwardly waiting for Sean to notice him. His palms were sweaty, and he rubbed them against his jeans, trying to calm himself.

Finally, Sean approached, clearly still a bit shaken from the earlier confrontation, but his expression was guarded, more curious than angry. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to speak.

“H–hi, Sean,” Spencer stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked up to meet Sean’s briefly before dropping back to the floor, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I… I am so sorry for what I did earlier.”

Sean’s face softened slightly, though his guard didn’t completely drop. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, waiting for Spencer to continue.

“I completely overreacted,” Spencer admitted, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I said and did things I never should have. You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t… I didn’t even know the whole story, and I just assumed the worst.”

Sean stayed quiet for a moment, studying Spencer. He could see the sincerity in Spencer’s eyes, the regret etched in every line of his face. Finally, Sean let out a soft sigh, uncrossing his arms.

“Look, man,” Sean began, his tone more understanding than Spencer had anticipated. “I get it. I’ve seen guys lose it over jealousy before. But that doesn’t make what you did okay.”

Spencer nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “I know,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s not okay, and I regret it. Y/N means everything to me, and I let my insecurities cloud my judgment. I’m not trying to make excuses… I just wanted to apologize.”

Sean leaned back slightly, his arms resting on the bar as he gave Spencer a small, almost sympathetic smile. “I appreciate the apology,” he said. “Just… maybe work on not jumping to conclusions next time, alright?”

Spencer nodded vigorously, his heart still racing but relieved that Sean hadn’t completely written him off. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I’m going to talk to someone about it. I’m… I know I need to deal with this.”

Sean nodded, his expression easing a little more. “Good. And just so you know, man, I’m not interested in Y/N. Like, at all.” He gave Spencer a meaningful look, letting the words sink in.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah… I, uh, I know now. I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

Sean let out a small chuckle, shaking his head and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’re good. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thank you, Sean,” he said quietly, feeling a weight lift from his chest. “I really appreciate it.”

Sean offered a small smile in return. “No problem. Take care of her, alright?”

Spencer nodded again, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination. “I will,” he promised, meaning every word.

And with that, Spencer turned away from the bar, feeling lighter than he had when he’d first walked up. He still had a lot of work to do, but this was a start—a step in the right direction.

—

Spencer navigated his way carefully through the hallway, dodging the maze of moving boxes that now cluttered the apartment. The feeling of excitement from his therapy breakthrough still thrummed inside him as he called out for you.

“Y/N!” he shouted, eager to share his day.

“In the bedroom!” your voice echoed back warmly.

As he pushed past the last of the boxes, Spencer entered the bedroom and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor. A box of printed photos lay open in front of you, and scattered around were dozens of pictures, some slightly faded with time, others bright and new. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, your cheeks glowing from a mixture of nostalgia and emotion.

“What do you have there, sweetheart?” Spencer asked gently, his voice filled with warmth as he crouched down beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You sniffled and smiled, holding up one of the photos—a snapshot of the two of you from a Sunday morning at the bakery, crumbs on your faces, laughing uncontrollably. “All of our memories,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I found this box while I was packing. I didn’t realize we had so many photos together.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at the sight of the old pictures and the happy tears in your eyes. He gently took the photo from your hand and studied it for a moment, the joy from that day flooding back to him. He remembered the way you had fed him pastries, how you had teased him for getting frosting on his nose, how perfect the world had felt in those little moments.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve made a lot of good memories, haven’t we?” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over the scattered photos.

You nodded, blinking back the tears as you picked up another picture—one from the bookstore, where you had sneakily snapped a photo of him deep in thought, completely absorbed in the world of books. “I never want to forget any of this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything the photos represented.

Spencer sat down beside you, his heart full as he looked over the memories you had collected. “Hey,” He said softly, taking your hand in his. “I had a breakthrough at therapy today.”

You looked up at him, your tear-filled eyes widening with interest. “You did?”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. I think I’m finally starting to understand where all that insecurity came from… and how to manage it better. I’ve still got a lot of work to do, but… I’m getting there.”

Your smile widened as you squeezed his hand, pride swelling in your chest. “Spence, that’s amazing,” you said, your voice filled with love and encouragement.

He squeezed your hand back, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve been so patient with me, even when I wasn’t always patient with myself.”

Your eyes widened at his words, the weight of the question sinking in as you looked up at Spencer. The room seemed to still for a moment, the sound of your breath catching in your throat the only noise breaking the silence. You blinked, trying to process what he had just asked, your heart racing in your chest.

“Will you marry me?” Spencer repeated, his voice softer this time, but no less certain. His eyes were filled with love, vulnerability, and a touch of nervousness, as if he’d been carrying this question for a while, waiting for the right moment to let it out.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time from pure joy. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you took in the sincerity of his expression. He wasn’t just asking for a promise—he was asking to continue writing the rest of your story together, side by side, forever.

You cupped his face with your hands, your heart swelling with love and excitement. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I’ll marry you.”

Spencer let out a breath he was holding, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears as he pulled you into a deep, heartfelt kiss. Relief, joy, and love coursed through him all at once, making the moment feel surreal. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let you go.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were laughing through the tears, caught up in the magic of the moment.

“You really want to marry me?” you teased gently, your forehead pressed against his, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek.

“More than anything in this world,” Spencer said, his voice full of conviction. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you nodded, still in awe of how this moment had unfolded. “I want that too,” you whispered, “forever.”

Spencer kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the sweetness of the moment, the promise of a future filled with more memories, more laughter, more love. And as you sat there, surrounded by the snapshots of your shared past, you couldn’t help but feel excited for all that was yet to come.

You pulled back from the kiss, a playful glint in your eyes. “And hey,” you teased, running a hand through his hair, “maybe you can wear white at the wedding.” Your smirk deepened as you watched Spencer’s expression shift from one of love to amusement.

Spencer threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound filling the room and making your heart flutter. You always loved how his laugh could light up any space. “I have one problem with your plan,” he said, still chuckling, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, honey?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, fully enjoying the banter between you two.

Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and full of playful confidence as he said, “I don’t plan on being pure for much longer.”

You burst into laughter, your cheeks flushed from both the teasing and the thrill of the moment. “Oh, is that so?” you teased, leaning into him, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

Spencer grinned, his blush deepening as he kissed you again, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “I guess we will,” he murmured against your lips, his tone both playful and full of promise.

The two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the lightness of the moment mingling with the deep love you shared. It was another memory added to the many you had created together, and you couldn’t help but feel that your future, together as partners, was only just beginning.

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lymtw · 11 months ago

Note

i’m in love with the way you write! i was wondering if you could make a fix with toji and shy reader during and after an argument? you don’t have to, just throwing it out. i really love your work and i’m so glad i stumbled upon your blog! <3

A/N: Thank you for reading and enjoying my work! 🫶

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

The drive back to your place was quiet. Toji was focused entirely on the road, not making conversation or even glancing at you like he normally would with that smirk on his face that let you know how happy he was to be with you. You tried making conversation, but you were met with dry responses and hums of mere acknowledgement. You felt the familiar nervousness and anxiety, but this time it wasn't brought on by feelings of love and disbelief that someone like Toji would give the time of day to someone who is so different from him. It was like he was in his own world, and you were cropped out of it, even if you were right beside him. You decided to give it another shot. Maybe he was just in deep thought about something related to a job. He did get a call from Shiu during your time out.

"That ice cream shop we went to was pretty good. We should definitely go back there, sometime." You turn to him, a soft smile on your face as you await his response.

He looks at you through his peripheral vision, doesn't turn his head at all. "Yeah, maybe," he responds, his voice low and borderline emotionless, like his replies to you were on autopilot.

You feel a lump beginning to form in your throat as, once again, you're met with a similar response to the ones he gave you before. You nod, and shortly after shrink. You turn your body towards the car door, and nestle your clasped hands between your thighs. It's as good as you can get into a curled position, given the space you're in.

The drive continued on this way. You pinned to the door, trying to understand what was the matter, and Toji seemingly looking straight down the road. What you didn't know was that he kept glancing at you. His eyes turned in your direction every so often. Contrary to his current demeanor, he didn't like seeing you this way.

Normally, you both lifted each other up.

You, with your way of brightening his days. You make him smile and laugh by being unknowingly funny and sweet, and he just loves how doe eyed you get when his laughter turns into him pulling you into a bear hug. An embrace that conveys how much he loves and appreciates you for making him happy. Your arms are home to him. You're his teddy bear as much as he is yours, because if you wake up at night after falling asleep together and tell him that you have to drive home, he won't let you go. He just grunts and tightens his arms around you.

Toji, with his way of taking care of you and the constant reassurances he offers you. He's well aware of your internal fragility. He knows you're tough when it comes to physical pain. Cuts, scrapes, bruises? Nothing to you. You tend to them and forget they're there until you break your skin again. He knows when you haven't eaten, he knows when you're sad, he knows when you need a little push to get difficult thoughts out. He lets you think you're good at hiding these things, but in reality, all it takes is a flicker of a shift in your mood and he's working to decipher what's wrong.

The sour mood followed you both into your home. You set down all your stuff and went into your room to dress down. Whenever you're upset you like to cover yourself up to lead your invisibility. Before you got dressed into your hoodie and baggy sweatpants, you wore the cutest floral dress. Toji couldn't keep his eyes off of you as he guided you through the streets. He used his privilege of being your man to its full advantage, then. He gawked at your hips as they naturally swayed with the flowy dress and he smirked when you turned to look at him as he carefully walked you through crowds with a hand on your lower back. He relished in how beautiful you looked in that dress, feeling like it was tailored to you with how perfectly it hugged your body and how pretty your skin looked in the color.

You walked out into the living room again, sparing one glance at Toji who was already sitting on the couch, before sitting on the floor. You picked up the TV remote and made haste of choosing the show you were supposed to start together, to end the heavy and uncomfortable silence in the room.

Toji looked at your frame from behind, and felt entirely baffled by the loudness of your choice to hide in these baggy clothes. This was not the same girl who paused in the middle of the busy sidewalk to quickly kiss his cheek and turned to keep walking right after. This was not the same girl who tugged on his shirt and pointed at the single, poof of a cloud in the sky and giggled. This was not the same girl who got flustered after he wiped ice cream off the corner of her lip and licked the remnants off his thumb.

The show began, introduced by a viewer discretion that was cut off by you pausing it. You turned your entire body to look at Toji who just raised his brows in confusion.

"Can you talk to me?" You say, crossing your legs and resting your hands in your lap.

"We can't talk during a show," he says, nonchalantly.

"The show isn't playing. We can talk."

He stares at you in silence before sighing. He doesn't want to argue with you. Not only is it draining for both of you, but he hates the tension that lingers when everything is supposedly resolved. Like you're both still thinking of the way you looked at each other and the things that were said.

"Just leave it. It's fine," he says, redirecting his attention back to the TV. It's eating him up inside, but he would rather bear that than say something he doesn't mean to you.

"It's obviously not fine, Toji. You're not talking to me like you usually do. You're not even looking at me, right now."

His intense gaze goes back to you. He can see the worry in your eyes, and some part deep inside of him wants this to stop. For the events that transpired to have never happened. For a stupid do-over that would give the movie theater date a chance instead of walking through town.

"Tell me what I did wrong, because I don't know and I don't understand."

"You're not dumb. You're not oblivious, either. Which is why i'm also having trouble understanding something."

Your heart pangs at the sound of his voice. He sounds hurt and upset and he looks just like it as well. You furrow your brows, but stay silent to give him a chance to talk.

"I stepped away for a minute. You know, when Shiu called?" He takes note of the way you nod in response. You've always been so attentive to the things he says. "That call lasted less than two minutes. I thought, my girl will be fine. If someone starts chatting her up, she'll politely decline and send them on their way." He smiles at you. There's no warmth in the expression. No light, no kindness, nothing but bitter, unspoken disappointment. "The guy even moved the chair from where it was across the table, to sit right next to you. I turn around and..." he chuckles, a sound that would normally bring you so much joy, but right now makes your heart sink to the depths of your stomach. "He's touching you. He has his hand on your back and the other one on your wrist and he's leaning in like he's trying to inhale you."

You stand up and move onto the couch, keeping the distance but still leveling yourself with him. "I didn't want that. I didn't want him to touch me, I-I didn't want him to sit next to me or be near me..." You try to explain the situation as clearly as you can and fail miserably as your words jumble up. All of your thoughts want to come out and your defenses sound feeble because of it, like you're making these things up.

"Then why didn't you tell him to fuck off?" The words come out with all his stormy feelings behind them. "Why didn't you come to me? You could've walked up to me at any point," he argues, eyes wide in disbelief of your excuses.

"I didn't know how to tell him to stop. I didn't wanna make a scene and push him in front of all those people."

"Mhm, that's..." he shuts his eyes, and rubs the bridge of his nose. He can feel an oncoming headache. "...that's perfect. You handled that so well."

"I-I..." you sigh. "I told him I have a boyfriend and I even pointed at you. He just wouldn't stop." You feel the lump in your throat return, and you're trying so hard not to tear up. Your fists have been balled up since the beginning, your nails digging into your palms.

"It's fine. We talked, we're good," he says, ending the conversation. He watches as you press your lips together before moving back to the floor, and picking up the TV remote, again. Your arm raises, and the disclaimer ends, finally letting the show begin.

Toji isn't paying attention to the stupid show. He's watching you, silently hoping that you're okay. He's let down by those hopes when he sees your form tremble, and your shoulders lift. He hears a single gasped out sob and suddenly you're standing, walking out of the living room, and in the direction of your room.

"Fuck." He jumps up from the couch and trails after you. To his dismay, he hears the door shut and the lock turn immediately after. He hears your shattered heart from behind the door, the muffled sobbing coming from you. You sound like you're struggling to breathe with all the gasping and sniffling.

Toji attempts to twist the doorknob, even when he heard the sound of the lock turning clear as day. He knocks three times. "Mama?"

You don't respond, and instead put your hood on and drown yourself in the blankets.

He knocks again. "Mama, let me in." Your sniffling continues, but the sobbing has mellowed down. He knows you're not gonna get up and unlock the door for him, but truthfully, he's only knocking out of courtesy. The lock consisted of a small turn button that could easily be unlocked from the outside with a coin or a button or something much more convenient, his fingernail.

He turns the lock and twists the doorknob, immediately greeted by the sight of your shaking form through piled on blankets, and soft but clearer sniffing. He steps into the room and shuts the door, immediately directing himself to the edge of your bed. He gently strips the layers of blankets until it's just you, curled up into the smallest ball of tears. You think you're almost done crying.

"Come here, mama," he says, offering a gentle squeeze to your hip. You immediately sit up and keep your gaze down as you crawl over to his lap. As soon as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and you feel his arms holding you close, you realize you're not done crying. You're openly sobbing, again, into his chest. You're balling up the back of his shirt and squeezing him so tight as your chest heaves.

He pulls your hood down and presses kisses to the top of your head. "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"Sorry," you mumble, your voice broken and quiet from the strained feeling in your throat.

"No. Don't apologize, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong." He feels shitty for saying similar things earlier in such a dismissive tone. You did so well at listening to his side and his feelings, he must've done a terrible job at understanding you if it led to you breaking down. "I mean it. It wasn't your fault." You've calmed down a little more, reduced to just little breaths through your nose as you listen to him talk. "I know I already told you this, but you looked so pretty today." He smiles at the feeling of you retightening your arms around him. "So, so pretty in that dress. No wonder that guy had his eyes on you."

You shake your head against him. "I wore that dress for you," you croak, not audible enough to be heard.

"What's that, princess?" He asks.

You clear your throat and try again. "I only wore the dress for you. I didn't care about anyone else. To me, it was just us two walking around."

He feels wanted. He can really feel how much you love him with that fragile, little heart of yours. He's determined to help you pick up the pieces of your heart and put it back together.

"I know, baby. It was like that for me until I saw all the people who were gawking at you." His blood boils at the memory of all the double takes. He shows you off all the time, but this was supposed to be a comfortable date. He knows better than to let those forgettable people get to him, but you're his girl. All he could think about was putting you in his pocket until you reached the places you wanted to see. "It was driving me crazy." He sighs, taking his turn to tighten his arms around you. "I'm jealous to the point of self destruction when it comes to you. You're a saint for even letting me hold you, right now."

You sit together in silence for a couple minutes. He wonders if you feel as loved by him as he does by you. He can always verbalize it to make sure, but he wants to be your solace through deeper means than just words. Your tears should never be hidden from him, regardless of whether you're arguing or you're emotional for other reasons. His arms should be the first place you fall into when your heart is aching.

"Tell me you love me, doll," he murmurs, into your hair.

You immediately comply to his simple request. It's easy to say when you mean it. "I love you, Toji."

"Mhm, I love you. Now look at me when you say it."

He can hear you giggling as you slightly pull your arms back to create some distance from him. He finally gets to look at you after what seems like hours. You have the cutest red nose and cheeks and your eyes are still a little red and slightly puffy. He thinks you look so beautiful, even after a hard cry.

He grins at the softness of your smile. Everything about you is just so gentle and soft towards him.

"I love you, Toji," you say, through a giggle. You're looking into his green eyes with clear adoration in your gaze.

"Yeah, that's the good stuff. I love you, mama," he returns, before smothering you with kisses all over your face to see how hard he can make you blush.

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honeyryewhiskey · 4 months ago

Text

when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt.

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets.

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.”

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself.

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

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saintobio · 10 months ago

Text

sincerely yours. (12)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses

notes. 11k wc. finally. i wrote this with only one eye open so please don't mind the inconsistencies, i'm trying my best to tie any loose ends before we reach the ending. if the writing feels rushed, it’s bcos i’m just ready to wrap up this series 😭

series masterlist -> episode thirteen

You thought everything that had happened last night was just a dream.

Because you had gotten used to the constant disappointments and vicissitudes of your life, sharing such domestic bliss with the person you loved had started to feel far-fetched for you. It had become an unachievable fantasy, a colorful delusion created by your mind to conceal the actual darkness of pain that surrounded it.

But as you opened your eyes that morning, the familiar warmth of a sleeping Satoru’s embrace was the reality you never saw coming. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, it all felt surreal—like a fragile dream teetering on the edge of shattering. You wondered if it would be okay to stay here for now. To forget about the rest of the damn world and remain in his arms, staring at his beautiful saintly face, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat.

When Satoru stirred from his sleep, you knew your daydream was over. But he was pulling you dangerously close with arms wrapped around your frame and his lips pressed against your forehead. He was only half-awake, it seemed. His long white lashes reminded you of Sachiro’s as you watched him mumble incoherent words from his sleep, something along the lines of, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Akemi’.

That was your cue to pull yourself away from him. With guilt now coursing through your body, you sat up from bed and covered your naked body with the duvet. Akemi. You had completely abandoned the thought of Akemi last night, and now you were here in bed with ‘supposedly’ her man. As much as your heart was in bliss from last night’s events, the dark and cold reality was that you slept with a man who wasn’t yours. It was a principle you told yourself you would never cross, but everything concerning Satoru Gojou seemed to be bringing you to that.

“Satoru, hey.” Your voice almost came out as a plea as you shook his arm, your guilt eating at you with every minute that passed. “Wake up.”

His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes, blinded by the sunlight that gleamed through the window as he stretched his arms and looked at you. “Y/N?” he softly whispered, a hand tenderly placed on your back as he scooted closer. “What’s wrong?”

Slight disbelief blanketed your gaze. “You think this isn’t wrong?”

Satoru let out a sigh of exasperation, pulling his head back, and covering his eyes with a hand as if last night’s events played through his mind scene to scene. He was obviously caught in a mindwreck thinking about the girl he had just cheated on. “It shouldn’t be,” he mumbled, “But it feels like it.”

“So you do regret it,” you laughed at your own words, internally in pain.

“I didn’t say that.” He finally pulled himself back up, sitting as he pulled you towards him. “Y/N, if we really thought last night was wrong, we would have stopped after the first time.” He shook his head at the irony. “Look, it’s on me, alright? I put you in this situation.”

“And I allowed it,” you argued, “I allowed it, Satoru. It makes me feel dirty. I feel like, like I’m wrecking someone else’s home. It’s not me.”

Satoru held his breath, a look of hesitation dawning on his face as he realized that this wasn’t just a dream of his. It was pure and raw reality that he had made a mistake that he could never undo. While thinking it through, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard as he assessed the situation. Then, he looked at you, his expression softening as he spoke, “No, not your fault. It’s just complicated,” he insisted, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who owes ‘Kemi an apology.”

Each time you heard her nickname from him was a punch to your gut. And each silent cuss that left his lips was an arrow to your heart. So you put it on yourself to accept his reaction. “It’s okay. You can be honest and say last night was a mistake.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t say that,” he replied quickly, reaching out to take your hand.

But you already stood up from the bed, clutching the duvet around your body like a shield against the encroaching chill. Your throat felt tight, and tears threatened to spill, but you fought to keep them at bay. Satoru’s gaze followed you with an expression of helplessness, as if he was struggling to bridge the gap between his rights and wrongs.

As you turned to face him, a knot of frustration and heartache tangled within you. “So, what now?” you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure. “How are we gonna fix this, Satoru? How?”

Before he could answer, the door to the cabin suddenly burst open, and Akemi stood in the doorway with her eyes wide with shock and fury. The confrontation followed as soon as she caught you in a compromising position with Satoru, and the words she uttered next were ones you least expected from her.

“You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married.”

“You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me..”

“Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

You felt like an outsider in your own heartbreak, the confrontation intensifying as you tried to process the bitter truth in silence. All you could do was stand there and cry. Even Satoru’s attempts to placate Akemi were futile as her anger only seemed to grow. The more her eyes danced back and forth between you and her lover, the more she wanted to destroy everything in her path.

Satoru’s face was indiscernible from where you stood. “Akemi, please, just listen—”

Akemi, however, was already turning on her heel and storming back into her cabin while eliciting loud, muffled sobs. Your chest tightened with sorrow and shame. Complete, utter shame of doing this to another woman. How could you even correct a situation like this? How could you pick yourself back up after you just trampled on another woman’s feelings because of your actions?

Satoru, like you, hesitated on his next move, his eyes meeting yours with a look of anguish. “I need to talk to her, Y/N. I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for your response, he already bolted after her, leaving you alone in a quiet, pathetic state. The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the cabin like thunder in a heavy storm.

You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to face everyone, didn’t have the guts to even talk to Shoko and Suguru who now both have to deal with such scandals. You were too ashamed of yourself, as if your femininity had been stripped off its rights after you slept with the man you swore you would never get back with.

“I didn’t mean it,” you could only silently whisper your laments, pacing around your cabin while swallowing the weakness that tried to escape. “I hate this.”

The minutes dragged on, and each second stretched into an eternity as you waited for Satoru’s return. For now, you sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, wondering what excuse he was telling Akemi, and what actions he would do to try and calm her down. Did he kiss her, perhaps? Did he cup her face and tell her that you were nothing but a mistake? What was taking him so long? Or were they doing things to try and erase the same deeds you two did last night?

The cacophony of voices and commotion from outside the cabin grew louder, and your curiosity led you to open your door, meeting the eyes of one of the hotel staff who sent you a look full of judgment.

“Where’s…” you hesitated if she was the right person to ask, “Where’s Satoru? Would you know?”

“Oh, ma’am. He already left the hotel half an hour ago… with Miss Akemi.”

Her answer hit you hard like a truck on a highway. And your heart dropped as you realized who became The Fool in these deck of cards. Satoru had not only run off after Akemi, but had also left you behind without a word.

The room felt colder now, the once-intimate sanctuary you shared with your ex-husband now a prison of your own grief. Even the familiar warmth of the bed seemed like a distant memory as you approached it, your body trembling as you thought of how you were treated like a dirty rag, thrown away after being used over and over again.

With a soft, choked sob, you collapsed onto the bed, the duvet still a tangled mess from earlier. And your emotions, so tightly restrained, finally broke free. You pulled the blanket around you as if it could shield you from the crushing pain. The betrayal, the sense of being discarded for another—it all converged into a torrent of anguish. All you could do was cling to the duvet as if it were the only anchor in a stormy sea.

——

Returning home didn’t make the situation any better.

Although you tried to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be waiting on Satoru to contact you, you still found yourself checking your phone multiple times a day. Each second that passed without hearing from him was another stab to your heart. But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t, not when Satoru clearly made his choice of choosing yet another woman over you.

Of course, you knew what you did was wrong. In everyone’s eyes, sleeping with someone else’s man was unforgivable. There was no excuse, no way to justify your actions. Even if some people might side with you, saying you owed no one loyalty, it didn’t change how you felt about the whole situation. And that was because you remembered all too well the pain of being cheated on, and letting another woman endure the same heartbreak and betrayal was a weight on your conscience that you couldn’t ignore.

Sighing, you turned to the left side of the bed and saw Sachiro sleeping peacefully, clutching his favorite starfish plushie in his tiny arms. The thought of losing your son was unbearable, especially when he was your only source of calm amid the chaos that surrounded you. Caring for him was your solace, and his innocent presence served as a band-aid for your wounded heart. The most heart-wrenching part of this was knowing you couldn’t even repay him for the stability he brought you. Sachiro deserved a complete family to enrich his life, yet you—as his own biological mother—were unable to give him that.

“Sleep tight, Sachi.” You lightly stroked his white hair before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The past few weeks had been a blur of emotions, work, and parenting—with each day blending into the next like a tornado of dull colors. You still hadn’t heard from Satoru, but the days of waiting and checking your phone for any notification from him did gradually stop. The only thing that didn’t stop replaying in your head like a broken record was the cabin incident, the very night that drew all these overthinking in your mind and in your heart.

Returning to work did provide some distraction, but it didn’t take away the sting. It also didn’t help that your staff noticed the change in your demeanor, and how distracted you often were during your meetings and warehouse visits. Even Nobara was worried about how absentminded you had become, but you brushed off all their concerns with a forced smile. After all, staying at home would do you worse than being at work.

Now, you were back in your office, and the soft knock on the door cut you off from your trance. It was Yuki peeking through the small opening on your door, her usual professional demeanor softened by a concerned expression. “Hey, Y/N. Do you have a minute?” she asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

You nodded, trying to muster a smile. “Sure, Yuki. What’s up?”

“I wanted to check in on you,” she began, taking a seat opposite your desk, “If you need to extend your vacation, please, by all means, go ahead. It’s off-season, anyway. I’ll take care of everything here while you’re focusing on yourself.”

That wasn’t really a good idea. And you shouldn’t be slacking off work when this very fashion house you establish used to be your passion, not your job. Yet here you were, losing all the inspiration to even run a business. “I don’t know if I have the energy for anything else right now.”

“Well, if you’re too worried about leaving work,” Yuki continued, her tone shifting to a more business-like note, “the progress we’ve made with Hearte is looking really promising. The new collection is getting great feedback, and our upcoming showcase is shaping up well. We’re on track for a strong quarter.”

“All because of you, Yuki.” A spark of gratitude appeared on your face. “Thanks for the update. It’s good to know things are moving in the right direction.”

She then stood up and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here if you need anything, Y/N. But seriously, take some time for yourself. You deserve it.”

On that same evening, you came home to your father’s mansion, and the first thing that greeted you when you entered the foyer was Gen sitting by the living room. And needless to say, her expression was a mix of concern and frustration as if she had been waiting for you to return. You weren’t really in the mood to have some back-and-forths with her, but you also didn’t like how she dropped her phone on the table and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at you like she was a mother who could scold you like a child.

“I’m not even gonna say anything at this point, but did you really do it with him?” Gen’s voice was low, but the disappointment was palpable. You could feel it from a few meters away.

“What are you talking about?” you bit back, your already-terrible mood swings shifting into an unhealthy direction.

Gen responded by pointing at her phone, gesturing for you to take a look at whatever’s on it. Reluctantly, you grabbed the device, and as you were scrolling through the screen, you stumbled upon a blind item circulating on social media. The words were vague but pointed, hinting at a scandalous encounter between two ex-spouses, both of whom were well-known figures. Great. Your heart stopped as you realized that the article was very much about you and Gojou.

The online comments were brutal, not like you weren’t used to anonymous harassment anyway, but these ones were full of speculating and judging without knowing the full story. Everyone also seemed to be siding with “Ms. A” instead of you as though the person behind the article was clearly trying to paint you as the villain. It was written for the purpose of destroying your reputation rather than any regular exposé, and whoever wrote it was definitely someone who disliked you.

Your shoulders slumped as you scrolled through hate comment after hate comment, a seemingly endless vitriol for someone they didn’t even know, and avoided your sister’s gaze knowing full well that seeing her expression would only make you feel worse.

“Is it true?” your sister asked like there was even an ounce of chance that it was simply a rumor. Unfortunately, it was anything but.

Sliding her phone back on the coffee table, you drew in a deep breath. “I can’t undo it, Gen. It happened.”

“So, you did sleep with him? Am I hearing this right?” Gen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Do you have any idea what this could do to you? To Sachiro? People are ruthless, and now this blind item is all over the place and they’re targeting you like a punching bag!”

Your mouth felt heavy, as if it was weighed down by an invisible burden, making it difficult to form words or speak. And before you could think of a response, Ian became your temporary savior as he walked in with a calm but serious mien. “I’ve seen the post,” he said, holding up his phone. “It’s clearly defamatory, and we can take legal action. I’ll handle it.”

Even though Ian was a man of remarkable phlegm, you remained abashed, knowing that everyone’s feasting at the juicy rumor that you slept with your ex-husband. Yet, the only thing you could do was to put on a front. To save face. To act like someone you’re not. “Thank you, Ian. I’d appreciate that.”

Anticipating another lecture from Gen about Satoru, you began retreating to your room with your footsteps bouncing desperately on the grand staircase. This conversation was done. You just weren’t there to hear it anymore. However, as you climbed the stairs with a vacant mind, you could still hear your sister calling out to you.

“Y/N!” she called, her voice now tinged with concern. “I’m not going to give you a hard time. We can sort this issue out. Maturely.”

“I’m good.” Sorry, Gen. It was the anxious-avoidant side of you speaking. You didn’t want to discuss such a sensitive situation to anyone, even with your sister, because you weren’t ready to face all the negativity it would put you through. You were already dealing with enough, and going through yet another emotional turmoil might actually put you to your deathbed at this point.

So, for now, isolating yourself from the world was the best choice.

And as soon as you entered your room, you saw Sachiro’s nanny tucking him into bed. All your worries and self-destructive thoughts vanished in an instant the moment you looked at your son. It was like the heavens gave you your personal angel, a cute little cherub who brought nothing but light and happiness to your life. He was your sunshine, your shooting star, your bundle of joy. Nothing in this world could erase the pessimist in you than little Sachiro.

“I got it from here.” You thanked the nanny and asked her to close the door before quickly joining your son in bed, wrapping him in a warm, comforting hug—more for your own comfort than his.

“Mama?” he asked, his voice unusually raspy, and his chest rising and falling heavily. “I mwiss you, mama!”

You pressed your lips onto his forehead. “I miss you too, my baby. How was daycare today?”

He seemed to struggle to speak too, but Sachiro still did his best to recount his day while he was trying to catch air in between his sentences. “Teacher ask Sachi to go home, mama. Sachi is tired.”

“Baby, are you okay? Are you sick?” Now, your motherly instincts kicked in immediately. You could tell something was wrong, so you reached for a thermometer from the bedside drawer to check his temperature, and listened to his breathing at the same time. “What happened to Sachi? Do you want Mommy to take you to the hospital?”

Sachiro shook his head and gave you a sleepy smile. “No, mama. Sachi is just sweepy.”

When the thermometer beeped, you were relieved to see that his temperature was normal. “Are you having trouble breathing, my sweetheart?” You looked into his droopy eyes and gently placed your hand on his chest.

Once again, Sachiro shook his head. Maybe you were just overthinking. He often ran around the house or played in the bathtub before bed, which could explain why he seemed out of breath. It wasn’t the first time it happened.

“Okay, Sachi. Go to sleep now. Close your eyes, baby.”

“Night night, mama.”

For now, you turned off the night lamp, and headed to the bathroom in silent and careful steps. It was quiet enough indeed, but in your head was an awful noise you couldn’t escape. And stepping into the shower only increased the warfare in your mind, as it immediately brought images of Satoru and Akemi back in the cabin, the harsh comments from the article, and the lack of contact from your ex-husband which all overwhelmed you at once. By now, he would have already seen that article. Nanami or Miwa might have already alerted him about it. But the fact that he said nothing, the fact that he let the public scrutinize you, destroy you with such vile, hurtful words behind their screens brought you a kind of pain that you wouldn’t wish upon anyone else.

Because if it was Akemi in that position, he would have defended her in a heartbeat.

So in your silence, under the cascading water of the shower, you let the tears flow—its warmth distinguishable compared to the cold droplets falling on you. If only you had successfully drowned yourself that night at the lake. If only Satoru didn’t pull you back in, none of this would have happened.

That moment was deeply poignant to you, and you saw him in a new light you thought you would never see again because of the darkness of your past. Yet, with the events that followed your special moment, memories eventually turned into spite. Your sweet exchange twisted into something bitter. Looking back at that time when he kissed you at the lake now made you feel nauseous and hollow inside, with bile forming on your throat and threatening to be retched.

The most gut-wrenching part about this was the fact that there wasn’t anyone left who could rescue you from this abyss of heartache anymore.

——

There had been a sense of detachment in your emotions in the following days that passed, almost as though they belonged to a stranger inhabiting your body. Toji, the only person who comforted you at times like these, was no longer by your side to fulfill the warmth you once desperately sought, and now you were alone to face this cruel, mind-numbing battle all by yourself. It was you against the world. You against the entire populace inhabiting this living hell. And with that many enemies against one, how could you win?

It was quite funny, actually, that your humor took a surprising turn when you thought of how Sera must have felt when it was revealed to the public that she was Satoru’s mistress. The irony didn’t even stop at your thoughts alone, it manifested itself outside Hearte’s headquarters, wearing a pink puffer jacket and a white prairie skirt.

“Sera?” you blurted out her name in wonder, nonplussed as you got out of the car to approach her.

“Hey, Y/N.” She offered a casual smile while carrying an air of sophistication around her. That wasn’t the only thing that changed about Sera. Her hair was also shorter than the last you saw her, her face now sporting a more natural makeup, and her outfit a more modest yet classy choice. It was no longer the Sera who tried hard to fit in amongst the upper echelon of society, but a Sera who seemed to be satisfied at her current standing in life.

What an awkward encounter. Was her presence your hypocritical reminder for sleeping with Satoru behind Akemi’s back?

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

And she answered with, “I read about what happened. You know, the thing on the internet.” She took a moment to pause, probably trying to choose the right words to say to her previous adversary. Because in a way, you two weren’t exactly friends. And you were no longer rivals either. Satoru was the only common denominator here, and Sera proved her exact sentiments about him by saying, “I just wanted to let you know that I understand your side. It’s a tough situation.”

You looked at her, searching for any hint of insincerity, but found none. “You were once on my spot,” you pointed out and gauged whether or not she would take the bait. For all you know, she could be putting on an act. “I’m assuming you’re here to rub it in my face how much of a hypocrite I am.”

“No, that’s not it.” Sera was vehemently denying any malice on her intentions, and was instead trying to show you the sympathy of a woman who was once caught in the same predicament. “Look, I know it’s weird that I’m here out of all people. But the truth is, I just had to let you know that someone’s on your side. I’ve met the girl, okay? That… whoever she is. I don’t remember her name, and I hate having to pit two women against each other, but I’m telling you it’s about time you cut Satoru off your life. Completely. She doesn’t look like someone who’d easily let go. You’re just gonna suffer, Y/N.”

Perhaps three years was too far back in your life and that tables could turn in a direction that you didn’t expect, as you could recall fragments of memories from when your only dilemma was dealing with Satoru and Sera in your marriage. She used to be besotted with your ex-husband back then. But now, it wasn’t until you heard the way she spoke about him that you realized she must be harboring a grudge deeper than you had imagined. After all, he did ruin her life in ways you couldn’t imagine. And her advice, though unsolicited, made sense. Because you could understand where she was going with it. You could see the true intentions clearly conveyed by her face.

The only problem here was that you didn’t have it in your heart to agree with her. You were too much of an empathic person to be taking sides, even if the supposed villain in this painting was the ex-husband who, time and time again, hurt you. Your heart stubbornly cared for Satoru deep down, and your wifely instinct of defending him no matter how poorly he acted had always been there. No one could hate Satoru more than you did, that was true, but you also weren’t very accepting of hearing others describe him as this ruthless, cheating bastard.

That was the reason why talking to Gen had eventually exhausted you. Because no one knew the real Satoru Gojou behind his facade of an irresponsible and reckless husband.

“Now that you’re here…” The idea to redirect the conversation to another topic struck you, unwilling to engage in a conversation that pushed Satoru in a bad light. “Would you be interested in being a model for our upcoming campaign? We’re launching a new collection, and I think you’d be perfect.”

Sera’s eyes were an amalgam of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I mean… I’d love to, but why so sudden?”

“You have the face for it.” You shrugged, but still sent a smile her way. “Are you working right now? If not, this could open doors for you to be discovered by modeling agencies. I’m closely tied with them since I work in the fashion industry, so I can do a few calls if you want.”

“Hold on, I’m—” Sera touched her head, laughing as if she were dreaming this conversation. “Y/N, you’re doing too much here. I mean, I’d obviously love that, but wouldn’t it be awkward? People know me as your ex-husband’s mistress, and if they recognize me in Hearte ads, I’m sure as hell those fuck ass netizens won’t stop talking about it.”

She had a point, a very good point, but then again, your suggestion was only brought up because you had to change the topic. “Well, it’s just an offer to consider in the future.”

“And I appreciate you always extending a hand to help me even if I did you wrong in the past,” she said, feelings of shame lacing her voice. “I haven’t forgotten about what you did for my brother, that’s why I’m here. I’m not your enemy anymore, Y/N.”

Just then, the roaring engine of a classic red Ferrari pulled up to the curb, interrupting the unexpected conversation you were having with your ex-husband’s former mistress. The window rolled down to reveal a pink-haired man whom you recognized as Ryomen Sukuna, an up and coming tech mogul, that Toji had mentioned about many times before. His eyes were only on one woman alone, and it wasn’t you. “Ready to go, babe?”

Honestly, good for Sera. No wonder her aura had become different. They seemed to be in a stable committed relationship, something that you could only ever dream about. If karma was truly real, this was the perfect example for it.

In the back seat, you spotted a younger boy who looked exactly like Sukuna and, surprisingly, Megumi, the son of your ex-fiancé. Really? How many more people were you going to ‘coincidentally’ run into today?

“Hello, miss!” the other boy called out cheerfully, while Megumi offered a polite nod. You replied with a wave, feeling a small sense of normalcy in their innocent presence.

“I gotta get going, Y/N,” excused Sera, gesturing a civil goodbye.

But as she moved to get into the car, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A single glance at the screen made your heart drop. It was a call from the hospital.

“Hello?” you answered almost immediately, pressing the phone on your ears with a tight push.

“Ms. Y/N, this is the hospital. Your son, Sachiro Gojou, is in the ICU. We need you to come as soon as possible.”

Your stomach contracted into a tight ball as you stood rigid with terror. Then and there, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. “Wh-What do you mean he’s in the hospital?!” you managed to shout, swept by horripilation from the sudden news. “What happened to my son?! What’s—!”

Sera’s concerned gaze met yours as you desperately yelled into the phone, hyperventilating. Your trembling hand was threatening to drop the phone. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“My son… I… he…,” you stammered, your voice shaky with fear and urgency. Your muscles locked in a momentary paralysis, eyes wide with astonishment, and surprise rendering you immobile. The thought of Sachiro in a critical state was about to make you faint, with the last bits of images you saw that afternoon were of Sera and her boyfriend rushing to catch you from completely falling to the ground.

——

Megumi didn’t know how to deliver the bad news.

He came home after Yuuji’s brother rushed you to the hospital, shocked by everything that happened in a span of a single day. His mind was aching from all the thinking he was doing; praying that little Sachiro will be fine, hoping that you would stay strong throughout, and lastly, wondering how he would break it to his dad that something terrible had happened.

His father wasn’t exactly the greatest man to tread this Earth, especially not after the drunken words he had ‘mistakenly’ uttered to you that night in Miami that resulted in your separation. Yes, Megumi knew every word and detail. His father told him everything just as a sober man would. Did you really think that the Toji Zen’in you knew would sputter that utter nonsense to you? That you had an empty soul. That he couldn’t be with someone like you. That you would forever be a placeholder to Megumi’s mother. Bullshit. None of those were true. His father told him that the reason he had to say those words, as piercing and trenchant as they may be, was because it was the only way he could free you from being caged in a relationship your heart didn’t genuinely want.

It was Toji’s last resort to hurt you with his words, hoping that you would wake up from your false fantasy and finally have a reason to leave a relationship with a man that wasn’t Satoru Gojou. If Megumi’s father wasn’t at the top of the list of Forbes’ richest men in Japan, he would have felt a great deal of inferiority complex over a younger man like Gojou. Not because of his looks and his riches, but because he had you. No matter what Satoru did, no matter how many times he hurt you, he was and would always be that man you wanted to be with.

Sighing, Megumi’s first task upon coming home was to check on his father’s room, only to find the dark room void of its owner. When he made his way down the grand staircase, he met an ill-spirited Naoya who was ranting to Mai about Sera flaunting Sukuna in front of his face. Megumi’s sigh was then followed by another. The drama in this house was relentless. He felt like he was exhaling endlessly, like a malfunctioning appliance.

“Where’s dad?” asked Megumi, directing her question to a more rational Maki.

The tall, green-haired girl gave him a knowing shrug. “You already know,” she said, “Drowning himself in alcohol down at the bar.”

As always.

Megumi jogged around the estate to eventually find his father at one of the wet bars near his home office. He was there, seated on a stool, his head drooping low with a glass of premium scotch in hand. How many glasses he’d had, Megumi could only hope the numbers weren't that high. But upon approaching his father, his presence was barely acknowledged as he sat on the stool next to him, suggesting that the grown man might be more inebriated than his son had expected.

“Dad,” spoke the Zen’in heir, “Dad, you good?”

Toji lifted his head up, three sheets to the wind, as a smile crept up on his scarred lips. “Son.”

“Let me take that.” Megumi grabbed a hold of the glass of scotch, sliding the strong liquor away from his father. “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

Toji stayed nonchalant, sitting upright and tapping his fingers on the counter. “What’s it about this time?” he asked. “I’ve told you, I can’t stop the elders from arranging your marriage unless you’re honest with me about someone you like. I know you have someone in mind, but you’re not saying who. Are you just shy?”

Megumi gave his father a look of exasperation. He’s rambling, he thought, frustrated with his father’s inebriated chattering. “It’s not about that. It’s about Y/N-san.”

The mention of your name was the only thing that made Toji's demeanor shift to one of genuine concern. “What happened?”

“Sachi’s in a critical condition,” the younger Zen’in went straight to the point, “Y/N-san went manic over it and fainted before we could get her to the hospital.”

Toji was quick to grab his coat and car keys, as if all the alcohol in his system had immediately evaporated. But before he could leave, Megumi caught his father’s arm and pulled him back.

“What?” said Toji, concern and urgency blanketing his gaze. “I need to be with her.”

“Do you really need to?” Megumi countered. “Dad, I know it’s not right for me to stop you in this crucial situation, but are you gonna do this every time she’s in trouble? Do you plan to do this forever? Do you plan to keep drowning yourself in alcohol thinking about her? We care for her like family, that’s true, but you and her aren’t a thing anymore. Your responsibilities in taking care of her should stop, too. You, yourself, said it’d be best if she stopped being reliant on you. Now, do yourself a favor and stop trying to be this pathetic superhero.”

The concern etching on Tojis’s face softened into a sense of realization, a sense of candidness that only someone as straightforward as his own son could evoke. Megumi had to, not because he didn’t care for you anymore, but because he had to ensure he wouldn’t lose his father over a relationship that had already ended. Toji was the only real family Megumi had left.

“Stay, dad,” he pleaded, “Please.”

Toji took a deep breath and released it in the same second. “Okay,” he softly said, ruffling his son’s hair. “I won’t leave.”

——

Why is it that you keep attracting things, places, and people that you disliked the most?

You hated hospitals, and you had spoken about it enough to make it clear how much you dreaded going to a place where your worst memories had taken root. Yet, the sterile environment seemed to beckon you, dragging you back with a new nightmare each time. It was beyond your worst fears that you would find yourself racing through the halls mere minutes after regaining consciousness, desperately trying to reach where your son was.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Frantically, you scanned the corridors, searching for the ICU and hoping that what you had just heard was nothing more than a cruel illusion, that this was all just a nightmare. You weren’t a deeply devout person, but you did send prayers to every saint you could think of, hoping that Sachiro’s current state wasn’t in the median between life and death.

Because if you lost your son, then there was no point in living anymore. This life wouldn’t be worth enduring.

“Y/N!”

You weren’t the first one to arrive outside the pediatric ICU, with Gen and your father already being there moments before you came. You were struggling to breathe by the time you reached them, feeling your heart race with a thunderous beat. “Gen… Dad, what h-happened to him?” You couldn’t stop the weakness in your voice. “Tell me he’s fine, please. Please. My baby. If anything h-happens to him, I’m g-gonna die, Gen! I c-can’t h-have that!”

Gen quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace, trying to offer any form of comfort she could. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Dad and I are just as shocked.” She held you closer, her voice trembling as she, too, was just as anxious as you. “Sachi refused to eat and complained about having a hard time breathing. He was so pale and his lips were blue. We knew we had to rush him to the hospital immediately.”

“Oh my God.” Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the uncontrollable cries that were escaping. The news of Sachiro developing cyanosis shattered your heart, and the crushing reality that you weren’t there to take care of him tore you apart. “My baby, no. No, no. H-He—”

“Y/N!”

Out of breath and also visibly shaken was the father of your son, Satoru, who came running to your side the moment his eyes landed on you. Behind him was his mother, clutching a rosary in her hand as both of them were seemingly shell-shocked in the same magnitude as you and your family were. Everyone cared for Sachiro’s well-being, everyone prayed for his safety, and the thought of losing an angel like your son was a soul-crushing thought that sent you slipping into a chasm of suffering.

“Wh-What happened to Sachi?” Satoru asked in desperation, his question raised to everyone in the vicinity—you, your family, the nurses. But no one could give him a decent answer. “Please, tell me my son’s alright. Tell me.”

You watched him walk in circles, raking his fingers through his hair as if he was seeking anything to hold onto. And you, feeling that magnet that pulled you closer to him, broke away from Gen’s embrace to look at your son’s father. “Satoru…”

“Y/N,” his voice cracked as he met your gaze, “Our son.” He stopped, ready to wrap you in a hug—a moment of solace you both desperately needed in this critical time. But just as he pulled you close in a fragile attempt to find comfort together, the door to the ICU swung open, abruptly ending the brief respite.

All of you immediately rushed over to the doctor, the sterile white walls and the distant hum of hospital machinery did nothing to calm the turmoil inside you.

“Doctor, how’s he?”

“How’s my grandson, doc?”

“Doc, my son, is he okay?”

“Is he stable, doc?”

“Doctor, how’s my son, please?” you asked, your body growing tense to the point of shaking.

The doctor took a deep breath, his expression serious amidst the fusillade of questions thrown at him. “We’re currently running a series of tests on the patient. We suspect Sachiro may have congenital heart disease, specifically a ventricular septal defect with associated pulmonary hypertension.”

No, it can’t be. It’s not possible! The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You struggled to process the information, your vision blurring with tears and your heart drumming a rapid staccato inside. You didn’t need to look at everyone to know that they all, for a moment, looked at you. “Heart disease? But… how? I didn’t think—”

“Can you explain more, doc? Please.” Gojou was desperate, his bright blue eyes now dull and severely clouded with a brewing storm. It was as if he was keeping himself from crying.

The doctor continued gently, “VSD is a condition where there’s a hole in the heart’s ventricular septum. It can lead to pulmonary hypertension, which means the blood pressure in the lungs is elevated. It’s a serious condition, but we’re doing everything we can to assess the extent and provide the best treatment.”

“N-No, oh God. My baby.” You felt your knees go weak, and you sank down against the wall, with more tears cascading down your cheeks like waterfall. The weight of the diagnosis was crushing, but the hardest part was realizing that this was something you had unknowingly passed on to Sachiro. The heart disease was inherited from you and had now manifested in your beloved son.

It’s my fault. It’s my fault!

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information. Please, try to stay calm, Y/N. It’s not best for your heart to panic right now. Sachiro is in good hands.”

You were unable to speak through the sobs that wracked your body. The hospital corridor felt endless, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt and helplessness that consumed you. You could feel all eyes on you, judging, harboring hatred, carrying deep-rooted resentment. You were torn apart by the knowledge that the very thing you had feared most was now a reality for your son.

“It’s… It’s my fault,” you sobbed, covering your face with your quivering hands, “This is all my fault. I gave it to Sachiro, I… I’m a terrible mother!”

Gen knelt beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders with a firm yet gentle touch. “Y/N, stop it. This is not your fault. You didn’t choose this for Sachiro.”

Your father, who had been pacing anxiously nearby, joined in. “Your sister’s right. You’re blaming yourself for something beyond your control. We’re all here for you. We’ll figure this out.”

But amidst your familial exchange, Satoru stood nearby, frozen and listless. His silence only added to the overwhelming distress. Was he also blaming you for what Sachiro was going through right now? Was he also angry at you for putting his son into this critical situation?

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the commotion—voice that was equally harsh and spiteful. It was Satoru’s mother, boring her fiery eyes into your skull as she opened her mouth. “That’s right! You’re self-aware, aren’t you?” she spat and stood rigidly, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “This is all your fault. You’re such an irresponsible mother! You can’t even take care of my grandson properly, and now you’ve passed your disease onto him!”

You looked up in shock, seeing Satoru’s mother standing there with a disdainful expression. The sting of her words felt like a knife twisting in your heart, because they were true. They were painful, yes, but they were true. And all you could do was lower yourself until you were sitting on your haunches, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Excuse me?!” Gen stood up, her eyes blazing with anger that came from the deepest pits of hell. “You’re unbelievable, Auntie. How dare you speak to my sister like that! You have no right to blame her for this. I hope to God it was you in the ICU right now instead of Sachiro!”

“You…!”

Satoru’s mother raised a hand to slap Gen, but your father stepped forward, his face a mix of disbelief and indignation. “This is despicable. How can you stand here and say such things to someone who’s already suffering? Weren’t you friends with my wife once?”

Satoru, who had been standing still, suddenly moved with a menacing calm. His face was hard as stone, and his eyes narrowed in anger. What was scarier was him approaching his mother with a threatening stance. “Are you really this pathetic, mother?” Satoru questioned with a cold, cutting tone. “Do you get off on making Y/N suffer? Do you think you’ve gotten away with slapping her behind my back? You don’t get to blame Y/N for anything. Any fucking thing!”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, but she tried to defend herself at the ruthless stance her son was carrying. All of you were stunned at the realization of how Satoru resembled his cruel father at that moment. “B-But Satoru, my son—”

“Shut up!” Satoru cut her off, his voice harsh and unforgiving, before he threw his cold knuckles against the hard surface of the concrete wall. “I don’t want to see your face ever again! Don’t consider yourself my mother any longer, you witch. You’ve lost that privilege.”

This took a wild turn, and hearing the brutality of Satoru’s words was like a thunderclap in the tense atmosphere. His mother’s face turned pale, her mouth opening and closing in shock as she struggled to respond.

“Get out of here,” Satoru commanded, his voice uncaring towards her. “Leave, and don’t ever come back. You’re nobody to me now.”

With that, Satoru’s mother turned and fled, stumbling down the corridor as if she was the victim in this situation. However, the tension in the air began to dissipate as soon as she left, leaving you, Satoru, Gen, and your father in a heavy silence. Only your sniffles could be heard.

Even Gen, who was often hostile around your ex-husband, had remained quiet and composed after she watched him take such drastic measures to keep his mother away.

Everyone was silent. Pure, unbothered silence until Satoru’s phone began to buzz loudly, cutting through the stillness of the hallway. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then he fished his phone out of his pocket where you caught a glimpse of the caller ID.

Akemi.

——

The ICU only allowed short visits and one person at a time, so there was no need for everyone to stay the night. You were the parent, you were the one responsible for your son’s situation, so you insisted it was best for your dad and Gen to go home and get some rest. You didn’t mind watching over your son for the whole night, because coming home without him was the last thing you would do right now.

My precious angel.

Sachiro lay in the hospital bed, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The doctors had managed to stabilize him for now, and the sight of his heart monitor showing a stable rhythm was a small comfort amidst the chaos.

Still, you sat by his bedside, mindful of your timed visit as your hands gently held his tiny ones, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. You glanced down at the medical report on your other hand, trying to make sense of the complex terms and figures.

The words blurred together as your tears fell silently onto the paper. “I’m sorry, baby.” He didn’t deserve this. He’s just a baby. “Mommy’s very sorry.”

You tried to stay strong, putting on a brave face for your son, but inside, you were falling apart. It was impossible not to blame yourself over this, wishing you could do more than just be present around him. This was the comeuppance of your own actions after you focused on your own emotions for the past few weeks to the point of neglecting your son’s wellbeing. If you had been more present in his life, if you had been more observant, you would have easily noticed the signs. Now, you allowed Satoru to find a flaw in your duty as a mother, and he could cite this very event as evidence to get full custody of him. That is, if he were to ever consider taking your son away from you.

But in the first place, he should be the last person to do that, because where exactly was he now?

Your thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier scene, where he excused to answer Akemi’s call, and later that night told you he had to leave and “check something” urgently. He promised he’d be back before midnight, but where was he?

Resentment began to fester within you.

You had been very perceptive of Akemi’s feelings, apologetic in the way you supposedly betrayed her, but the fact that she was still scrambling for Satoru’s attention in the midst of your son’s hospitalization was something you could never forgive her for.

And as for Sachiro’s father, how could he prioritize another woman when his own son was in such a critical state? The confusion of his actions was overwhelming. It felt like a cruel deja vu that, at a time when you needed him the most, he was choosing to be elsewhere. You could accept it if it was a choice between you and another woman, but between his son and her? His behavior was unacceptable, disgusting even, and it only served to deepen your grudge against him.

You clenched your fists, trying to push away the surge of anger that threatened to consume you after seeing that the disparity in his actions felt like both a betrayal and a slap to the face. Your poor son. You stared at Sachiro’s peaceful face and stroked his cheek. How could Satoru be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood?

The room was silent except for the soft beeping of the heart monitor and your quiet sobs. The situation was almost too much to bear, and your resentment towards Gojou grew heavier by the second. Each minute felt like a lifetime, and the emptiness left by his absence was a constant reminder that yet again he chose another woman over his own family.

It’s okay. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. I won’t leave you, Sachi. For Sachiro’s sake, you needed to find the strength to carry on, to be the mother he needed in this moment of crisis and never again failing to be there for your only child.

At exactly 10:30 pm, the nurse came in and told you visiting hours were over. You complied.

At 11:00 pm, Ian paid you a quick visit and talked to the nurses, perhaps giving them reminders to look after you.

At 12:00 am, you were alone again. Seated at one of the benches outside the ICU—sleepless, starving, and nauseous.

At 2:00 am, you remained in your seat despite the sterile smell of antiseptic mingling with your own discomfort. The flickering fluorescent lights above did little to help you get some proper sleep. The cold air-conditioning alao made you shiver slightly, hugging your own body to try and give yourself some warmth.

At 4:00 am, you awakened from the noise of the movements beside you. Realizing you had fallen asleep, you looked up and saw Satoru taking a seat to your left. His coat was draped over his arm, and he offered it to you.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, but you could see the bags under his eyes suggesting the sleepless nights he’d had for the past few days. “You can use my coat.”

You took the coat, but as you caught a whiff of it, a familiar scent of Akemi’s perfume lingered. Rose Prick by Tom Ford. It was a scent you’d come to recognize after your years of being her best friend, and it made your stomach turn slightly. Without any hesitation, you handed the coat back to him. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. Looking into his eyes was the last thing you would do.

And you knew Satoru was sighing, but didn’t press the issue. “The nurse mentioned you haven’t eaten today.” He pulled out a small bag of assorted fruits, placing it gently on the seat between you. You eyed the offerings, feeling a pang of hunger but also a strange aversion. “I bought some fruit. Is there anything you like?”

You took a deep breath and broke the silence with a hint of sarcasm. “You’re really good at this, huh?”

“At what?” was his immediate question, puzzled.

“Hitting two birds with one stone.”

“Y/N…”

“Stop trying to take care of me,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. “ I don’t need it.”

“But—”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You can’t even be here for Sachi. You can’t even choose your son. He’s in a life and death situation and we’re still only receiving scraps of your attention.” It was the deep-seated grudge spilling out of you. “You’re so good at abandoning people, huh? Even though that’s what you hate the most. You’re so good at disappearing without even a text or call to check on me and our son. After that night at the cabin, you just…” you paused, realizing that you were opening too much of your heart to a man who didn’t deserve it. “Forget it. Just go home to Akemi. Live a happy life, build a family with her. Forget us. I don’t care. I’ll take care of Sachiro myself. I’ve done it for three years!”

“Y/N, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just…” Satoru fumbled for words, his somber blue eyes bearing the history of your shared heartbreak. It was as though the painful memories of your past were flooding his thoughts, seeking justification as to why he couldn’t pick you again this time. “I had to be there for her. She’s…”

You turned away before he could see your expression, because your heart was splintering at the thought of Satoru Gojou shattering it once more. As he always did. There seemed to be no end to this relentless heartbreak, as if any hope of a happy ever after with the man you loved would only return a pain that was a hundred times worse. Perhaps, this was destiny’s way of telling you that you and him weren’t meant to be. That any wishful thinking of being with Satoru again was only something that you could expect in another universe.

So, in your defense, you had to pull on a facade. A mask that you had to wear in the face of being the target of never-ending despair. “Satoru, I don’t want to talk about it,” you said firmly, concealing the raw ache in your voice with a smile. “And I don’t expect you to choose me every time. It’s okay. It’s happened before.”

“Can’t you see I’m hurting, too?” he asked, his voice breaking. Though you couldn’t see his face, the tremor in his voice revealed his struggle to hold back tears.

You couldn’t understand why he would be hurting with his decision. When faced with two crossroads, he always seemed to pick the path that led away from you. So instead of trying to comprehend his pain, you decided it was time to honor your own. For your sake. For Sachiro’s.

“Let’s just forget about that night,” you declared, wiping your eyes as you got up from your seat and prepared to walk away. “From this day forward, let’s pretend it never happened.”

——

Akemi’s apartment was dark when Satoru stepped inside.

And to be honest, the darkness was a relief. At least, she wouldn’t be able to see the lassitude etched on his face, not just from juggling his time between his son and her, but from the constant ache of hurting the person he loved.

Miscommunication is a couple’s greatest enemy, and the persistent disconnect between you two, coupled with the reluctance to clear things up, had worn Satoru down. He wanted to end this—the feeling of helplessness and the torment of seeing the woman he cared for caught in a labyrinth of despair.

The hospital visits to Sachiro alone had been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, and this brief visit to Akemi felt like an unwelcome detour, but one he couldn’t avoid. Satoru knew his heart wanted to stay in the hospital with you, to wait for any updates on his son, to hold your hand and care for you, yet here he was, dragging his feet across the carpeted floors to approach Akemi.

“Hey.” She was sitting on the couch, looking frail but alert as if she had been desperately waiting on his arrival. She had recently started treatment for her stage 3 endometrial cancer, and Satoru could see the toll it was taking on her, physically and emotionally. He would be cruel to leave her hanging like this, to neglect her at her worst when she had been there by his side at his. Satoru had an unspoken accountability on her, because it wouldn’t be fair for him to just abandon her after she poured all her heart and soul into helping Gojou get back onto his own feet.

“Hey, ‘Kemi,” he said, his tone soft but distant. “Did you take your meds today?”

Akemi looked up at him, her eyes tired and heavy. “I did. I took them just like the doctor said. How’s Sachiro?”

Gojou’s expression tightened. “He’s holding steady at the moment.”

A heavy silence settled between them before Akemi broke the tension. “I’m glad he’s stable,” she said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once, his mind already drifting back to the hospital. “Yeah. Listen, I need to head back soon. Nanami and Miwa will be alternating in looking after you from now on. They’ll make sure you’re okay while I’m dealing with Sachiro. I have to focus on my son.”

Akemi’s frail hand reached out to gently grip his arm, the other held her lower abdomen in pain. “Satoru, please don’t go just yet. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

Now’s not the time to feel guilty. It was either her or Sachiro. Her or his son. Gojou decided to pull his arm away gently, his gaze distant. “Sachiro needs me, Akemi. You know that.”

Akemi’s face fell, but she knew it would be ridiculous to argue over that. “No, I understand. I get that. I want you to focus on Sachi, too. I just wish—” Before she could finish, her voice faltered, and she looked up at him with a hesitant gaze. “Satoru, do you regret that I took you back even if you cheated on me?”

The question caught him off guard, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrowed as he processed her words. He had been so focused on his responsibilities and the immediate crisis that he hadn’t given much thought to their ‘relationship’. All he knew was when he showed up at her doorstep back at the cabin, he was only going to try and end things with her. He was only going to clarify the longstanding feelings you and him poured out to each other that night, which was why he ended up sleeping with his ex-wife. But because Akemi suffered at the time, because her pelvic pain worsened to the point of an emergency, he had to hold back and just take care of her in the weeks that passed. He was caged in this situation like a prisoner who was found guilty for the crimes he had committed.

Just be honest, Satoru. Disregard everything else and just be honest. Satoru believed it was about time he stood his ground no matter the consequences. “You can’t take me back if we’re not together, ‘Kemi,” he breathed out those words, reticent on hurting her with the truth. If she would lash out on him, throw a vase on his head, slam a book on his face—he wouldn’t mind. He was ready to accept all the violence he deserved from being an asshole. “You knew from the start that this, us, was only temporary. It was never supposed to be serious.”

Her expressions turned doleful. “Then, in that case, did you at least…” Tears welled up in her eyes as she she paused, “Did you at least love me?”

“I just… I never saw it that way, Akemi.” Satoru’s honesty would destroy her, but he didn’t want to keep on sending out false hopes. He had to be firm, and while he was grateful for everything she did for him, that doesn’t mean he owed her his life and loyalty. In the first place, he warned her that he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. And God, he was far from ready to even settle down, yet Akemi constantly hinted at wanting to tie the knot with him. Again and again did she mention the thought of a wedding and a child and her own family.

Satoru wanted all those things too, but with another person in mind. He was only set on having those things with one woman.

Akemi’s face paled upon hearing his answer and the fact that he didn’t even bother to explain himself. “I see. I guess I needed to hear that.”

Gojou looked at her with a mix of regret and sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you like this, I really do.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

It definitely wasn’t fine, but Satoru had to take her word for it as he got out from the couch and gave her a gentle pat on the head. “I have to go. Nanami will be here soon. Please make sure to follow the treatment plan and take care of yourself.”

Akemi nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “Alright. I’ll see him when he gets here.”

As Gojou turned to leave, he felt a pang of guilt twisting deep in his gut but pushed it aside. He was a father first before anything else. Sachiro would always be his first and foremost priority amongst everything else.

——

After leaving Akemi’s place, Satoru was driving his car into the evening air beyond the speed limit. And his mind was racing together with him as he thought of you, your son, and the myriad of emotions he was struggling to manage. He couldn’t wait to be home, not literally at his own place, but anywhere with you and his son was his definition of home.

It would be diabolical for him to run into your arms and yell, ‘I’m free! We can be together again!’ No, that would be cruel and disgusting. He respected Akemi just as he respected you. It was himself that he couldn’t respect, because he was the one responsible for the mess that he created. And adding Sachiro’s critical condition on top of the already festering wounds in your relationship? It truly was the manifestation of karma in his actions.

His footsteps bounced through the hospital corridors the moment he arrived, each impatient step was ready to see your face and tell you he would never leave you and Sachiro now. But as he neared the pediatric ICU, his eyes darted around, the sight of his ex-wife was nowhere to be found. And instinctively, his heart pounded in his chest, and a drum of panic seemed to warn him of a storm that was about to come. Something was off, and it scared him.

“Nurse,” he called out, his voice edged with urgency as he approached their station. “Where’s my wife? The boy’s mother?”

The nurse looked up, recognizing the infamous CEO’s face. “Uh, Mr. Gojou, she was heading to the rooftop, I think.”

“What?!” he unintentionally yelled at her face, “Why didn’t you guys keep an eye on her?”

“Sir, calm down. She’s probably going to get some fresh air.”

A cold chill ran down his spine. You were definitely not there for that.

Without another word, he sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time instead of waiting at an elevator together with a group of people. He had to get to you as soon and as fast as he could without another second to waste. Although the climb felt endless, his mind racing with fear and dread was the push he needed to finally reach you.

And upon bursting through the door to the rooftop, he was met with the soft whisper of the evening wind and the heart-stopping sight of you standing perilously close to the edge.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice breaking with desperation. “Don’t do this. Please, step back.”

You stood motionless, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. “The world hates me, Satoru,” you whispered, the mellow tone of your voice carried away by the wind. “I’m a burden to everyone, even my own child. I-I just… I want to end it all.”

“No!” Satoru’s heart shattered at your words while he moved closer, his hands outstretched and careful not to startle or provoke you. He was dying to have you in his arms and keep you safe. “Y/N, please. Come back. What about Sachi? What about me? We need you. Sachiro needs you. I need you.”

What exactly made you go here? How did thoughts of ending yourself suddenly come into fruition? Was there something you discovered that brought you to this ultimatum? Gojou was desperate, utterly desperate, to hear what was running through your mind so that he could at least ease the burden that you were carrying all by yourself. He was once in the position where he wanted to commit too, and he knew the temptation that came with permanently escaping the cruelty of the world in just a single action.

“Y/N, please. Please, I’m begging. Come to me,” he rattled on in a suffocating whisper, the pleading in his voice was heavy, “Please. I love you. Only you.”

It was when you turned around that Gojou’s world collapsed, and the words you said after had shattered his entire universe.

They were still.

You.

And the wind.

“I’m pregnant,” you finally confessed, voice cracking as you looked at the faint tears that fell from Satoru’s eyes. “I don’t wanna have this baby.”

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo angst #gojo x reader

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dreamauri · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, first of all, I love your writings, and secondly, I wanted to make a request (I don't know if you're accepting requests or if you'll accept this one). Can I ask for a Kimi antonelli x reader story? Maybe the reader is a PR representative for Mercedes and they're now dating. She's completely different from Kimi's personality; she's a bit more serious and reserved (although outside of the cameras, she's a bit more playful and daring). Meanwhile, Kimi is always making comments about his girlfriend all over the paddock. She loves how he admires her, but she doesn't want to create a stir on social media and prefers to keep a low profile. However, at home, she's quite clingy to him, or when she thinks no one is watching, she steals kisses or whispers things to make him blush.

♪ — 𝗢𝗙𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗗 kimi antonelli x mercedes intern! girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . when the un-pr-trained rookie gets with the pr intern, it's entertaining, especially when one's shy to the public eye and the other is the most public not pr trained man ever known to society (1.1k words)

( main naster list | more of kimi antonelli ) ( requests )

You had to admit, Kimi's antics in the paddock were . . . endearing. Despite your more reserved, serious role as a PR intern for Mercedes, you couldn’t help but smile inwardly whenever you caught sight of his goofy grin or mischievous gestures. The two of you were an odd couple in the public eye, your quiet professionalism contrasting with his open, often hilarious disregard for public expectations. But it worked. Somehow, it worked.

The first time you met Kimi, you didn’t expect anything other than a few polite interactions about work. You were a dedicated professional, not someone interested in the drama or the messiness of Formula 1's constant attention. But then Kimi showed up with that lopsided grin, offering you a drink that he immediately spilled when he tried to pass it to you. And before you knew it, you were laughing—and then dating.

Of course, you made sure to keep things under wraps. This relationship was yours, not a spectacle for social media. But Kimi? Kimi didn’t care. He didn’t care what anyone thought.

He’d casually stroll past the Mercedes garage, throw a wink at you from across the paddock, and announce loudly to anyone within earshot, "That's my girl over there!" You would roll your eyes, but secretly, you adored it. It made your heart do a little flutter whenever he did that. Still, you had a job to do. And your job didn’t involve social media posts about your private life.

But Kimi was relentless. It didn’t matter if he was in the middle of a press conference, or chatting with his teammate, George Russell, on the grid—he’d find some way to bring you up. You once overheard him telling George about your last date night together.

“She’s so different, man,” Kimi said, gesturing broadly with his hands. “She’s got this serious thing going on, always with her PR stuff . . . But off-camera? She’s, like, playfully daring. Almost makes me wonder if I should be worried!” His grin was impossible to miss, as if he were proud of the fact that you kept him on his toes.

George, ever the tactful one, raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Last night, she tried to steal a kiss from me when we were at that restaurant. I almost died of shock,” Kimi continued, a bit too loudly, causing a couple of team members nearby to glance over. You could already feel the flush creeping up your neck.

You tried to hide your embarrassment. Kimi didn’t care. He loved it. The more reactions, the more he’d talk about you.

And as for you, you would always ask him to stop. “Kimi, please,” you’d say, tugging him gently by the sleeve when he did that. “People are listening.”

He’d just raise his arms, all dramatic, and mumble in Italian. “Ma che cazzo! Who cares?”

Once, you even tried to give him a lecture about keeping things low-key. “We’re not supposed to be making a spectacle of ourselves, Kimi. You know how I feel about the cameras.”

He just laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like making a spectacle of you,” he teased, his voice hushed but mischievous. “And you like it too, don’t you?”

The thing was, he wasn’t wrong. He made you smile, even when you were trying to act like the serious, professional PR Rep. When it was just the two of you, he had this way of making you feel special. When no one was looking, you’d let yourself be clingy, wrapping your arms around his waist, pulling him in for a soft kiss or whispering something that would make him blush.

You found your private moments together to be the best part of your relationship. He was a complete contrast to the version of himself everyone saw. At home, he was affectionate, always holding your hand as you walked together, wrapping his arm around your waist when you stood in the kitchen or even when you were just standing in the garage. You had learned that in Kimi’s world, physical affection wasn’t just reserved for privacy—it was something he openly enjoyed.

And you… Well, you learned to love it. The way he kissed your cheek in front of everyone, or snuck a quick peck on your lips when he thought no one was watching. Even though you liked to keep your relationship private, Kimi couldn’t help but make it public—and somehow, it always made you fall harder for him.

One afternoon, after a particularly intense race weekend, you found yourself walking out of the paddock with him, hand in hand. You could feel the weight of the cameras behind you, but Kimi didn’t care. He smiled at you and gave you a quick peck on the lips before dragging you towards his car.

“You know, you look so much better when you smile,” he murmured, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You should do it more. I like it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re such a show-off.”

“I’m showing you off,” Kimi corrected, his voice teasing. “And I’m proud of it.”

As you got into the car, you glanced over at him. There was something undeniably charming about his lack of concern for the public’s gaze. And while you might prefer to keep things quieter, you couldn’t deny that being with Kimi—his open affection, his public proclamations, his relentless pursuit of you—was something special.

That night, as you both sat down for a late dinner, Kimi’s phone buzzed. He casually looked at it, showing you a picture he’d taken earlier in the evening.

“See?” he said proudly, showing off a picture of the two of you smiling together at the restaurant. “George is gonna be so jealous.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you set down your fork. “Kimi… Stop showing everyone pictures of us.”

He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “What’s wrong with that? You’re my girl. I’m proud of you.”

You sighed, leaning into him. You would never get him to stop with his PDA, but that was just one of the things you loved about him. And honestly, deep down, you knew you secretly loved the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world. Even if the world was watching.

“Alright, alright,” you teased, stealing a quick kiss from him. “But just this once—stop showing the world so much.”

Kimi looked at you, then smiled, the same playful grin creeping back onto his face. “I’ll stop,” he said with mock seriousness, “but only if you let me kiss you more.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Deal, you big softie.”

And just like that, he kissed you again, proving that no matter where you were or who was watching, Kimi was always going to be the one to make you smile.

voice notes 🔊 . . . ( kimi is like a few months younger than me I don't know how to feel about that like dang. I'm here dying in my studies and my grades and he's over there driving a FUKING MERCEDES in FUCKING FORMULA ONE as a ROOKIE. what did I do wrong in my life, this is why I should've NOT stayed in school 🥲 )

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reidology13 · 2 months ago

Text

this is a state of grace

Aaron Hotchner x fem babysitter!reader - Drinks with the team

cw: fluff, a hint of angst, age gap, hotch calls reader 'sweetheart', drinking, pining, reader's hair is straight/wavy, the team is as desperate for them to get together as we are wc: 2k a/n: they're so hopelessly in love I hope they kiss one day (I'll write it guys I promise maybe)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Aaron could come up with as many reasons as he wanted as to why he invited you out for a post-case celebration—you deserve a break from your constant hard work, he wanted you to get a second meeting of the team that didn’t involve dating accusations—but nothing that he could come up with rang true. Honestly, he just wanted to spend time with you, not in babysitter mode, but as yourself. Instead, he found himself spending time with a very drunk version of you, courtesy of a drinking game Garcia had roped you into.

“Sweetheart, please don’t.” He wrapped his hands around your waist, tucking you into his side, much to the amusement of the team.

“I want to dance.” You didn’t struggle against him, crossing your arms as you slumped into the seat, frowning up at him in annoyance. Adorable.

“Just stay with me.” He squeezed your waist gently, rubbing your side in an attempt to comfort and calm you, to keep you by his side, rather than letting you run off into the flock of drunken clubbers.

“You’re so clingy.” You groaned, dropping your head onto his shoulder as you spoke, which diminished any thoughts in his mind that you were actually annoyed. He brushed his fingers through the soft strands of your hair in the hopes that it would quiet your hushed grumbling.

“I need to keep my favourite babysitter safe.” He pulled you in closer, too distracted to notice the looks being exchanged between the others at the table with you.

“I’m your only babysitter.” You corrected, glaring at him.

“So be grateful I didn’t call you my least favourite.” Aaron couldn’t help the lazy grin that spread across his face as he spoke, unbothered by the fact that the team was there to witness it. He became bothered when they decided to disrupt the two of you, popping the bubble he had been happily residing in, and would have remained in forever if he could. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

“Aww, you two are so cute.” Garcia cooed, bringing Aaron’s attention away from you and back to his unruly team just in time to see several eyes dart away from their boss and his babysitter-who-was-just-his-babysitter-thank-you-very-much. He was also just in time to see Morgan slap Garcia on the arm with a look he presumed meant something like ‘why would you say that?’ and her returning pout that undoubtedly meant ‘because they’re cute and I know this face will make you forgive me.’ Which must have worked, because Morgan sighed, then pulled her into his side and kissed the top of her head.

He gave her a warning glance, although from the lack of worry on her face he assumed his usual air of intimidation was being diminished by the way you seemed to be attempting to crawl into his lap.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He untangled his hand from your hair, relocating it to your waist alongside his other as he tried to gently redirect you back into the seat beside him, although it became apparent that you would not be so easily persuaded.

“Seat’s too warm. And sticky. Just really gross.” You fought against his efforts, struggling to stay where you were, half across his lap, one of your legs draped over his own while the other remained on the leather booth.

“The alcohol in your system is raising your internal temperature, that’s why you feel warm.” Reid piped up from across the table after a moment’s delay as he swallowed his sip of water, and you appeared to listen, pausing for a moment to ruminate on what he’d said.

“I think it’s just the seats.” You shrugged and moved again, catching Aaron off guard as you swung your other leg over both of his, then readjusted yourself so that you were delicately perched sideways on his lap. Almost immediately, you struck up a conversation with JJ, who had all of Aaron’s amusement, without his apprehension or current embarrassment. After a few more minutes of jeers and teasing remarks, he decided enough was enough, leaning in so that you could hear him over the sound of the bar.

“We should go home.” He used a hand resting on your waist to tap your back lightly, hoping you would take it as an invitation to move off of him. You didn’t, only clinging tighter to him and staunchly refusing to move.

“Aaron, I don’t want to go. I wanna dance.” So you were back at dancing again, just as insistent as before—if not more so—and he had no idea how to persuade you away from it.

“Sweetheart, it’s getting late, we don’t have time to dance.” He tried to plead, to convince you that you simply didn’t have the choice to stay, despite the bar not closing for another two hours. It must have worked, you climbed off him, landing back where you had been sitting, and slid out of the booth as Aaron sighed in relief, thinking it would be smooth sailing from there. As always, you had other ideas, and as he followed you out of the booth, you—much to the amusement of his colleagues—wrapped yourself around his arm and bargained.

“Can we dance as we leave? It won’t even slow us down.” Really, how was he supposed to say no? There wasn’t a single reason he could come up with that aligned with his previous excuses as to why dancing was off the table, and the implication that Aaron was now expected to dance alongside you was making him wish he’d just let you go earlier.

“We will be doing nothing of the sort, you can dance on the way out.” He tried to sweeten you up, prying you off of his arm and spinning you in a circle under his arm, rolling his eyes at the wolf whistles sounding from the table behind him.

“No, no-no-no-no-no, you have to dance with me.” You whined, using the hand he had spun you with to pull him away from the team, an outcome he wouldn’t say he was disappointed about. He glanced back at the table to see Prentiss winking, as Morgan mouthed ‘get some,’ and Garcia was managing to draw hearts in the air without lifting a finger. He was going to make Monday a nightmare for them.

“I’ll spin you one more time, but that’s it, okay?” He pulled you back to him, holding you close as you both walked towards the exit, only to keep you safe, of course.

“Fine.” You pouted, his gaze flickered to those soft, unfairly tempting lips that were still somehow coated in a sparkly pink gloss, despite spending the night sipping on various drinks. He supposed you must have been reapplying it every time you went to the bathroom, but you had no purse, and he couldn’t figure out where you were storing it.

“Come on.” He tore his eyes away from your lips, guilt creeping in at the corners of his mind, admonishing him with reminders of who you were and who he was.

You managed to convince him to spin you four more times on the way to the car—he would have made the world spin faster if you’d asked him to—and he watched as you flopped into the passenger seat. Tired, drunk, slightly dizzy. It was a deadly combination that had knocked you out within minutes, your head lolling against the window with a soft ‘thud’ that made Aaron wince each time.

It was just past one when he parked his car in the driveway, gently shaking you awake, “Hey, sweetheart, I need you to get up for me.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, and Aaron decided he shouldn’t have woken you up in the first place as he carried your almost limp body into the house. The only noticeable difference to if you were unconscious was the pressure of your arms wrapped around his neck.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He murmured in your ear when you started to show clear signs of distress at the loss of one of his arms that kept you from falling. He had the door open a moment later, without dropping you, which you had clearly been nervous about. The door swung closed behind him, and he quickly disarmed the alarm before taking you to your room. Your door was slightly ajar, so all he had to do was push it open with his hip and carry you in.

He cupped the back of your neck as he sat down on the bed, tenderly lowering you onto the mattress beside him, “I need to leave for a minute, is that okay?”

“No, don’t leave, I don’t want you to go.” Those sad eyes almost had him staying, but he had to lock up the house, because the thought of you getting hurt was unbearable, and he would take your momentary disappointment if it kept you safe.

“I’ll be back before you know it, sweetheart.” He adjusted you to lie more comfortably against the pillows, “There we go, good job.”

When the fight was successfully coaxed out of you, he returned to the entryway, securing the locks and alarm before heading to the bathroom. He found your makeup wipes, the spare pack you kept at his house for the many nights you stayed over, before returning to your room.

You were fast asleep, and this time Aaron couldn’t bring himself to wake you. Sitting beside you, he tried to put his weight down gradually to keep the dip of the mattress from being sudden enough to disturb your slumber. He pulled one of the damp wipes out, distinctly familiar after years of baby wipes, he wondered if that was why you used them instead of anything else. Maybe they were just ‘in,’ and Aaron needed to stop overthinking things.

He rolled you onto your back, closely watching your face for any signs that your sleep wasn’t as deep as it seemed and finding none, your demeanour as peaceful as ever. He brushed your hair out of your face, replacing it with the wipe, softly swiping it over your skin, each pass bringing with it your foundation, blush, the sparkly eyeshadow you’d insisted on wearing for a night out, and that had thoroughly dazzled him.

When no more came off, Aaron took another wipe in hand, one final pass over to make sure that none was left. He stood up just as slowly as he’d sat down, taking a step away from the bed before he allowed himself to look at you. You were as breath-takingly beautiful as ever, so calm in your sleep, and he thought he might have seen a slight smile dance across your face, indicative of a nice dream. For a moment, he let himself imagine waking up to that kind smile, those bright eyes watching him from the space on his bed that would no longer be empty.

He stepped out of the room before he could think any more, before he started to truly feel like a creep. But not before one last look at the space you had built around yourself—the candles on your nightstand, the posters of your favourite artists on the walls, the framed photo of you and Jack—so completely yours, he’d ceased calling it the guest room years ago. You made the space brighter, all the little touches of you in the house were like rays of sunshine through the clouds on a gloomy day. Something that you’d baked and left in the fridge, a necklace forgotten by the sink, his house may as well have been yours. He wished he was, too.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast @selmasdaydreams @khxna - Comment to be added <3

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missmaymay13 · 2 months ago

Text

i accidentally fell in love with you - w.smith

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

w.smith x fem! oc | 7.2k

summary: will smith is getting tired of the teams constant teasing about his love life, so, he starts a fake relationship with the athletic therapist intern, Elizabeth Brooke. the only problem? she has no clue she had been roped in to dating him.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Elizabeth Brooke loved her job.

Even on the days when the locker room smelled like sweat and sports drink, and she had to politely dodge flying tape balls and chirps from players who still hadn't fully grasped what "I'm working" meant.

Still, working as an athletic therapy intern with the San Jose Sharks for the second season in a row was a dream. She was gaining hands-on experience, earning school credit, and learning from some of the best in the league.

And most of the guys were great—loud, chaotic, but respectful. She was "Ellie" to everyone, or sometimes "Brooke," and every now and then "kiddo" when they felt particularly big-brotherly.

She mostly kept her head down, made her friends at the university nearby, and avoided any unnecessary attention at work.

Which is why she completely missed that she'd been fake-dating Will Smith without knowing it.

—

"Bro, just admit you're lonely," Macklin teased from across the locker room, taping his stick lazily. "You've been here three months and haven't gone on a single date."

Will rolled his eyes, lacing up his skates. "I'm not lonely."

"Then who's the mystery girl you're always texting?" someone else chimed in. "Or are you just playing Candy Crush?"

Will, flustered and unbothered at the same time, shrugged. "I'm uh- dating someone."

That shut them up for half a second.

Mack squinted. "You're what now?"

"Dating someone," Will repeated casually, hoping it would blow over.

It didn't.

"No way," Mack said, grinning like a shark (the metaphorical kind). "Who?"

Will panicked.

"She, uh... " he said, thinking fast. "Dark hair, brown eyes, quiet. Like—super sweet. You probably don't know her."

He thought that would be vague enough.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

Mack's eyes lit up. "Noooo. You're dating Ellie?"

Will froze. "...What?"

"You literally just described her. Brown eyes? Quiet? You mean Elizabeth Brooke?"

"I—" Will started, but Mack cut him off.

"No way. She's way too nice to date you. That's, like, morally illegal."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Will asked, offended on behalf of himself and his imaginary girlfriend.

Right on cue, Ellie walked past the locker room, clipboard in hand, her soft smile aimed at the group like it always was—polite, sweet, almost shy. She gave a small wave.

The guys waved back.

"Dude, she's, like, adorable," one of them said. "You are not dating her."

Will, now far too committed to back out, stood up with unnecessary confidence. "Bet?"

Before anyone could respond, he jogged after her.

Ellie didn't flinch when he matched her pace down the hallway. She glanced up and smiled, recognizing him instantly.

"Hey," she said. "Need something?"

Will casually slung an arm over her shoulder. "Just walking my favourite AT to work."

She laughed, confused but not uncomfortable. "That right?"

It wasn't totally weird. The guys teased her like this all the time. She was the "little sister" of the staff, the one they all claimed to protect while also making fun of her coffee order and stealing her snacks.

So she didn't think much of it when Will walked her all the way to the recovery room, arm still resting lazily around her shoulder, chatting like they did this every day.

When they reached the door, he dropped his arm and flashed her a grin. "Catch you later, Brookie."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked straight back toward the locker room.

Back at her station, Allan, one of the athletic therapists, raised a brow as she passed.

"What was that about?"

Ellie blinked. "What?"

"With Will."

"Oh. I dunno. He's just being nice?"

Allan gave her a look but didn't press it.

Ellie shrugged it off and returned to the charts, not knowing that Will had just created a very real problem for himself.

Because now, officially, everyone on the team thought Elizabeth Brooke was his girl.

And she had no clue about it.

⸻

Will should've let it die.

He should've said he was kidding, or made up a name, or pulled a full "you wouldn't know her, she goes to another team."

Instead, he watched Ellie from far away, calm and clueless, and turned back to the guys like he hadn't just made the worst spontaneous decision of his rookie season.

Mack raised an eyebrow. "So, she's your girlfriend."

Will crossed his arms. "Yep."

"She doesn't act like your girlfriend."

"She's private."

"She didn't even blink when you walked up to her outta nowhere and slung your arm around her like you were in a movie."

Will shrugged. "That's just how we are."

The guys all gave him the same look: We do not believe you, rookie.

"Alright," Mack said, grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd had all month. "Guess we'll keep an eye out. See how you two lovebirds act around each other."

Will blinked. "Why?"

"Just curious," Mack said. "Always fun to watch young love bloom."

Will gritted his teeth. He was so screwed.

Over the next week, things got... complicated.

He started getting asked way too many questions.

"Did you and Ellie meet here or before camp?"

"Does she like sushi or burgers better?"

"Wait, so are you guys, like, exclusive-exclusive?"

And worst of all: "When's she coming to dinner with the team?"

Will dodged. He weaved. He deflected with the skill of a man who had watched every season of Survivor and thought he could make it on the island.

But then there was Ellie—existing peacefully in her little bubble, smiling at him in the hallways, complimenting him on his stickhandling during practice, handing him water bottles like she wasn't accidentally the co-star in his elaborate charade.

She was the worst fake girlfriend.

Not because she was bad at it. She was great at it actually.

But because she didn't know she was one.

—

"You've been acting weird," she said one afternoon, handing him a compression wrap.

Will choked. "Weird? Me? I'm literally the least weird person in this room."

"There's only two of us."

"Exactly."

She narrowed her eyes, amused. "You're deflecting."

He fumbled. "I'm mysterious."

"You're twitchy."

"Hey, how's school going?!"

Ellie blinked at the hard subject change but let it slide, going off about her upcoming exams and a group project she was 99% sure would be the death of her.

Will nodded, listening but also sweating internally because why was she so nice? And why did pretending to date her feel so weirdly natural?

He needed a plan.

He needed to keep the lie alive long enough for the team to drop it—and definitely without Ellie figuring it out.

Which would be easy.

Right?

Right.

⸻

Will knew the guys were watching.

It started subtly—Macklin Celebrini lingering a bit too long by the gym entrance, pretending to scroll through his phone. Then William Eklund conveniently choosing the treadmill with the perfect vantage point of the therapy room. Even Tyler Toffoli, usually indifferent to locker room gossip, seemed to find reasons to be nearby whenever Ellie was around.

The pressure was mounting. Every time Will caught one of them glancing over, he felt the need to up his game.

During a routine stretching session, Ellie was demonstrating a new technique. Will leaned in closer than necessary, nodding intently, his arm casually brushing against hers. He could almost feel Macklin's gaze burning into his back.

"You're really getting the hang of this," Ellie said, her voice warm and encouraging.

Will smiled, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder. "Well, I have a great teacher."

Ellie laughed softly, a sound that always managed to ease his nerves. She was so genuine, so effortlessly kind, and completely unaware of the silent battle Will was waging.

As the days went on, Will found himself seeking her out more frequently. Not just to keep up appearances, but because, truthfully, he enjoyed her company. They'd share lunch breaks, discussing everything from her university classes to his rookie experiences. He'd offer to help her carry equipment, their fingers brushing occasionally, sending unexpected jolts up his arm.

One afternoon, as they were organizing therapy bands, Ellie tilted her head, studying him with those deep brown eyes.

"I've noticed you've been around more lately," she said, a hint of curiosity in her tone.

Will's mind raced. He couldn't exactly tell her the truth—that he'd accidentally started a rumor about them dating and was now trapped in his own web of lies.

He flashed his most disarming smile. "Just love seeing my favorite girl!"

Ellie chuckled, a light blush coloring her cheeks. "You're such a goof, Will."

She returned to her task, leaving Will both relieved and increasingly aware of the warmth spreading in his chest whenever he was around her.

After a week of subtle surveillance, Macklin decided it was time to confront the situation head-on.

During a lull between practice drills, he approached Ellie, who was organizing medical supplies on the sidelines.

"Hey, Ellie," Macklin began, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with curiosity.

She looked up, offering her usual friendly smile. "Hey, Macklin. What's up?"

He leaned against the table, arms crossed. "So, the team's got a reservation this weekend at that new steakhouse downtown. Are you and Will coming together?"

Ellie's brow furrowed slightly, clearly puzzled. "Will and I? Together?"

Macklin nodded, watching her closely.

She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Oh, um, Will and I haven't really discussed plans yet. But if he's going, I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Macklin studied her for a moment longer before offering a satisfied nod. "Alright, just checking. See you there."

As he walked away, Ellie shook her head slightly, muttering to herself, "That was odd."

Unbeknownst to her, Will had been within earshot, heart pounding as he listened to the exchange. Ellie's innocent response had, miraculously, managed to maintain the facade without her even realizing it.

He exhaled a silent sigh of relief, mentally thanking Ellie for being her sweet, oblivious self. For now, his secret was safe.

⸻

"Hey," Ellie said casually, poking her head into the workout room where Will was finishing post-practice stretches. "Macklin said you and I were going to that steakhouse dinner together?"

Will's entire body froze mid-stretch like he'd been caught committing tax fraud.

"Uh—what?" he asked, voice suspiciously high-pitched.

Ellie raised a brow, laughing a little. "You good? You look like I asked you to do my calculus homework."

Will scrambled for a response. "Uhhh... I mean, yeah, yeah. We're going together. I—I think I said that because we live close to each other? So like... rideshare logic?"

Ellie blinked. Then smiled. "Oh! Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Will let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Crisis averted.

"So," she added, tilting her head, "what time are you picking me up?"

Will's brain short-circuited again, but he somehow managed a grin. "Seven work?"

"Perfect!" she chirped, then turned to leave with a little wave.

He collapsed back onto the mat, hands over his face. "I am in so deep," he muttered to himself.

That Night – 7:25 PM

The Sharks were already seated inside the sleek, dimly lit steakhouse, tucked into a long table with just enough elbow room for their egos. Players and WAGs alike had shown out—suits, dresses, full glam. The waiters were clearly a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the reservation.

Macklin Celebrini sat at the far end, nursing a soda and keeping a suspicious eye on the entrance. William Eklund beside him leaned back just far enough to peek into the lobby. They were both very ready to witness Will Smith's downfall.

Then the front doors opened.

And there they were.

Will, in a crisp navy button-up, hair actually brushed for once. And Ellie, in a soft yellow dress that made her look like literal sunshine, paired with wedges and a tiny purse. Her hair was pulled half-up, and she looked so perfect it physically pained Will.

What really caught the boys' attention, though, was the parking lot performance.

From their seats, they had the perfect view of Will jogging around to open the car door for her. They watched as she stepped out, a little hesitant in her wedges, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the San Jose chill.

Then—the move.

Will noticed instantly, rubbing the back of his neck before casually slinging an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they walked.

They couldn't hear what he said—but her head tilted up, cheeks pink, and she let out a giggle so soft and pretty it made half the table blink in unison.

Inside, Will leaned in. "Sorry, I'd give you my jacket if I had one, but I don't think the restaurant would be thrilled if I showed up shirtless. So... this'll have to do."

Ellie giggled again. "You're ridiculous. Thank you."

When they finally made it to the table, the group greeted them with a flurry of side-eyes and smirks.

Will, clueless, helped Ellie into her chair and pulled his in beside her like it was no big deal. Ellie greeted everyone like she always did—smiling, polite, a little shy.

Most of the guys exchanged a glance like, Oh. This is real.

Except Macklin, who squinted across the table like a man on a mission.

And Eklund, who whispered, "They're either dating or he's really good at improv."

"Something's off," Macklin muttered.

Will clinked water glasses with Ellie like he hadn't been spiraling all week and very much was about to choke on his Caesar salad.

He shot a glance at her, still laughing at something Toffoli had said, and smiled despite himself.

Fake girlfriend? Maybe. Unintentional real feelings? ...Yeah, possibly.

But for tonight?

He'd take the win.

⸻

Will was going to combust.

He'd made it thirty minutes into the dinner without incident, which was practically an Olympic-level achievement considering Macklin and Eklund were sitting directly across from him, analyzing his every breath like it was game tape.

Ellie, for her part, was just being... Ellie. Sunshine in a yellow dress, sipping water with two lemon slices like always, laughing at all the right moments, completely unaware that she was currently the centerpiece of Will's accidental soap opera.

She hadn't noticed the extra chair pulled just a little closer to his. Or the way he'd kept an arm draped over the back of hers like it was no big deal. Or the way he kept glancing at her like she was a live wire and he had no business being this close to it.

And then—it happened.

In the middle of the meal, with conversation buzzing and forks clinking against plates, Ellie reached over without looking and gently wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of Will's mouth with her thumb.

Just. Like. That.

Not a second of hesitation. Like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Will practically short-circuited.

"Uhh—" he choked, blinking rapidly as she returned to her conversation with Henry Thrun like nothing had happened.

His eyes darted across the table. Macklin was staring at him with a raised brow and suspiciously slow sip of water. Eklund looked like he was watching an interrogation scene from a crime show.

Will swallowed. Kept his cool. Pretended he didn't just die a little inside.

Ellie leaned toward him a moment later, brushing her arm against his, and without thinking, Will rested his arm casually along the back of her chair again. This time, it wasn't even a strategic move—it was grounding. He needed it to survive.

Then Cat Toffoli, looking stunning as always in some sleek blazer-dress situation, smiled from a few seats down.

"Aww," she said sweetly, "you guys are so cute."

Both Will and Ellie froze.

Will felt his entire soul detach from his body.

Ellie blinked. "Oh... um. Thanks!"

And then—nothing. She just turned back to her food like someone hadn't just complimented her on her nonexistent relationship.

Will internally screamed.

Macklin's head tilted, slow and thoughtful like he was watching live footage of a wildlife documentary.

Eklund narrowed his eyes. "She's either the best actress I've ever seen... or she really doesn't know."

Will met their stares across the table and smiled tightly. He was losing control fast.

But then Ellie glanced up at him, catching his eye, and smiled that sweet little smile that always made his stomach twist.

And Will realized something terrifying.

He didn't want to stop pretending anymore.

⸻

After the dinner, Will dropped Ellie off at her place with a grin that he swore didn't tremble. She thanked him like she always did—sweet, soft, a little shy—and then gave a small wave as she walked through her front door.

He waited until the door shut behind her before fully exhaling, like he'd been holding his breath all night before walking back to his car.

Then he slumped back into the driver's seat of his car and let the silence wrap around him like a weighted blanket of doom.

What the hell am I doing?

This wasn't supposed to be a thing. It was supposed to be a fake relationship to get the guys off his back. A little white lie to preserve the dignity of a guy who definitely wasn't secretly terrified of girls.

Because Will Smith might've looked like he had it all together—confident, flirty, always saying the right thing. But deep down?

He was a mess.

The reason he'd never had a girlfriend? He was shy. So painfully shy when it came to feelings that he once ghosted a girl for trying to hold his hand on a Ferris wheel.

But with Ellie?

It was different. Too easy. She was sunshine in human form. The kind of girl who made everything brighter just by walking into the room. She laughed with her whole chest, leaned into people when she talked, and made everyone feel like the most important person in the world—even when she was just handing them a water bottle.

Will groaned, dragging his hands through his hair.

He was in trouble.

He didn't know when it happened. Maybe it was when she giggled at his dumb joke during warmups. Or when she'd wiped barbecue sauce off his face at the steakhouse like it was nothing.

Or maybe it was the way she looked at him sometimes. Like really looked at him. Her eyes soft, a little curious, like she was trying to figure him out.

He thumped his forehead gently against the steering wheel.

Honk.

A loud beep pierced the night, his horn setting off a chain reaction of startled honks from neighboring cars.

"Great," he muttered, covering his face. "Just great."

He was spiraling.

Actually, genuinely spiraling.

Hands in his hair, stomach in knots, brain screaming you are fake dating the girl you like and she doesn't even know!

Then—

Buzz.

His phone lit up in the cup holder.

Ellie: You okay?

Will blinked. Turned slowly.

She was standing at her front door again, wrapped in a blanket, phone in one hand, amusement written all over her face. She waved once, eyebrow raised.

He groaned, letting his head drop back on the seat.

She saw the whole thing.

Of course she did.

And of course, she probably thought nothing of it. Just Will being a goof. Her friend. Her coworker.

Not the idiot who was definitely falling for her one fake moment at a time.

Will texted back.

Will: All good. Just fighting for my life.

Her laugh echoed in his head even through the screen.

Yup.

He was in deep.

And this? This was going to be a problem.

⸻

Practice had wrapped, and most of the guys had cleared out, but Ellie was still in the hallway reorganizing a few treatment plans when Macklin Celebrini and William Eklund casually strolled over—just a little too casual.

"Hey, Brooke," Mack said, leaning on the wall next to her.

Ellie glanced up with a smile. "Hey guys. You need something?"

"Nope," Eklund said quickly. "Just hanging out. Long day, huh?"

"Always is," Ellie hummed, flipping a page on her clipboard. "Will was limping again. I told him to stretch more but he's stubborn."

Eklund exchanged a loaded look with Macklin, but kept his tone neutral. "Yeah? You two carpool today?"

"Mhmm," Ellie nodded without looking up. "We usually do after morning skates. I hate driving and he lets me control the aux."

Mack grinned. "What's your go-to playlist?"

"Oh, I've got a rotation. Depends on the vibe. But I always throw in a couple songs Will secretly likes but pretends to hate. He groans every time but doesn't skip them."

Eklund raised a brow. "What, like guilty pleasure music?"

"Exactly," she said, finally glancing up with a sweet, knowing smile. "He has a weird soft spot for Taylor Swift. But I won't tell anyone that."

Mack bit back a grin. "His favorite song?"

Ellie paused. "Okay, this is gonna sound fake, but he loves 'Wildest Dreams.' Like... screams the bridge in the car."

Eklund blinked. "Seriously?"

She giggled. "Dead serious. It's actually kind of impressive."

The two Sharks exchanged a look. This was going sideways.

Mack tried a new angle. "So, like... if Will gets hangry, what's the move?"

"Easy. Chicken tenders and a nap," she said, not missing a beat. "And keep conversation to a minimum until he's eaten. He's dramatic about it."

Eklund looked visibly thrown. "That's... oddly specific."

"I know," Ellie said brightly. "He's kind of a walking tantrum when he's hungry."

The boys were stumped. These were real answers. Couple-level answers.

And yet... Ellie seemed so chill about it. Not gushing. Not flustered. Just... Ellie.

"You ever get in fights with him?" Mack asked carefully.

Ellie scrunched her nose. "Not really. I mean, he gets pouty when I beat him at Mario Kart, but that's on him. I warned him I was good."

"So... no drama?" Eklund asked.

She smiled. "We're pretty easy together, honestly. It's fun."

It was fun.

Too fun.

Macklin and Eklund watched her walk off a minute later, still humming as she disappeared down the hallway.

"...Dude," Eklund said finally. "I think they're actually dating."

"No way," Mack whispered. "Will's been acting like a man on the edge for weeks."

"I don't know, man. She knows his favorite comfort food and his guilty pleasure song."

"She also just called him a tantrum in the body of a hockey player."

"...Fair."

Later that afternoon, the boys watched from afar as Ellie received a bouquet of flowers.

She smiled down at the card with that glowing, delighted look only she could pull off, and Will was standing right next to her.

Mack jabbed Eklund in the ribs. "He got her flowers."

"I'm seeing it," Eklund muttered. "This is insane."

(They did not know the flowers were from Ellie's parents congratulating her on finishing finals.)

Then there was the car ride home. Again.

Then the lunch they ate together in the corner of the lounge, shoulders bumping as they laughed at something on Will's phone.

Then the hallway.

They found them—alone, mid-conversation, completely unaware of their silent audience. Will was leaned against the wall, looking down at her with that look—the kind of look that belonged in a Nicholas Sparks movie.

Ellie was smiling up at him, cheeks pink, hands lightly clasped in front of her. Will leaned in slightly, said something that made her duck her head with a giggle. She bumped his arm, he nudged her back.

No one else was around.

No audience. No act.

And yet... it felt like something real.

The silence between Macklin and Eklund stretched.

Then—

"Okay," Macklin admitted. "Maybe we were wrong."

Eklund sighed. "Or Will's playing the longest con of all time and she's just the best partner in crime?"

They both kept watching.

And somehow, they weren't even mad about it.

They were just... curious.

And very invested.

—

Ellie rarely traveled with the team. She was usually tied up with classes back at the university, so most of the road trips came and went without her presence.

But this time?

Spring break aligned perfectly. No labs, no lectures. Just a brief window of time and an open seat on the team flight. So Ellie packed her essentials and joined the Sharks for their road trip to Colorado.

Will didn't hesitate to claim the seat next to her. Of course he didn't.

The moment they boarded the plane, he threw his backpack in the overhead bin, turned to her with a grin, and said, "Window or aisle, your call."

Ellie laughed softly. "Window. I like the clouds."

Macklin Celebrini and William Eklund were seated directly in front of them.

And they were ready.

Armed with subtle glances and perfectly angled earbuds that weren't even playing music, they listened in shamelessly—because this whole thing? This mystery situationship between Will and Ellie had become their full-time investigation.

And the second the plane started to taxi, the cuteness hit the fan.

"Do you have my headphones in your bag?" Ellie asked, nudging Will's knee with hers.

Will reached down, unzipped a pouch, and handed them to her without a word.

Macklin blinked.

Then Ellie leaned back, brows knitting. "Wait—did you remember to turn the oven off before we left?"

Will groaned dramatically. "You were supposed to check it after I made that frozen pizza."

She gasped. "You left it on?!"

He smirked. "Relax. I turned it off. I just wanted to see you panic."

"Rude," she muttered, smacking his arm.

Eklund tilted his head. "Are they married?"

Then Will added, "Don't forget to call your mom when we land."

"Oh yeah, speaking of parents," Ellie said, suddenly brightening, "how did your dad like that movie I recommended?"

Will grinned. "He loved it. Said he wants to rewatch it with you over FaceTime because he has questions and thinks you're smarter than me."

Ellie beamed, flattered. "He has great taste."

In front of them, Macklin was having a quiet meltdown.

"They're so real," he whispered.

"They're either actually dating," Eklund whispered back, "or we're living in a simulation and none of this is real."

Eventually, the conversation quieted. Will pulled out his laptop, propped it between them, and opened their current binge show—something light and funny that they both always watched together but swore they weren't watching without each other.

They didn't say much after that. Just quiet laughs, small comments, Ellie leaning a little closer as she got comfortable.

Then silence.

Macklin turned around to say something dumb—probably a chirp about their show—and stopped mid-breath.

He nudged Eklund urgently.

They both turned slowly.

And what they saw nearly sent them into cardiac arrest.

Will had shifted into the corner of the seat by the window, legs stretched out across the row. One arm was draped lazily but securely around Ellie, who was curled against him, practically on top of him, her head tucked into his chest, his hand resting on her arm.

Her arm was wrapped around his waist.

The laptop was dark. The episode long finished.

They were both fast asleep.

Macklin sat back in stunned silence.

Eklund stared blankly ahead.

"Okay," Mack finally whispered. "I think they might actually be in love."

"Yeah," Eklund agreed quietly. "We've lost."

And for once... neither of them minded.

⸻

It had been a smooth road trip. No injuries, no drama, just a few wins and a lot of good vibes.

Until Ellie got pulled aside in the hallway by Coach.

Not Will. Not one of the guys. Coach.

Coach gave her a polite nod, crossing his arms. "I've been informed that you're dating Will."

Ellie blinked. "I'm sorry... what?"

"I don't have an issue with it," he added quickly, "you're both adults. Just make sure you keep things professional when you're in the building."

Ellie just stared at him. Brain buffering. "Wait. Dating?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what I heard."

"Who told you that?"

"I think it started with Celebrini."

Of course it did.

Ellie nodded slowly, like maybe if she gave herself enough time, the moment would start to make sense. It didn't. She walked away in a daze, grabbing her stuff and heading out to where Will was already waiting in the car to drive her home.

When she got in, Will gave her the usual lazy smile. "Hey. Ready?"

She buckled her seatbelt slowly. "Are we dating?"

The car jerked slightly as Will's foot nearly missed the gas.

"I—what?"

"Coach said we're dating," she said calmly, like she wasn't possibly re-evaluating every moment of her life. "And Mack apparently told him?"

Will froze. Completely.

"Oh my god," he whispered.

Ellie stared. "Are we?"

Silence.

Then—

"I didn't mean for it to go this far!" Will blurted, hands flying off the wheel at a stoplight. "I swear! The guys kept teasing me about being single and I panicked, and I just... said I had a girlfriend! And then they wanted to know who, and I kinda... randomly described you. Because I had a crush on you, like, a huge one, and you were literally right there and—"

Ellie stared, eyes wide.

"—and it made sense because you're always nice to me and everyone adores you, and I thought it would die after a week, but then they didn't believe me so I had to prove it, and you just—kept being you, and I couldn't stop it."

Will looked like he was fighting for air.

"And then I didn't tell you, and it just got worse, and I didn't want you to hate me for lying, and I really didn't mean to fake-date you, it's just now it's not fake because I have very real, very tragic, very permanent feelings for you, and I know I ruined everything and you probably want to punch me in the face but—"

"Will," she said softly, her cheeks fully flushed.

"—and I'm freaking out, and I think I need to call my sister or move to another country or maybe both—"

"Will."

He whipped his head toward her, wide-eyed. "Please say something. Oh my god, did I just mess this all up? I'm so stupid. This is so bad—"

She cut him off.

With a kiss.

Will froze for a second—completely stunned—but then he melted into it, arms loosening, hand finding hers between the seats. Her lips were warm and soft and it was better than every fantasy he'd ever had.

One hand found her jaw, the other tangled in her sleeve, and she melted into him, laughing softly against his lips as they pulled apart.

"I would've said yes," she said breathlessly, cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You know. If you had just asked me out like a normal person."

Will was dazed. "You... you would've?"

She giggled. "Will, I've always thought you were cute. You just never asked."

"I literally faked a relationship because I didn't think you'd say yes."

"And you thought I was the oblivious one," she teased.

Will groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel.

Honk.

She snorted as he flailed. "You've got to stop doing that."

"I can't think straight when you're here," he mumbled into the wheel. "Oh my god, I'm in love with you."

"I'm starting to notice."

—

Unbeknownst to them, across the parking lot, Macklin Celebrini sat in his car, slurping a smoothie and watching the scene unfold through his windshield.

He hadn't heard the words.

But he didn't need to.

He saw the kiss.

He saw the smile on Will's face after.

He saw Ellie laughing, looking at Will like he was the sunshine for once.

Macklin nodded to himself.

"Alright. It's real."

Then he picked up his phone.

Macklin: ur not gonna believe this but it's actually real. like, REALLY real. they kissed. in the parking lot. right now.

Eklund: send pics

Macklin: dude i'm not a creep

Eklund: that's news to me

—

Will was freaking out.

He was pacing the sidewalk in front of her house, pulling at the collar of his sweater, double-checking the dinner reservation under "Smith, party of two," and obsessively checking his hair in his phone camera.

Then, like any reasonable man in distress, he called his sister.

"Grace. SOS."

She picked up on the first ring. "Please tell me you didn't forget deodorant."

"I brought flowers," he said instead, holding the bouquet in one hand like it might suddenly explode. "Is that too much? Is it weird? We've basically been 'dating' for like, two months. This is somehow more stressful."

"It's not too much," Grace said, laughing. "It's perfect. You're nervous because it's real now."

Will groaned. "Yeah, well, real makes me want to throw up."

"Then it's working."

—

Ellie opened her door in a soft sage green sundress and her favorite pair of heeled sandals, hair curled loosely and cheeks already blushing before she even saw him.

Then she did see him—leaning against his car, freshly showered, holding a bouquet of daisies.

Her stomach flipped.

"Oh," she said quietly, smiling like the sun. "You brought me flowers?"

Will froze for half a second, then handed them over with an awkward little shrug. "Thought you deserved some. You've been dating me for months without actually being asked out."

She laughed, soft and sweet. "I didn't mind."

"Well," he said, his voice low and suddenly serious, "I do."

And just like that, Ellie was nervous too.

—

They went to a cozy, hip little restaurant downtown—intimate lighting, trendy cocktails, tiny candles on every table. Definitely a date-night spot. Will held every door open, let her choose the booth, and complimented her three times before they even ordered drinks.

Conversation flowed like it always did—easy, natural, full of low laughter and little looks that lasted longer than they used to. They didn't check their phones. They didn't rush. They stayed long after the plates were cleared, just sipping and talking, the city glowing outside the window behind them.

It was perfect.

Then—

"Oh my god," Ellie whispered suddenly, leaning across the table. "Don't look now, but I swear that's Cat Toffoli."

Will turned immediately.

"Will!" she hissed, laughing.

Sure enough, Cat and Tyler were strolling past their table on their way out. Cat caught sight of them first and lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Ellie! Will! Look at you two!"

Will stood up and gave Tyler a side hug while Ellie leaned in for a hug from Cat.

"You guys look adorable," she whispered into Ellie's ear before pulling away with a knowing grin.

Tyler clapped Will on the shoulder. "Try the tiramisu. Trust me. Split it."

Then they disappeared into the night, leaving Will and Ellie smiling stupidly across the table.

"Tiramisu?" Ellie asked.

Will flagged down their server.

—

Will had barely made it to his stall before Tyler Toffoli, who conveniently sat between Will and Macklin, turned to him with a smirk.

"So?" Tyler asked, casually taping his stick. "How was the tiramisu?"

Will grinned, tugging off his sweatshirt. "Delicious. You were right."

Macklin's head snapped around. "What tiramisu? What restaurant? You went out without me?"

Will shrugged like it was no big deal. "I took Ellie out. Like on a date."

Tyler chimed in, totally unbothered. "Saw them at this cute downtown spot with Cat. They looked so cute all dressed up. I had to say something."

Macklin stared at Will. "You really took her on a date?"

Will smirked, still high off last night. "Yup. Proper one. Flowers and everything."

Mack slumped against his stall, looking betrayed. "Unbelievable."

"You'll get over it," Will said, tugging on his jersey.

But the whole time, he was smiling to himself.

Because this time?

It wasn't fake.

⸻

A year and a half into dating, and Will and Ellie were still the couple that made people's teeth hurt.

They were that couple—matching hoodies, forehead kisses at the rink, inside jokes that made no sense, and a suspiciously high number of shared playlists. Will still lit up every time she walked into a room. Ellie still blushed when he kissed her cheek, even if it happened thirty times a day.

Tonight, most of the Sharks were crammed into Mario Ferraro's house for a lowkey night of pizza, video games, and yelling at the TV.

Ellie and Will? They were in the kitchen.

Bickering.

Loudly.

"I told you not to watch it without me," Ellie huffed, hands on her hips, wearing one of Will's hoodies and looking so betrayed. "That was our show."

Will, leaning dramatically against the fridge, groaned. "It was one episode! One! I was on the road and bored!"

"It was our show, Will! That's basically emotional cheating!"

"You were asleep by nine that night!"

"I was exhausted because someone dragged me to an early morning skate!"

"You insisted on making pancakes afterward!"

"I thought it would be romantic!" she gasped, hand flying to her chest.

Will raised an eyebrow. "So this isn't romantic?"

They glared. It was heated. Petty. A little ridiculous.

And then—

"You never would've done that while you were dating me without my knowledge!"

Silence.

Utter. Silence.

The living room went quiet. Like dead silent. No chewing. No breathing.

Ellie froze, eyes wide. "Oh... shoot."

Will turned bright red. Like stop-sign red.

She winced. "I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?"

He lunged toward her instantly, wrapping her in a suffocating bear hug, smothering her against his chest. "You're so dead. You're so dead."

From the other room came a chorus of gasps and groans.

And then—two familiar heads slowly peeked around the kitchen corner.

Macklin Celebrini, smugger than ever. William Eklund, arms crossed and grinning like a cat who finally caught the canary.

"So," Mack said slowly. "It was fake?"

Will groaned into Ellie's shoulder.

Ellie peeked around him, cheeks pink but grinning. "For a good 3 months, yeah. I was as clueless as you guys."

Eklund pointed at Will. "We knew something was off. The way it came out of nowhere? The way Will was acting? Come on."

Will let his forehead fall dramatically onto Ellie's shoulder. "I hate everything."

"You faked a relationship," Mack said, "and then fell in love for real? That's some Hallmark-level stuff."

"I panicked!" Will shouted into the void. "And then she was just... her. And I couldn't not like her! Have you met her?"

"She's literally the nicest person alive," Eklund agreed, nodding solemnly. "Honestly, we're impressed."

From the couch, Cat Toffoli yelled, "Called it!"

Tyler shouted, "It all makes sense now!"

And from then on, no matter what Will did, the boys never let him forget it.

Anytime Ellie walked into the locker room? "Careful, boys. Will might be fake-dating her again."

Every anniversary? "Happy Fakeiversary!"

" Did you count all the months you were fake dating? Or only the months you were actually dating."

Every time he so much as looked at her with heart eyes? "Wow. That fake girlfriend really got to you, huh?"

And Will?

He took it. Because, yeah.

She really did.

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oceantornadoo · 5 months ago

Text

ch2 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

masterlist | next

You hate John Price because he ruined your childhood. Or at least, his father did.

Growing up as a bastard was hard. You do thank your lucky stars that you were a bastard in modern-day society, and not during some time when your mother could have had her head chopped off. It’s the small things.

Your mother was Mr. Riley’s nanny. How original.

Mrs. Riley, Simon and Tommy’s mother, did not like her husband. Smart woman. He was cruel, knew how to poke at scars until they opened and bled down bruised skin. They had an heir and a spare, neither of which she was particularly attached to. It was enough to fulfill their marriage contract, so she got to live out the rest of her days in a beachside condo in Cornwall. Simon and Tommy were raised properly, the Riley way, in Greater Manchester. In a mansion bought by blood and exploitation, guns and gold.

With the wife out of the way and two boys under five, Mr. Riley hired a nanny. The way your mother tells it, only after three glasses of wine before the sun sets, she was low on cash and desperate for a place to stay. The whispers about the Riley family were loud, but the grumbling of her stomach was louder. It’s a phrase she repeated over and over during your childhood, as you hopped from international school in Paris to private school in New York City, wherever your father decreed was safer. You tell her she doesn’t need to justify it, even now as you live with your brother and she stays countries away, but she’ll just give you that same tightlipped smile. She still doesn’t forgive herself for who your father was, so you have to forgive her for the both of you.

She couldn’t say no to Mr. Riley. Maybe it was the sight of her with his kids or her constant proximity, but he claimed he was in love. You can’t say no to the head of a gang, especially if you’re an employee. And once she became pregnant, he tightened the reins. Pulled strings to become your legal primary caregiver so she couldn’t leave the country. It was only after a robbery went wrong, where Mr. Riley lost almost a quarter of his wealth, he invited others to weigh in on the situation. Or at least, Mr. Price.

You were seven, Tommy was ten, and Simon was fourteen. Simon said he was too grown up to play with a baby like you, but Tommy always stuck around. Tommy just beat you in hide and seek, again, and frustration seeped out of your skin. He always caught you, no matter where you hid. He was counting down to another round and you were determined to win this time. There was one place he wouldn’t think of - your father’s office.

There have been a lot more men around lately. Mama had told you to keep upstairs, out of eyesight, but you wanted to win this time. Tommy was counting from sixty, too fast in your opinion, so you creeped down the stairs at warp speed. There was a secret door to Father’s office, mainly for the maids, and it had a door for your dog. Riley was huge, so the flap took up a third of the door. You were still small enough to scurry through, though it was becoming a tighter fit lately. Determined, you popped through the flap, being sure not to disturb Father. There was a chair for you to hide behind, a perfect angle to hide from the man on the other side of Father’s desk while still keeping an eye out for Tommy’s feet.

“They hit you because you’re weak.” The man’s voice was familiar. Mr. Price. He was around more and more, always bringing his annoying son John. He was sixteen and thought he was so cool, bossing around the staff like he was, well, the boss. And he never wanted to play.

“They hit us because my idiot men weren’t watchin’ the cameras.” Father replied. He sounded angry. He always snorted like a bull before he started yelling, and you could hear him huffing. “Y’ve got a bastard an’ ‘er mother yankin’ ya by the balls. She’s the help, for god sake. The scousers see an opportunity.” You knew that word. Bastard. Simon had called you bastard once, a year ago when you took his stuffed animal that he hid from Father. Mama told you it was a mean word, only said by people with too-small hearts. When Simon said it, you cried for an hour. He apologized, hugging you like a baby until the tears receded. Then, he promised to hurt anyone who said that word to you.

“What do you suggest?” Father didn’t say anything about the mean word. He was like that, he didn’t protect you like Tommy or Simon. “Send them away. Make your enemies forget about your weakness. Bring Simon into the fold.” That wasn’t Mr. Price speaking, it was John. He wanted to send you away? You prayed not to Cornwall, where Simon’s mom lived. She was scary.

“I second John. You need strength, not complication. Focusin’ on Simon learnin’ the ropes will emphasize your heir, not the help y’ forgot to wear a rubber with. ‘Least til she’s eighteen an’ can be married.” Mama wasn’t married, so you didn’t want to be either. “Appreciate the help, gentlemen. Now about the Chester deal…” You tuned them out. Sent away? You had to tell Mama. Slipping away like a cat, you ran to find Mama, not stopping even when Tommy found you. He’d won, again.

Without John’s suggestion, you might have stayed. You might have gotten a real relationship with your brothers. You might have prevented Tommy from walking into that gunfight and- that’s where the hypotheticals stopped. Who knows what would have happened? What you know is that, despite being provided for and with your mom, there was always that what if? clinging to the back of your brain.

Your father died when you were twenty-two. Months after he’d paid your last college bill, thankfully. Simon called you during your summer of freedom, a twenty-nine-year-old man with no clue how to run an empire. A lost younger brother between you. He’d promised to protect you, and that was your chance to return the favor. Family first, the Riley way.

Now, years later, the hate for John Price has turned from a boil to a simmer. Something you don’t think about constantly until he’s right in front of you. It’s hard to blame a man for a teenage hypothetical, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t insult him for being a pompous git. A mafia brat. Decades of being shitty to each other have turned the cord of your relationship rotted black, a frayed string connected by the fact you can’t physically hurt the other. You’ve got no clue why he wants to marry you of all people, so you’re determined to scare him off. This should be fun.

“Quaint,” John mutters to Gaz, who scoffs. They took the jet, a quick hour trip, and brought Laswell, his trusted lawyer. The bookstore is off a side street in Greater Manchester, next to a cafe and a flower shop for god sake. He has to give it to Ghost; it’s a good place to clean cash or lay low. Discreet. No clue why the spitfire’s running it, though. He’s surprised it’s not gone to ruin.

The bell over the door makes a faint tinkling sound as they enter. Gaz goes first, ready for an ambush like the control freak he is, and John can see you smiling at him. It’s a smile he’s never seen, unbidden and shy. It immediately sours once John emerges, turning into a faint frown. “You actually came.” You say it like you aren’t discussing a marriage contract to tie you together for eternity. It’s been a year since John last saw you. Your meetings are infrequent, mainly in passing during weddings and funerals. He knows it’s been years since you came back to Manchester, but you finally seem to have…matured. More confident with your movements, at ease behind the counter of your bookstore. If he were a different man, your confidence would be attractive, but in this world, something about it irritates him.

He sees you pick up your phone, a battered thing, and fire off a short text. Not five seconds later, Soap and Ghost emerge from the shadows of the backroom, men in suits at their shoulders. The shop is immediately crowded, and you cringe at the change in atmosphere. “You’re lucky I closed the store today. Your vibe would freak out the customers. Come on.” John is already practicing restraint, biting his tongue so he doesn’t reply like a scorned teenager. He’s too grown for this.

Soap leads the way, opening a hidden door to the basement by tugging at a dusty bookshelf in the back. He holds the door open for everyone, trading looks with Ghost before nodding to the Price group. “What do ya do if a customer pulls that book by accident?” Gaz wonders out loud, snorting to himself as he approaches the door. “Dosnae happen, Garrick.” Gaz grins and John sighs inwardly. “Usin’ last names now, MacTavish? I can play that game too.” Gaz dips down the staircase before Soap can answer, presumably needing to have the last word. Between you and Soap, this is going to be a long meeting.

The bookstore might be old and dusty, but the basement is sleek and modern. John passes a small med bay, fully stocked, before they reach a large conference room, equipped with TVs and enough office chairs for a small army. Even Gaz lets out a low whistle, while Laswell hums thoughtfully. Kate’s probably memorizing the layout for another upgrade to her office.

As everyone sits, two waiters make their rounds, taking drink orders. He gets a tea and thanks the waiter, catching your brows furrowing after he murmurs his gratitude. Odd.

“Right so-” Soap starts, but Gaz cuts him off. “You’re a bloody barrister?” Soap practically growls at his tone. “Solicitor. Not jus’ a pretty face, Garrick.” It’s silent as the two stare, a contest only broken when Simon clears his throat. “Get on with it, haven’t got all day.” Soap starts again, mainly talking with Kate as they go through the contract. John has it practically memorized. 25% of his businesses, mainly the ones not in London, in exchange for their weight in Ghost’s gold, something he desperately needs. Relinquishing his claims to border territory between Manchester and Liverpool, something that would make his father turn in his grave, for thousands of weapons. Guns, bullets, tracking equipment - anything he can use that has removable identity numbers. It’s a deal that’ll help him win against Shepherd’s men. All for the small price of being married to you, of course.

“Ms. Riley will marry Mr. Price and produce a minimum of two children within ten years. In case of fertility struggles, one child will suffice, only with a board of doctors agreement. If infertility persists and no children are produced, we have clauses for that.” The statement rolls off Laswell’s tongue easily, but John can tell the moment it reaches your brain. Your eyebrows go sky high, and you almost stand until Simon puts a firm hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Board of doctors? What, so if I can’t get pregnant, I have to inform an entire hospital just so I don’t get shot? That’s barbaric.” You spit out, and John can’t help but agree. If the situation comes to it, he wouldn’t want the future mother of his child having to humiliate herself like that. Thoughts of you being a mother are turned away, a dreary thought for another day.

John murmurs instructions to Laswell, who notes them down with ease. He can tell she approves as her shoulders relax slightly. “We can amend this line. It’ll only require one doctor, not a board, and it can be your current gyno or someone else. The matter will stay between Ms. Riley, Mr. Price, and Mr. Riley if it comes to be.” Laswell replies. You huff, irritated that John agreed, and he smirks at you from across the table. You’re so easy to tease, probably because you’re snooty and spoiled.

“What about my bookstore?” The question escapes you after another ten minutes of Laswell droning on about childcare protocol. How if there’s no child in ten years, and all avenues have been explored, the marriage will be dissolved. “What about it?” Laswell asks smoothly. Your eyes dart between her’s and John’s. “Well, I’ll hire a manager for the Riley store, but what about in London?” John considers it, running a hand through his beard. It’s a safety risk, but who knows what havoc you’ll wreak on his home if you’re bored 24/7. Something to do would be nice.

“‘Ve got a few closed storefronts I own. You could take one.” Your mouth drops. You didn’t expect him to agree, to be honest. Imagined yourself chained to his property, playing housewife night and day. “I want to own it. Buy it from you so the deed is in my name.” You cross your arms on your chest, quirking an eyebrow like it’s a challenge.

“Fine. But you’ll let it up once there’s kids.”

“Not happening.”

“First few years, at least.”

“And are you taking a few years off for paternity leave?” Well, no. But he’s running an organized crime unit of over 5,000 members and you’re running a bookstore. John can’t have other families seeing his wife working when she’s supposed to be resting or raising his heir.

“First year after every new kid. That’s what I’ll agree to.” Soap murmurs something in your ear and you sigh with defeat. “Fine. But you have to sell me the property at fair market value and you can’t use it for any business. And I get to pick any property not in use.” This seems to be the hill you’re dying on. If you were a Made Man, he’d add in flowery language, guaranteeing you the cheapest property. But he’s already taking your home and your business from you, not to mention your womb and ten years of your life. He can spare a building.

“Agreed. Next.”

Soap continues on, his leg bouncing under the table with so much force that it’s shaking. He’s eager to get out, that’s for sure, and John can’t help but wonder why. “Ms. Riley will reside with Mr. Price at his permanent London residence. If she wishes t’ leave city limits, she must request written permission.” John quirks an eyebrow. Surely you’ll bite at this one.

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.” Is what eventually comes out of your mouth. Took you almost thirty seconds to say it. He could see you weighing your options in your mind, the price of too many amendments versus your freedom. He almost respects the move, until he remembers this is the Riley brat. Not someone to be respected.

“‘S for your safety.” He croaks out, throat dry from lack of use. Speaking to you is like breaking the fourth wall, an unsettling feeling. The full force of your glare is blazing hot, the pits of Hell contained in two eyes. “I can take care of myself. I’ve always got a gun and a man on me.” You challenge him.

“Guns run out of bullets. Men die.” He replies, smug with the fact you can’t particularly deny what he’s saying. You turn to Soap, muttering your dissent. He shakes his head, then looks over at Ghost. The bastard has his mask on, but even a blind man could see he agrees with the statement. He wants to protect his sister, a trait John knew he could rely on.

“Fine. Oral works.” You say the words like they’re bitter on your tongue, something you want to spit out. “Does it, sweetheart? Good t’ know.” You roll your eyes, then shove Soap’s shoulder for him to continue. “Can’t believe I’m marrying a manchild.” If you’d said it in front of his men, he’d have to reprimand you, but he can drop the mask in this room. He’s not going to punish his future wife this early. It would throw off the wedding atmosphere.

Laswell marks the change from written to oral permission then continues. She’s at the last few lines, thankfully. “The marriage cannot be dissolved unless in the case of maltreatment or abuse. If there is evidence of Ms. Riley cheating, 50% of the Riley Family assets will be transferred to the Price Family and the marriage will be dissolved. Any bastards will not be recognized and will be given no child support.” The word bastard echoes around the room. Laswell could say she didn’t realize the context of the word but, knowing her, it was probably used on purpose. A test.

You roll your shoulders back. Ghost’s eyes narrow into black pits. Soap’s hands clench and unclench on the table. Despite the obvious tension, there’s no immediate reaction. You don’t jump on the table and curse his ancestors or pull out a gun and start shooting. Both he expected more than the actual outcome, which is…nothing. You nod at Soap and Ghost, gesturing at them to continue.

It should be a victory. Gaz is nudging him under the table, his right-hand man all too proud that he riled up the Rileys. The feeling of success is hollow as John tracks your tense muscles, the way you turn your gaze to the contract in front of you and don’t move, even when Laswell finishes reading it. You’re just…frozen. It’s too human of a look on you, and John wonders if this is what your marriage will be like. Cold. Distant. Robotic fucking, just enough to make heirs. A fidelity clause only for you, while John can do whatever he wants as long as there aren’t any kids made. It’s a point he would have let you argue, let you add a fidelity clause for him too, but you take it on the chin. Is it punishment for the family sin you didn’t commit? The mantle of knowledge is heavy on his shoulders.

John signs. You sign. Ghost signs then hands it to the lawyers. Gaz is the witness. In five minutes, John has turned his mafia into a militarized mob and gained a wife who hates him. Every man’s dream.

Papers are gathered as the waiters clear glasses from the table. He stands only after you do, observing how Ghost has to touch your shoulder to get you to pay attention. Soap leads the way again, but John hangs back until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you. The dislike is still there, a plant that sprouted roots eons ago, but the urge to be a good husband is there as well. He was raised with the standards of chivalry, to be the picture of a gentleman. He will not treat the mother of his children like how his father treated his mother. He will be better.

“Alrigh’?” He nudges your shoulder. It snaps you out of your daydream, glassy eyes meeting his own as you take stock of the situation. “Fuckin’ mint, thanks.” It’s the most Manc thing he’s ever heard you say. “Remember bein’ promised tea, but not a biscuit t’ be found.” You snort and he’s glad for it. You seem to finally be out of whatever funk came over you. He lets you go in front of him on the staircase, keeping his eyes firmly on the sliver of skin that shows as you move and the outline of a gun tucked in your waistband. John Price does not stare at his fiancee’s arse at all. Mostly.

“Guess I’m not wife material, Price. Looks like you’re getting the shitty end of this deal.” You shoot him a cheeky grin once you’re on the main floor, and he’s glad it looks mostly genuine. You’re easier to deal with when you’re bantering, not whatever that was back there. “Jus’ bought ya for some guns, sweetheart. Not lookin’ good on the husband front, either.” You roll your eyes, biting your cheek so he doesn’t sense a laugh. The whole group is at the door now, awkwardly standing on opposite sides of the room as the two of you talk. Is this what your wedding will be like?

“I’ll, uh, see you Saturday.” At our wedding. To each other. Jesus, this is a bleak future he’s thinking of.

“See you Saturday, John.” You stand in the center of your store. Sunlight is streaming through the windows as the sun goes down, and if John were a different man, he’d tell you you look beautiful. He’d kiss your cheek, then your forehead, assuring you that your years of spats were just a form of foreplay. He’d squeeze your shoulder in reassurance, murmur a sweet nothing in your ear. Fortunately, or unfortunately, John is not that man.

“Remember, somethin’ borrowed, somethin’ blue.” He winks but there’s no charm behind it. He thinks.

“Something old, something new. A sixpence in your shoe.” You whisper it just to him, like a secret, and then turn away. Like he was never there.

John turns away, feeling oddly flustered, and doesn’t catch Gaz’s eye as they leave. He avoids Gaz’s gaze as he shakes Ghost’s and Soap’s hands. He’s still avoiding it when they get into the car, Laswell splitting off to her own chartered vehicle. It’s only when the doors close his right-hand man decides to speak.

“You’re fucked.” He says it sternly, like a teacher scolding his student. The kid’s a decade younger than John but acts like he’s his father.

“Piss off.” He’s got no idea what he’s talking about. There’s nothing between you and John. That bridge has been burned, ashes turning to dust in the wind.

Of that, he’s almost sure.

I hope the background wasn’t too boring! Stay tuned for a chaotic wedding week 😁lmk if you want to be tagged (please remember this is 18+)

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mononijikayu · 7 months ago

Text

and there was something 'bout you (that now I can't remember) — fushiguro megumi.

Then, you smiled, soft and genuine, the kind that made his heart ache with both joy and longing. “It’s a good thing I have someone like you, though.” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder for just a moment, as if seeking reassurance. “My Megumi.” "My Megumi." you said softly, the words like a balm that soothed every ache, every frustration he’d been holding onto. The way you said his name, it reached down to the deepest part of him, pulling at heartstrings that felt knotted and tired. It made him feel more alive than he ever thought possible, like for just a moment, the world could pause and bask in that glow. It was always like this with you. The way you spoke his name, the way your voice wrapped around it like a melody, made everything else fade away. It was as if the sun itself came out just to light the room when you said Megumi. He knew with a certainty that startled him that he couldn’t live without this, without you.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern no curses au;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, fluff, aged up characters, brief one sided romance, eventual romance, slice of life, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, sad ending, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, internal conflict, future, letting go, break up, getting back together, depiction of character death, depiction of romance, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, depiction of illness, mention of illness, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 21k words

NOTE: when i sent this to my beta reader last night, it was like 17k words. it ended with 5k more words than it needed to be. but with how i write, i just end up being the most unpredictable person. even to myself. i wanted to write about megumi cause i missed him. i hope yall guys understand. anyway, i hope you enjoy this a lot!!! i'll see you soon on the next one!!! i love you all <3

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MEETING YOU FELT LIKE DESTINY. And he would not have it any other way. If one was being honest, you were the only other constant in Fushiguro Megumi’s life – besides his sister Tsumiki and Gojo Satoru. But that was to be expected. He trusted no one.

He likes to think he was a tough crowd, that he wasn’t easy to please. But Megumi expected that. After all, what child wouldn’t have that issue, when his dad left him and his sister to fend for themselves at such a young age? He was bound to have mistrust for everyone and anyone who can’t prove themselves.

He hadn’t expected to make a friend, not really. If he was being honest, talking to people wasn’t something he excelled at, and reading others’ expressions felt like a puzzle he was never meant to solve.

He was and always will be someone who had a hard time with people. But then there was you, full of unexpected warmth, approaching him on the playground, holding out your prized Charizard card in exchange for his Jigglypuff. You seemed to be the exception.

“Hey, you!” You pointed at him like he was a riddle you had just solved. Megumi blinked, glancing around to make sure you weren’t talking to someone else.

“Yes?” He answered, the single word sounding more like a question.

You marched up to him, unbothered by the silence that followed. “I’ll trade you my Charizard for your Jigglypuff.”

Megumi’s brows knit together in disbelief. He stared down at the holographic card you offered, one that every kid in school would beg to have, and then at the tiny, pink Jigglypuff in his hands that no one ever wanted.

“Why?” he asked, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Charizard is powerful. Why do you want this weak card?”

“Because it’s cute! And I love cute things! Well…everything cute, really!” you said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Your smile was bright, eyes crinkling as if you were laughing at a secret only you knew. When he slowly handed over the Jigglypuff card, your face lit up with such joy that it made Megumi feel like he had done something incredible. You hugged the card to your chest and then looked at him with a grin.

“Thank you for trading with me! Do you wanna be friends?”

Fushiguro Megumi stared at you for a good few seconds, stunned by your straightforwardness. You were smiling all throughout that. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. And he could feel it, even then.

You pulled him so close to you with your magnetic pull. He spun around you almost immediately, like the moon embracing the earth. But before he could answer, you added with a playful tilt of your head.

“I’ll even let you win in tag! And…and I can share my candies! My mommy gave me a lot to share!”

A small, surprised smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t notice it himself at first. But he likes to think that he only remembered how he smiled years later, when you pointed out to him. Yet all he could focus on is how you smiled at him. How you were so happy, waiting for his answer to your invitation.

“You’re on.” he said, his voice soft but resolute.

That continued on as you both found yourself living in bodies that grew older and minds that grew wiser. Years passed and yet you had only gotten closer to one another. Both of you were now in middle school, and almost everyday since then — you had always been together.

Fushiguro Megumi could not remember a day where you both were ever even apart. Just one smile and he was hooked. His morning, his noon and night would be consumed by you. And he rinses and repeats.

The playground turned into hallways and classrooms, and those silly childhood games were replaced with quiet study sessions and whispered jokes. But the feeling you gave him never changed.

He still felt like he was holding something rare and precious whenever you smiled at him like that. Everything about your smile was the most precious warmth he could ever feel, that he admits.

One evening, as you both sat under the orange sky, your laughter from an earlier joke fading into content silence, you turned to him, resting your chin on your knee. “Hey, Megumi?”

He glanced over, meeting your eyes that were as warm as ever. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are to have met?” you said, your voice light but sincere.

Megumi looked down at his hands for a moment, feeling the weight of your question. “Yeah.” he replied, his voice low. Then, looking back at you with a rare, soft smile, he added, “More than you know.”

You blinked in surprise, cheeks turning pink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Megumi shrugged, eyes glinting with a teasing challenge. “Figure it out, you dummy.”

As your laughter rang out, he knew, in that moment, that he was irrevocably in love with you. He always had been, and he always would be.

Your laughter bubbled into the quiet evening air, filling the space around you both with a warmth that wrapped itself around Megumi like a familiar embrace. You playfully nudged his shoulder, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Oh, so now you’re mysterious, huh? Fushiguro Megumi, you’re supposed to be the serious one!”

Megumi huffed a soft chuckle, a rare sound that made your heart skip. “Maybe I’ve been keeping secrets all this time, you know?” he said, his tone light, though there was a weight behind it that he didn’t dare show.

Your eyebrows rose as you leaned in, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Secrets? Like what?” You poked his arm playfully, eyes alight with mischief. “Spill it, or I’ll never let you live it down.”

He met your gaze for a moment, searching your face, the sunset casting warm shadows across your features. The thought of confessing everything—how many nights he’d spent thinking about you, worrying about you, loving you, it all made everything tighten in his chest. But he pushed it back down, letting the familiar wall settle back into place.

“There are some secrets that are better left unsaid, you dummy.” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You pouted, crossing your arms with a huff. “You always do that. You’re always hiding things from me, Megumi. You know you can trust me, right?”

His eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I know, I know.” he said, pausing before adding. “But you shouldn’t hide things from me either. Like when your boyfriend stands you up.”

The playful expression fell from your face, replaced by surprise. You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. “How did you—”

“I just know.” he interrupted, looking away, his jaw tightening as he bit back the frustration that had been building inside him for weeks.

He hated the way you always made excuses for people who didn’t deserve you. He hated even more that you loved the wrong ones. You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing as you gave a small shrug.

“He’s busy, you know he’s on the baseball team.” you said, though your voice was thin, even to your own ears.

Megumi clenched his jaw, swallowing the urge to argue, to tell you that being “busy” wasn’t a good enough reason. But he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He didn’t want to ruin this moment, didn’t want to see you upset. So, he said nothing.

"My Megumi." you said softly, the words like a balm that soothed every ache, every frustration he’d been holding onto.

The way you said his name, it reached down to the deepest part of him, pulling at heartstrings that felt knotted and tired. It made him feel more alive than he ever thought possible, like for just a moment, the world could pause and bask in that glow.

It was always like this with you. The way you spoke his name, the way your voice wrapped around it like a melody, made everything else fade away. It was as if the sun itself came out just to light the room when you said Megumi. He knew with a certainty that startled him that he couldn’t live without this, without you.

The air between you was heavy, charged with words unsaid and emotions kept at bay. Megumi felt his fingers twitch again, that familiar pull to reach for you, to close the space that always felt like miles, even when it was only inches.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows knitting in concern as you noticed the silence. “Megumi, are you okay?”

Your voice was soft, searching, the way it always was when you sensed something under the surface. He forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking? Now that’s dangerous!” you joked, nudging him lightly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. It was an attempt to bring back the lightness, and he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, a sound that surprised even him.

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” he replied, his voice low, but there was warmth in it, the kind reserved only for you.

You tilted your head, studying him like he was one of your favorite puzzles to solve. “Well, whatever it is, you know I’m here, right? You don’t have to keep things to yourself.”

The sincerity in your eyes, in the way you said those words, nearly broke him. He swallowed hard, willing the emotions to stay under control. I know, he wanted to say. And that’s why this hurts so much.

“I know.” he said instead, and it was all he could manage. The truth weighed heavy on his tongue, but he bit it back, holding on to this moment instead; the warmth of your presence, the sound of your laughter lingering in the air.

For now, this was enough. He would live in the warmth of your voice calling his name, over and over, in this moment that felt like forever.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

HE ALREADY EXPECTED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN. Fushiguro Megumi came as soon as he got your call. How could he not show up? He had to. You needed him. More than ever, especially now. The moment he heard your shaky voice, his heart clenched with worry and anger. He had to get to you. He had to put his anger aside.

But he can't help it. He'd never liked him. That jerk of an ex-boyfriend of yours. And now all he could think is, how dare he break your heart? He was unworthy from the beginning and now he thinks he gets the right to you miserable?

His mind raced, weaving through every memory of seeing you smile, laugh, and light up at the smallest things, now replaced by the image of you in pain. Even that thought makes him even more angrier. He hated it. More than anything, more than you jerk of an ex-boyfriend.

Megumi felt like he was going to lose it. He always loses it when it comes to you. Everything about you was something that he felt like he had to cherish and treasure. And so, he bears everything about you, happiness or joy, as a part of him.

Because he loved you. More than anyone else in the world, he liked to believe. His love wasn’t flashy or loud; it was quiet, deep, and constant, like an unspoken promise woven through the moments you shared.

And yet, people claimed to love you and then hurt you without a second thought. The unfairness of it all made his love even stronger, more resolute. It was a love that stayed in the silent spaces between words, in the way he noticed when you were tired, or remembered how you took your tea, or lingered on your laugh long after you’d left.

But saying it out loud? That was different. He didn’t think he could do that—not now, when you were hurting. Now, when the shattered pieces of your heart weren’t his to fix, but his to hold steady until you could piece them back together.

The rain came down harder as he found you, sitting alone on the cold, wet bench, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your hair was plastered to your face, water streaming down your cheeks, indistinguishable from your tears. You looked up when he called your name, and the raw anguish in your eyes made his breath hitch.

Everything was soaking through his jacket as he searched the park. But he could care less. Not when he stood here, watching you continue to sit on the bench under the dim glow of a streetlight, your knees pulled to your chest and your shoulders trembling with silent sobs. The sight made something twist in his chest so fiercely it hurt.

“Hey.” he called softly as he approached, his voice steady but urgent. You didn’t look up, too lost in your world of hurt, raindrops mingling with the tears that fell freely down your cheeks.

“Megumi…….” Your voice cracked, barely audible over the pounding rain.

He dropped down in front of you without hesitation, his jeans soaking through as he knelt in the puddles. “Hey.” he whispered, reaching out to push a wet strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, deliberate, as if afraid you’d break.

“Are you alright?” The question was hollow, a placeholder for everything he couldn’t put into words.

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, bitter and fragile. “No. Not even close.”

Megumi’s jaw clenched. He wanted to say so much—that you deserved better, that he would give you the world if you let him, that he’d never let anyone hurt you if he could help it. But all he could do was cup your face in his hands, fingers warm against your chilled skin.

“I’m here, okay?” he said, the words weighted with every unsaid promise. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your eyes filling with fresh tears as you looked at him. His eyes, dark and fierce, were fixed on you with such intensity it made your chest ache in a different way, something softer, more hopeful. For a moment, the world around you blurred, the rain and cold forgotten in the heat of his gaze.

A fresh wave of tears welled up, but this time they weren’t just from pain. They were from the sheer relief of having him here, solid and real, when everything else felt like it was crumbling. He hated seeing you fall apart like this. He hated seeing you in so much grief about things you didn’t even need to grieve.

“I can’t believe he—” You started, voice cracking, but Megumi cut you off with a shake of his head.

“No, no.” he said firmly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a fierce protectiveness. “You don’t deserve any of this. You deserve someone who would never make you feel this way.”

A shiver ran down your spine, part from the cold and part from the warmth in his voice. The rain dripped from his hair, tiny rivulets running down his face, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just stayed there, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Slowly, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him, clinging tightly as if he was the last piece keeping you together. He pulled you close, the rain forgotten as he whispered, “I’ve got you. Always.”

“Why can’t everyone be like you, Megumi?” you whispered, the question hanging between you, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

He closed his eyes, the weight of his love pressing against his ribcage, aching to be let out. But he simply pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Maybe someday, I’m certain about it all.” he whispered. “You’ll see that some people are.”

In that moment, as he held you close under the downpour, Megumi vowed that even if he never said it out loud, you would always know it in the way he stayed. And as the storm raged on around you, for the first time that night, you felt a little bit safer.

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IF YOU WERE BEING HONEST, LIFE WAS GOOD NOW. And it was because you had Fushiguro Megumi. Around Megumi, for the first time that night, you felt a little bit safer. His presence anchored you, solid and reassuring, as if the world could rage on around you, but you’d be alright as long as he was there.

The days that followed that stormy night were different. Your shared moments became longer, and your conversations deepened. You found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t with anyone else, and he listened, offering small, thoughtful words that seemed to echo in your mind long after he said them.

Megumi and you became closer, like pieces of a puzzle finally finding their fit. You leaned on him more, seeking the comfort of his steady, unwavering support. Whether it was the simple act of sharing a quiet study session or walking side by side down the crowded school halls, you started to feel his presence as a constant, a pillar in your life. And with each passing moment, Megumi found himself falling deeper.

It was in the little things—the way your laughter returned, hesitant at first, then full and bright whenever he made a rare, dry joke. You’d throw your head back, eyes crinkled with genuine joy, and he’d pretend to be focused on something else just so he could hide his smile.

“You’re not even funny, you know that?” you teased one afternoon, nudging him with your shoulder as you both walked through the park, the sun filtering through the leaves.

“Oh? I didn’t know you laughed at unfunny things.” he replied, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I guess I make exceptions.”

It was also in the way your hand would find him during the quiet moments—when you both sat on the school steps, waiting for the last of the rain to clear, or when you talked late at night under a sky full of stars.

Your touch was unconscious, as if you didn’t realize the effect it had on him, but each time it sent warmth radiating through his chest, melting the layers of doubt he wore like armor.

One evening, as the sky painted itself in hues of pink and orange, you sat together on the small bench in your favorite park. The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. You turned to him, your eyes soft and thoughtful.

“Do you ever wonder why some people come into your life at the exact moment you need them?”

He met your gaze, the question settling between you. His heart thudded, a mix of hope and nerves. “Yeah.” he said, his voice steady but quiet. “I think about it a lot.”

You tilted your head, studying him with a smile that made his pulse quicken. “I’m glad you’re in mine, Megumi.”

The simple statement was enough to send a rush of warmth flooding through him. He looked away, the hint of pink dusting his cheeks, and muttered, “Me too.”

Moments like these made him realize just how deeply he’d fallen for you. Fushiguro Tsumiki had caught on, of course. She knew Megumi best in the world. She’d grin knowingly whenever he brought up your name, and she wasn’t subtle about giving him nudges when you came over. Megumi thinks he would have no peace at home knowing all that.

“You need to tell them, your feelings.” she’d say with a pointed look. “They deserve to know.”

Gojo Satoru, in his typical flamboyant manner, took every opportunity to pester him. “If you don’t say something soon, I swear I’m going to set up a banner. ‘Confess, Megumi!’ at your school. It’ll be perfect. I’ll even use sparkles!” he’d joke, bright blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

Megumi would glare, a mix of irritation and anxiety bubbling inside him. But when he was alone, his mind would wander to the what-ifs. What if he told you, and everything changed? What if the easy moments between you became strained? He couldn’t stand the thought of losing this version of you, where your laughter was shared and your touch was easy.

One evening, when you were leaving after spending the day together, you turned back at the door, eyes bright. “Same time tomorrow?” you asked.

He nodded, feeling that familiar warmth bloom in his chest. “Yeah, same time.”

You beamed at him, that smile—the one that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. And as you walked away, Megumi felt the pull to call out, to say something, anything.

But the fear gripped him, held him back. For now, he’d stay in the safety of what you had, even as his heart whispered that someday soon, he’d need to be brave enough to reach for more.

And more and more, his sister and Gojo were starting to notice how he’s falling for you. Tsumiki noticed the way he watched you when he thought no one was looking, the way his eyes softened when you spoke.

After dinner tonight, she caught him staring at his phone after reading a text from you, a small, knowing smile spread across her face. Megumi wasn’t even sure that he was that obvious. But he was.

Everyone was aware, more than he would have liked. It was his private life and yet, it was his own fault how it seeped in the real world. Yet, it was like that when it came to you. He can’t help it.

“Megumi.” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, “it’s high time you tell them how you feel.”

He looked up, startled. “What? No. It’s not… I mean—” He fumbled, cheeks turning red as he struggled to find an excuse.

Satoru, who had been lounging nearby and catching every word, let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. Megumi knew that Gojo Satoru was going to annoy him about this. Tsumiki is one thing. But that was his elder sister.

He was bound to just let her get into his life. But it was different when it came to their guardian. He was more of an annoying adult to Megumi. And he didn’t like how he touched his life like that. Even if he knew it was care.

“Kid, if you don’t confess, I’m going to make a banner and announce it to the entire school I teach at, when you visit.” he teased, eyes gleaming mischievously. “It’s so painfully obvious. Even the kids at the school picked up on that fact! Do you know how obvious you have to be that kid Todo picked up on?”

Megumi glared at him, but his usual annoyance didn’t stick. Instead, a flicker of anxiety gnawed at him, deep and stubborn. He knew Tsumiki and Gojo were right. He’d heard the whispers of his own heart long enough; he knew he was in love with you. But the idea of confessing it out loud? Of risking everything he already had with you? It paralyzed him.

“What if… what if it ruins things?” he muttered, looking down at his hands. The idea of you looking at him differently, of you stepping back, distancing yourself—it was unbearable. “What if they don’t feel the same? I don’t want to lose what we have now.”

Tsumiki’s smile softened, and she walked over, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Megumi, you’ll never know unless you try. And if they care about you even half as much as I think they do, nothing will change.”

Satoru chimed in with a rare moment of seriousness. “Megumi, you’re braver than you give yourself credit for. You’ve faced the worst of the world already with Tsumiki. But this? This is one small leap compared to that.”

The words made sense, but fear wrapped around his chest like a vise. Every time he opened his mouth to tell you, doubt clawed its way in. He could picture the worst: your kind eyes turning sad, the warmth between you cooling into awkward silence.

But as days passed and your laughter echoed in his ears, each missed opportunity stung. Every time you looked at him with that bright smile, it chipped away at his fear, replacing it with a longing stronger than any curse he’d faced. And Megumi knew, deep down, that he couldn’t put it off forever.

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IT WAS A RARE DAY OFF FROM SCHOOL. So, it was easy for you to come and call Megumi to hang out. Megumi was someone who had a hard time going with the flow of things. He liked order in his life. But when he is with you, everything is unpredictable.

Everything was a surprise. And so he enjoyed it. He enjoyed letting you wreck his life into things he couldn’t predict. Chaos is livable when he was next to you. And perhaps, you knew that more than he did.

And today’s request was to go to a skate park. You didn’t know how to skate, nor do you have the balance that allowed you to do so. But you saw an ad for it and you thought that trying was something that would be enjoyable for the two of you. So, Megumi sighed. But he nodded and immediately walked as you practically hopped to the booth where they rented out their skates.

The skate park was buzzing with life when you and Megumi arrived, the warm glow of the setting sun casting a golden hue over everything. Laughter and the sound of wheels on concrete filled the air as you glanced nervously at the smooth expanse of the park. Megumi noticed your hesitation and smirked, handing you a helmet.

“Don’t worry, okay?” he said, voice soft and reassuring. “I’ll be here the whole time. Just hold on if you need to.”

You nodded, cheeks warming at the idea. The two of you stepped onto the rink, and you immediately reached out, grabbing his arm for balance. He tensed slightly at the contact but relaxed when he saw the nervous smile on your face.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Ready.” you replied, even though your heart was thumping wildly in your chest.

The first few minutes were shaky. You wobbled and stumbled, and every time you did, Megumi’s arm was there, strong and steady. His hand eventually found its way to yours, fingers intertwining as he guided you along, step by careful step.

The warmth of his touch sent a pleasant jolt up your spine, and you couldn’t help but glance at him, noticing how focused he looked, his hair slightly messy from the helmet. You could feel yourself looking at him for a while and then becoming flustered when he looks back at you.

“You’re doing great.” he said, a rare smile appearing as you both glided a little more smoothly across the rink.

“Thanks to you!” you laughed breathlessly, holding on tightly when you hit a slight dip.

He steadied you immediately, the closeness making your heart stutter. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, dark and intense under the rink’s twinkling lights, and you felt a rush of something that made your stomach flutter.

As the sky darkened into twilight, the skate park began to empty, and an announcement boomed over the loudspeakers. “The park will be closing in fifteen minutes.”

You sighed, a little disappointed that the night was coming to an end. “I guess that’s it for tonight, huh?” you said, a wistful note in your voice.

Megumi nodded and helped you off the rink, his hand lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. You sat on a nearby bench, taking off your helmets and catching your breath. The sounds around you faded as you felt the cool evening air settle around you both.

“You know…..” Megumi started, his tone unusually hesitant. He looked at you, eyes searching yours as if gathering the courage to speak. “I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, teaching you how to skate. But I’m glad we did it.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your gaze. “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

He exhaled, a subtle tremor in his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Because… being this close to you makes it hard to keep things to myself.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your brows knit together slightly. “Megumi?”

He looked away, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I think—I know that I’m in love with you.”

The confession hung in the air, suspended between you as the world seemed to stand still. He winced, realizing what he’d just said, and moved to apologize, but your soft gasp interrupted him.

“You… you’re in love with me?” you repeated, eyes wide and cheeks turning rosy.

His breath caught, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want things to change if you don’t feel the same. But I couldn’t keep pretending that I don’t—”

Before he could finish, you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, your eyes glistening. “I do. I feel the same way, Megumi.” you whispered, a smile breaking through as his eyes widened.

The tension melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and warmth. He let out a breathy chuckle, the sound rare and real. “You do?” he asked, almost as if needing to hear it again.

You nodded, your fingers finding him and squeezing them tightly. “Yes, I do.”

The skate park around you was closing, but neither of you noticed. For now, the world shrank to just the two of you, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights and the lingering thrill of confessions finally shared.

Megumi's surprise softened into a smile, rare and full of something warm and unguarded. He still held your hands, fingers intertwined as if anchoring himself to this moment, the world around you blurring into a comforting haze.

The distant sounds of closing gates and murmurs of the last stragglers leaving the park faded away, leaving only the two of you under the soft, golden streetlights. Yet that all faded to the background. All you could do was focus on the warmth in Megumi's beautiful blue-green orbs. All you could think about was how the world felt brighter when he was by your side.

“Say it again, please.” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if part of him still couldn’t believe it.

You laughed, the sound light and full of joy as you leaned in a little closer. “I love you, Megumi. For a while now. I love you then and now.” you said, your eyes searching his face to catch every flicker of emotion.

The way his lips parted slightly, the way his eyes softened as if he could melt under those words. Everything about it had made your heart flutter even more. You like to think he was just good at that. He swallowed, unable to suppress the smile that stretched across his face.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” he admitted, his voice rough but sincere.

“Probably about as long as I’ve wanted to say it.” you teased, nudging him playfully. He chuckled, the sound deep and unfamiliar even to him, and you couldn’t help but notice how it made him look so much more at ease. “I’m sorry if I took a long while.”

The cool breeze picked up, rustling the leaves in the nearby trees, and you shivered involuntarily. Without thinking, Megumi slipped out of his jacket and draped it around your shoulders, his hands lingering at the collar to pull it snug. The fabric smelled like him; fresh and warm, with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place but that was uniquely Megumi.

“Thank you.” you said, your voice soft. Your eyes met his, and the look you exchanged was filled with so many unsaid words, promises and relief, all bundled together in a way that made your chest ache in the best way.

He glanced down, a subtle blush creeping up his neck. “We should probably get going before they lock us in.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

You nodded, but neither of you made a move to stand just yet. You both sat in that quiet moment for a little longer, soaking in the newness of what had just unfolded. Finally, Megumi stood up and offered you his hand, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulled you to your feet.

“Let’s get you home.” he said, the weight of the evening settling comfortably between you as you walked away from the now-closed skate park, your hands still intertwined.

As you strolled through the quiet streets, the gentle hum of the city wrapping around you, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. There was a contentment in his expression, a relaxed curve to his mouth that spoke of unguarded happiness.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, nudging him lightly.

He glanced at you, eyes soft under the glow of the streetlights. “How I’m going to make sure I never keep something like that from you again.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you smiled, leaning against him as you walked. “Good.” you said. “Because I plan on telling you every day.”

And as the two of you continued on into the night, the air between you felt different—not just safe, but full of new possibilities, laughter, and love that was finally yours to share.

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EVERYTHING HAPPENS AND CHANGES ALL THE TIME. You and Megumi were the happiest you’d ever been for a long time. Moving into the city had felt like an unspoken promise, a step forward toward a shared future.

A bright beautiful future that had once been only whispers in the quiet of your conversations. Together, you carved out a life in the heart of the bustling city, with its endless hum of activity and its ever-changing face.

You found an apartment that felt like it belonged to both of you. The floors creaked underfoot, their sound a reminder of the stories they held, the small, quiet moments of shared joy and unspoken understanding.

Big windows let the sunlight pour in during the mornings, catching the dust in beams of gold as you sat side by side with your coffee. The place was imperfect, but in that imperfection, it was beautiful, just like your life together.

Your days were spent in a rhythm that had once been in sync, the sounds of laughter and comfortable silence filling the air. You’d talk about everything and nothing at all. Sometimes, it was about the art you were working on, the colors you’d used, or the gallery you were preparing for.

Other times, it was about his latest case, his eyes alight with the thrill of a challenge. You would stay up late, your feet tangled together under the blanket as you exchanged stories of the day, dreams for the future, and the occasional silly moment of laughter.

But, as the years passed, everything started to shift, imperceptible at first, like the gradual turning of the pages in a book you thought you knew so well. The city, which had once been your shared adventure, now became the thing that kept you apart.

The rhythm of your lives grew more erratic. Megumi, with his sharp mind and steady resolve, excelled in the high-stakes world of law. His career took off with rather good ease, and he quickly found himself buried in cases, depositions, meetings, and late-night strategizing. He became the star of the law firm he worked for. Everything was great for him.

You could see it in the crease of his brow, the way he stayed up into the early hours of the morning to prepare for court, his suit always a little wrinkled, his tie always a little loose, but his focus razor-sharp.

His world was all deadlines, high-profile clients, and courtroom battles that never seemed to stop. He thrived in it; he was good at it, brilliant even—but it took him away from you, slowly but surely.

You, too, threw yourself into your work, determined to build something of your own, to carve out your place in a world that sometimes felt like it was moving too fast for you. Your art became your refuge, the studio your sanctuary.

The city, with its mix of people, cultures, and experiences, was your muse. You found inspiration in the chaos and the beauty that wove through every street, every corner, every passerby.

But the more you painted, the more you found yourself lost in the solitude of it all. Late nights in galleries preparing for shows or days in the studio felt like your only real connection to the world.

Your mind was constantly racing with ideas, concepts, colors that needed to be captured before they slipped away. Your hands, once so used to holding his, now spent more time wrapped around a paintbrush than around his.

And so, the distance between you grew. The gap that once felt small, just a quiet space between moments, now felt insurmountable. You would come home to an empty apartment, the silence of it pressing in on you. Megumi would still be at the office, still lost in the whirlwind of his cases, his phone buzzing with messages that had to be answered immediately.

You’d sit at the table, dinner half-eaten, waiting for him to walk through the door, but he rarely came home before midnight. When he did, he’d be tired, exhausted, really and you’d try your best to carry the conversation, but the words never came as easily as they once had.

He’d ask about your day, but his eyes would already be half-closed, his attention already elsewhere. You’d tell him about the gallery event or the new piece you were working on, but his responses would be short, distracted. Everything else besides his work became second. Everything else started to fade away into the background. Even you.

The moments that once felt so natural disappeared into the fog. You had always, the both of you, understood each other without speaking. But soon enough, everything began to feel strained, stretched thin under the weight of your respective worlds. You’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to his breathing beside you, as he focused on reading case files on bed. Every night was like this.

It felt like he was a million miles away. You couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t feel him. It was like he wasn’t there. And that broke your heart over and over. Because all you wanted was him. Yet you couldn’t even have that. You couldn’t even have a moment. You couldn’t win. Not against fate itself.

There was no more laughter, no more stolen moments of joy in the middle of a busy day. It was as if the world around you was moving faster than you could keep up with, and you and Megumi were just trying to hold on to what little of each other remained.

The city, which had once been your shared adventure, now felt like a vast, indifferent landscape, a place where the two of you had become lost. And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the life you’d built, the distance between you was undeniable. It became this seesaw game. Both of you are waiting for someone to step out of it.

The silence grew, and the cracks started to form. Megumi, buried in his work, became more distant, his tired eyes unable to meet yours for longer than a few moments.

And you lost in the world of your art, your mind constantly in motion could just feel like it began to feel as though you couldn’t do anything but chase. You were chasing something that would always stay just out of reach. You were chasing a ghost.

In the stillness of those long, lonely nights, you began to wonder how it all had slipped away so quietly. You had promised each other that nothing would come between you that no matter how much life changed, you’d always have each other. But promises, like time, sometimes slip through your fingers, and before you knew it, you were both holding on to something that wasn’t there anymore.

And it hurt more than anything you’d ever known.

The times when your paths crossed grew fewer, and each time they did, it felt more like a fleeting moment you couldn’t quite hold on to. Mornings that once held the warmth of shared cups of coffee and quiet conversation were now replaced with hurried mornings.

That quick abrupt hum of the alarm clock pulling you out of bed faster than you could stretch. You’d barely exchange more than a quick kiss goodbye as you rushed out the door, his briefcase already in hand, your mind already occupied with the tasks of the day ahead.

The breakfasts that had once been filled with laughter, with soft smiles and small talk about what lay ahead, had transformed into something mechanical. You’d grab your coffee, he’d grab his briefcase, and you’d both be off, each of you retreating into your own world before the day even began.

Evenings weren’t much better. The quiet, intimate moments you’d shared over dinner, the kind that had made your world feel so right, had all but disappeared. Now, there were nights when you would come home to find him already asleep on the couch, his suit still on, papers scattered around him like a battlefield.

His face was soft with exhaustion, the tension in his body unmistakable even in sleep. His tie was loosened, his shirt wrinkled, but still, he’d sleep through it all, the weight of the day too heavy for him to shed. And he wouldn’t notice that look in your eyes. That sadness you couldn’t help but carry for this doomed relationship.

You’d watch him for a moment, your heart aching at the sight, but then you’d quietly tiptoe past him, too tired yourself to wake him. The faint sound of his breathing was the only noise in the apartment, and you’d retreat into your own solitude, thinking maybe tomorrow would be different.

Sometimes, you’d come home after a late gallery event, the city lights outside your window blurred in the reflection of the glass. You’d see the faint glow from his office, a soft halo of light against the shadows.

He wouldn’t even notice how your presence creaked the wooden doors open. He wouldn’t even budge at the sound of your keys clanking. Or your familiar footsteps merging with the mahogany ground. He wouldn’t notice a damn thing.

But you would notice everything about him. Fushiguro Megumi would still be sitting there, case files spread out on the desk, his eyes glazed from hours of staring at legal jargon that never seemed to make sense. You’d try to keep the frustration at bay, try to remind yourself that this was just temporary, that everything would settle soon.

But every time you’d reach out your hand and you would ask.

“Do you want to take a break? Maybe we can grab dinner?”

Sometimes you wish you didn't ask.

Because his response would be the same.

“I can’t tonight. Too much work.”

And you’d nod, the words dying in your throat, as you retreated again, feeling the ache in your chest grow with every passing day. The apartment, once a place of warmth and shared moments, now felt cold and empty, no matter how many art pieces you filled it with. It was just you, and him, but you were worlds apart.

And then the fights started.

They were small at first—an offhand comment here, a sigh there, barely even loud enough to be called a fight. But they were enough. The tension built in the small spaces between words, in the way you’d avoid eye contact when you both spoke. You’d complain about him missing dinner again, how you’d waited hours for him to come home, only for him to slip quietly into bed without saying a word.

“I can’t be in two places at once, you know that.” he’d reply, his voice tight, a trace of guilt mixed with irritation in his words. “You knew what I was getting into when I started this job.”

And you knew, deep down, you had known. But that didn’t make it any easier. The dinners you’d missed together, the quiet evenings you spent alone, your frustrations, your loneliness. It all built up until it couldn’t be ignored any longer. You tried to be patient. But you know that patience always has an expiration date. And yours had started to tick, like a bomb just waiting for the right time waiting to explode.

Everything felt useless now. Everything was one blow away from cracking down. The things you used to say to each other, the things that had made you feel so close, now felt hollow and distant. The love that had once been so certain now felt strained, fragile, as though it might crumble at any moment.

One evening, after a particularly grueling week for both of you, you came home from a late gallery event to find Megumi at the dining table, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than usual.

He had papers scattered everywhere, the remnants of his latest case still strewn across the table like debris from a battle he couldn’t quite win. He didn’t even look up when you entered, his focus entirely on the papers in front of him.

“Another late night?” he asked, not even looking up from the papers in front of him.

“Yeah.” you said shortly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “Like every other night.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We never see each other anymore.”

“Whose fault is that?” you shot back before you could stop yourself. The room felt colder immediately, your own words stinging in the silence that followed.

“You know this is important, both our careers are.” he said, voice strained, but his tone didn’t soothe the growing ache in your chest.

“And what about us, Megumi? When did we stop being important?”

He looked up at you, eyes tired but holding that glimmer of hurt. “We are. We’re just… trying to keep up.”

“It doesn’t feel like we’re keeping up.” you whispered, eyes starting to sting with tears. “It feels like we’re falling apart.”

The silence that settled was heavy, pressing down on both of you. He stood up, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident. “What do you want me to do? Stop working? This is what I have to do. You know that.”

“And this is what I have to do.” you said, gesturing to your art supplies strewn around the room. “But we’re not making it work, Megumi. We’re barely making it through the day without fighting.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and for a moment, his expression softened, a flicker of the old Megumi shining through. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the weight of reality.

There was panic in the way he looked at you. You felt a bile form at your throat. You knew what it looked like. He was realizing it. He saw that sadness in your eyes. The sadness that he had hated so much on you, he had caused it on you.

“I don’t know how to fix this. I….” he said, his voice low and raw. “Babe, I’m so sorry—”

You took a shaky breath, the words you’d been avoiding suddenly tumbling out. “Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t try to fix it anymore. I’m tired of all this, Megumi. I am….I am genuinely exhausted from trying to make it work.”

“Babe, listen we can talk this out and we can make it work. I know we can. We—”

“Maybe we should break up.”

The room went still, the echo of your words ringing louder than anything else. His blue–gren eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and hurt coloring his features. Those words were the hardest you could ever say.

But perhaps it was the right words to say. Because he looked at you for the first time ever and finally, he saw you. He finally sees you, after such a long nightmare.

“You don’t mean that. You—” he said, almost pleadingly, stepping closer.

“I do.” you said, voice breaking. “I can’t take this anymore, Megumi. We’re just making each other miserable, and it’s not fair to either of us.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time in a long while, he looked defeated. He reached out, almost as if he wanted to pull you back into a time when things were easier, when love was all you needed to bridge any gap.

But he stopped himself, letting his hand fall to his side. A sad small smile dances on your lips, biting them soon after. You could feel the tears fall from your weary eyes.

You were tired of fighting for something he couldn’t. You were tired of doing it by yourself. And he knew that. He knew that all too well. There were no other ways for him to stop you from leaving him, from leaving all this pain behind. Pain he had caused you over and over again. Pain that would scar you for as long as you lived.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he said softly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

You looked away, fighting the sob that threatened to break free. “I don’t want to lose you either. But we’re already losing each other.”

The words were so raw, so full of meaning, that it made your heart ache. But you could feel the wall between you two now, the one that you’d both been building without realizing it. You both don’t know your place in this relationship. You have outgrown it and it wasn’t even both your faults. It just….is life.

“I don’t want to lose you either, you know that.” you said, your voice shaking. “But I don’t know how to fix this, Megumi. I don’t know if I can keep waiting for you to come home when you’re already gone.”

The silence that fell over the two of you was deafening. The room felt colder, the space between you growing with every word that went unsaid. You stared at each other, both lost in the same silence, both unsure of where to go from here. The city outside continued to hum, oblivious to the cracks that were starting to form in the life you’d once built so carefully together.

The silence this time, it felt final. And as you both stood there, the city’s lights flickering through the window, you realized that sometimes love isn’t enough to fight against the things that pull you apart.

There were city lights, lights brighter than anything else. It was like the universe was here, and the stars beamed towards you both, like lovers. And yet, you were everything but in that moment. You were two people who finally saw the seesaw needs to fall down.

“I’ll pack my things.” You say to him, smiling ever sadder than before. “I’ll stay with a friend tonight. And…I’ll come back for my things.”

He doesn’t say another word. But you can tell. He was close to crying. Yet he gives you one singular nod as you slowly walk towards him and place your hand on his cheek. As though it was the last time you would ever touch him.

He looks up from his gaze on the ground, trying to memorize this image of you. You can tell there was desperation. What if he doesn’t see you again? What does he do?

“I loved you so much.” You said, the past tense making him flinch slightly. It was the hardest word to even pronounce. It felt harder to say five words than the usual three. “I still do. But…I have to go. For our sake.”

“Don’t….” He whispers weakly. “Don’t tell me this, not after we just….”

“Goodbye, Megumi.” You tell him, with finality. A smile blunt on your face, trying to make this memory redeemable. “I hope you live a long and happy life.”

When you walked out, the city lights looked at you and blinked.

And yet, Fushiguro Megumi felt like he didn’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t stop you as you walk away, taking warmth away.

He lets you go, because loving you meant living without you too.

That was the risk of loving someone, that was the risk of living in love.

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A LOT CAN HAPPEN WHEN YOU BLINK. And that’s what happened. He didn’t expect it to happen, change will always have permanence. As much as time. Both are uncontrollable forces of nature. And he hated it.

It’s been five years now since you and Megumi had last stood on solid ground together, since the life you built had slowly crumbled under the weight of work, time, and distance.

The memory of your arguments, your silences, still lingered in the back of his mind like a distant ache, a reminder of what once was and what was no longer. But time had done little to heal that wound.

In fact, Fushiguro Megumi had become even more entrenched in his work, burying himself in his career as a lawyer, trying to forget that, in the end, he had lost the one person who meant the most to him.

Now, sitting in a sterile hospital room, the smell of antiseptic burning his nose, he felt like he was living in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. His eyes were locked onto the doctor in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere, still processing what had just been said. The words hung in the air, thick with finality.

“Mr. Fushiguro, the test results confirm that you’ve inherited a hereditary condition from your father. It’s genetic and unfortunately, there's no cure.”

The doctor’s voice was calm, clinical, as though she were explaining a minor inconvenience, as though it was him talking to the jury at court. But Fushiguro Megumi heard nothing but the echo of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

He could barely process the words, the shock still settling in his chest. He hadn’t expected this. He’d always heard whispers about his father, that old man. Megumi didn’t care when he left. He still had Tsumiki. And then he had Gojo and then…..

Megumi stops himself. He frowns deeper. He was not having the best of luck in lif. He likes to think he never has. Now, he is haunted and suffers more about this man who left them. He has to come back in the form of this stupid illness.

This stupid illness that would now be killing him slowly and fully. He wants to laugh out loud. Because, this was something else entirely. How cruel fate can be. How much of a comedy it is, how much of a stupid thing it is.

He leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. The room seemed to tilt around him, the walls closing in, suffocating him. A laugh threatened to slip from his lips, but it did.

Everything about it wasn’t one of humor. It was jagged and bitter, a laugh born of frustration, anger, and the overwhelming sense of betrayal that had simmered in his chest for years.

His blue–green gaze didn’t leave the doctor, but his eyes darkened towards the doctor. The doctor seemed to be unfazed by his reaction. Megumi felt like he was the same as the doctor when he was at court sometimes. Those cases don’t faze him.

He had seen it all. And everyone had gotten mad at him at times too. And yet there was only disbelief now. He was on the other side of the aisle now. There was only surprise and then anguish and then bitterness. All of that didn’t taste good in his mouth.

“So, let me get this straight, doctor.” he began, his voice tight, almost controlled, but with an edge of fury beneath it. “My father, the man who abandoned me and Tsumiki after Mom died, is now showing up in my life, and now I’m supposed to care that I’ve inherited something from him? Something that’s going to kill me?”

The doctor faltered for a second, clearly caught off guard by the venom in his voice, but she remained professional. “It’s not quite like that, Mr. Fushiguro. Your father may not have been around, but—”

“No.” he cut her off, his fist clenching in his lap. “Don’t give me that. Don’t try to justify him. You think I care about a condition that’s been passed down through the blood of someone who doesn’t even care enough to be there when I need him?”

“Mr. Fushiguro, please—”

His laugh returned, sharp and hollow, a bitter sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. “I never even wanted to know him. I was better off without him. And now that old man comes back. Oh god, what a fucking mess! What a comedy!”

His mind raced, the thoughts swirling in a chaotic dance of anger and disbelief. His father had left him and Tsumiki in the wake of their mother’s death, promising them nothing but silence. And he was bears with it. He always did. He always knew how to get on with life. That’s how he came to be where he is now.

But he can’t help it. How could he? All that misery he had buried as a child comes back once more. He had thought it would never come back to the earth again. Everything about it was just as good as dead to him.

And yet, fate laughs at him. He laughs at how easy it is to push Megumi’s buttons. And he knew Megumi would react. Fate loved games and he would continue on and on, until he was satisfied.

“You said it’s genetic, right?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little more brittle, the edge of his anger still cutting through the words. “How long do I have?”

The doctor looked at him with sympathy, but Megumi didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want the pity in her eyes. He didn’t want any of this.

“It depends on the progression of the disease.” she answered carefully, giving him the facts. “It could take years. Maybe even months. We do not know. But knowing some cases I’ve seen, It could be faster. We can try treatments, but we can’t reverse the damage already done.”

Megumi closed his blue–green eyes for a moment, his chest tightening. The realization hit him with full force: his life, the one he had built, the work, the efforts to stay busy, to keep going. None of it had prepared him for this.

None of it had prepared him for the idea that he might not have much time left. How is he going to tell Tsumiki or Gojo? How could he prepare them for this? And to make matters worse, it was a legacy that had come from the very man who had never been there for him in the first place.

His laugh died in his throat, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake.

“Tell me this is some kind of mistake.” he muttered under his breath, as though saying the words would somehow make them untrue.

The doctor’s eyes softened, but she shook her head, handing him a folder with the test results. “I’m afraid it’s not.”

The weight of it all pressed down on him, his mind spinning. He stood abruptly, shoving the folder into his bag without a second glance, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn’t stay here. He needed to leave. He needed to get out of this sterile room before it suffocated him any further.

As he walked out of the hospital, the cool air of the evening hit him, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t help but wonder about it. What was the point of this? What was the point of surviving a life without a father only to be cursed with his legacy, a legacy that had already been stained with abandonment? What did it all mean?

He didn’t have the answers. But one thing was clear. He would never be able to look at his father the same way again. And now, he’d have to face the consequences of that. Whether he liked it or not. One way or another, it was just how it works. Fushiguro Megumi has to see that life goes on. It always has. Even in the face of death.

Yet for a moment, even if he has resigned himself to fate, he stops.

He stops for a moment and thinks to himself and that warmth returns.

He wishes that for what remains of life — he wished you were there with him.

Fushiguro Megumi wishes that he could see your smile and live in it again.

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HE FOUND HIMSELF DISASSOCIATING FOR A COUPLE OF MINUTES. But after news like that, who wouldn’t find themselves despondent. Megumi Fushiguro wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing in the hospital lobby. He’d left the doctor’s office a while ago, but his feet felt frozen to the ground, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

His thoughts felt scrambled, and all he wanted was to get out of there, away from the sterile white walls, away from the suffocating reality of the diagnosis. The last thing he expected was to run into someone, you—after all this time.

But there you were, standing at the hospital’s entrance, your hair a little longer, your eyes just as bright, the warmth of your smile still able to stop his heart dead in its tracks. He hadn’t expected it. Not in such a place. And yet here you were. He hadn’t expected to see you here, of all places. After all, you took care of yourself well. But there you were, as beautiful and alive as ever.

At first, Megumi wasn’t sure what to do. Should he approach you? Should he pretend everything was fine? There was so much that had passed between you, so many years, so much silence.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late for him to fix things. But before he could make any decision, you were already walking toward him, your gaze locking onto his like it always had when you were younger.

“Megumi.” you said softly, almost hesitantly, as though you weren’t sure how to say his name anymore.

You were still the same, and yet, you weren’t. Your voice was familiar, but the years between you had made things feel… off, awkward in a way that he hadn’t expected.

“Hey.” he said, his voice almost gruff, unsure of how to speak to you after so long.

He took a step back, unsure whether to smile, to say something casual. It was almost like he didn’t know who he was around you anymore. The man who used to be able to talk to you about anything had disappeared somewhere along the way.

You smiled, though, and for a brief moment, Megumi felt like he could breathe again. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you're here for a checkup too. You look fine to me.” you teased, and there was that playful spark in your eyes that he had missed.

Megumi shifted, looking around, as though searching for an answer that didn’t exist. The truth was, he didn’t want to tell you why he was here. Not yet. Not when he had no idea how to explain the mess his life had become.

“I’m just here… taking care of some stuff.” he muttered, the lie slipping out before he could stop it. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension build again. “You know, business stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing your face, but instead of pressing him further, you just shrugged. “Well, I’m not here for anything too serious. Just visiting a friend.”

"Oh, I see."

Your gaze softened as you spoke, the smile on your face softening the more you looked at him. "I didn’t expect to see you here. Not after all this time."

Megumi nodded, biting his lip. No kidding, he thought to himself. The years had passed, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like this. He hadn’t expected to feel so... unsure. He wasn’t used to this distance between you two. Not like this.

“Well....” you said, after a pause. You rubbed the back of your neck. “Do you want to grab dinner or something? I don’t know about you, but I could really use some decent food after dealing with all this hospital nonsense.”

At first, Megumi hesitated, unsure if he should take the invitation. But something about the ease in your voice, the casual familiarity of it, made him relent. “Sure. I guess I could go for something... edible.” he said, trying to joke, but it came out more stiff than he wanted.

You laughed, the sound of it bringing back memories of the good old days when life was simpler and he didn’t have to carry the weight of unspoken words between you. You waved him off, but there was something in your eyes, something gentle and patient, like you weren’t rushing him to explain himself.

The two of you walked out of the hospital together, falling into step like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was awkward at first, the silence between you hanging heavy, but as you got settled at the restaurant, everything started to fall back into place.

You ordered something light, and Megumi, on autopilot, ordered something simple—a dish he could eat quickly. The waiter left, and for a moment, the two of you sat in silence, not quite knowing how to bridge the gap that had been there for years.

“So…..” you began, after a while, trying not to be awkward. “Why were you at the hospital? Don’t tell me you have a broken bone or something.”

Megumi’s eyes flickered over to you, and he was about to brush it off, to avoid answering; like he always did when it came to anything about his past, about his father. He hoped you weren’t noticing it. He hoped that you weren’t able to see through him again.

But before he could think of a way out, he realized something: you weren’t just anyone. You were you—the person who knew him better than anyone. The person he had lost, the person who had been there for him when everything else fell apart. You had and always will know more about him than anyone else. Even if he doesn’t say anything.

He exhaled slowly, and then, without thinking, he shrugged and said, “I guess you could say I’m getting some bad news.”

You furrowed your brow in concern, and before you could ask, he let out a dry laugh, something hollow that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”

You shook your head, already knowing where this was headed. “Megumi, your jokes are still as bad as they were when we were kids.” You leaned back in your seat with a fond smile, your eyes soft. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled under his breath, feeling some of the weight lift off his chest. The familiar rhythm of teasing, of falling back into old patterns, felt surprisingly good. His heart, which had felt heavy and weighed down for so long, was starting to feel lighter with each passing moment.

“You should’ve known,” Megumi muttered, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m the best at bad jokes.”

You laughed again, the sound like music to his ears. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Fushiguro.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to relax a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to fix what had been broken. Maybe, just maybe, he could find his way back to the person who used to be everything to him.

But for now, he would take the little moments like this—the laughter, the shared memories, and the warmth of simply being in your presence again. Everything felt like the sun had shone on earth again. Everything felt right like this.

And, for once, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

Fushiguro Megumi sat back in his chair, watching you as you laughed, as you teased him, and it felt like the whole world faded away for a few moments. For the first time in months, his chest didn’t feel so tight, his mind didn’t feel so heavy.

The hospital, the test results, the news about his father; they all felt like distant memories, like something that could be put on the shelf and forgotten for a while. Because in this moment, right now, the only thing that mattered was you.

He liked this. He liked the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled, the way you still knew how to make him laugh even when everything inside him ached. There was a calmness, a sense of peace, in being around you that he hadn’t felt in years.

The world around him had become chaotic, unpredictable, but here at this small, unassuming restaurant, sharing a quiet dinner with you. Everything about it, it made him feel… warm inside. It felt like coming home, after a long time away from it.

As the conversation flowed easily between you two, Megumi found himself watching the way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you were still you. It was like nothing had changed, like time hadn’t passed at all. Except it had.

Five years had come and gone, and he had spent most of them buried in work, in his own personal mess of anger and hurt, while you had lived your own life. But now, seeing you here, smiling at him like this, it was like he had been given something precious he hadn’t realized he’d lost: you.

And then it hit him. That sharp pang of realization.

He was dying.

In a few months, his life, everything he had worked for, everything he had wanted, would be over. And the one thing he had always wanted, the one thing that had never wavered was sitting right across from him, smiling at him like he was everything.

You, the person he had spent his whole life running from, running toward, the person who had always been there.

And now, here you were again.

His heart skipped a beat as he processed it all. It was all coming at him fast, like a car speeding fast towards him. He doesn’t know what to do, how to do it. Everything overwhelmed him. But then again, he thinks he’s always felt like this when it came to you. He can’t deny that whatsoever.

Everything made him feel like a boy again. All these feelings he can’t describe makes him so overwhelmed with what life means. How much he had missed you, how much he still needed you in his life, they all started to make him wonder about it all.

The joke, the casual teasing, the familiar warmth between you two—it was what he wanted. It was what he had always wanted. He had never allowed himself to admit it fully, not back then, not when you were both young and carefree. But now, with the weight of his diagnosis hanging over him like a dark cloud, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to be around you. No, it was more than that. He needed to be around you, to feel your presence, your warmth, your love. The idea that he might never get to hold you close again after all this time made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t put into words.

You caught his gaze, your smile faltering just for a moment. “Hey, are you okay?” you asked, the concern in your voice immediate and genuine. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden.”

Megumi blinked, realizing he had zoned out. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry. Just… thinking.”

You didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t press. Instead, you took a sip of your drink, then set it down, eyes watching him carefully. “I get that a lot lately,” you said, half-joking, half-serious. “I tend to get lost in my head too.”

He chuckled softly, trying to push away the heaviness that was creeping back into his thoughts. But it was hard. It was hard when every little thing in this moment reminded him of what he was going to lose.

He didn’t know how much time he had left. And that thought scared him more than anything. But what scared him even more was the idea of never telling you how he truly felt, never having the chance to fully be with you.

“So, what about you?” Megumi asked, his voice quieter than before. “How’s life been? Really, how are you?”

You blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the change in tone. “You know, same as usual. Gallery events, late nights at the studio… You know, the usual chaos,” you said with a small smile. But then, you tilted your head. “And you? You’ve been working so much, Megumi. You’ve been pushing yourself.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I have,” he admitted. “It’s just… it’s easier, you know? To bury myself in work rather than deal with what’s going on in my head.”

There it was. The truth, just slipping out. His chest tightened again, the weight of everything catching up to him. You watched him with soft eyes, but you didn’t say anything. You just waited, patiently, for him to continue.

“I think…” He hesitated, unsure of how to say it, unsure if he even had the right to say it now. But his heart was screaming at him to be honest, to be real with you. “I think I’ve been afraid for a long time. Afraid of how I feel about you. I never said it before… but I think I’ve always loved you, even when I couldn’t show it.”

Your eyes softened, your lips parted in surprise, but no words came out. Megumi could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the silence stretched on.

“I’ve always loved you, you know?” he repeated, the words stronger this time. “And… I know it’s late. I know it’s probably too late, but I want you to know. I want you to know that I needed you. That I want to spend whatever time I have left with you. Whatever time I can get.”

His voice faltered as the confession hung in the air, and the weight of it felt almost unbearable. But then, slowly, you reached across the table, your hand gently landing on his.

“I never stopped loving you either, Megumi. I hope you know that.” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us.”

The words hit him like a wave, and for a brief moment, he felt like he could breathe again. Like everything wasn’t falling apart. Maybe, just maybe, the time that was slipping away didn’t matter as long as he could be with you in these final months, these final moments. He looked at you, the warmth of your hand in his, and a fragile smile tugged at his lips.

“Then let’s make the most of it.” he whispered. “Even if we start out again and be friends first. I’d love to make the most of it.”

You smiled at him warmly in response. “I’d like that too.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t have the time he wanted. But in that moment, as you sat across from him, the love of his life, he felt at peace.

And perhaps, maybe, just maybe – that was enough.

Maybe, this was all he needed in life.

His life was going to be defined by loving you.

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BEING SENTIMENTAL, IT WASN’T WHAT HE WAS GOOD AT. He knew too well what this will be in the end. He knew that it was going to hurt you both, that it was going to hurt him most. It wasn’t the best idea, you knew that.

Letting Fushiguro Megumi back into your life after everything that had happened, after all the years apart—it wasn’t exactly the most rational choice. You’d spent so long building your own life, carving out your space in the world, and now, just as you’d begun to find your rhythm again, life threw you a curveball you never saw coming.

The diagnosis.

Dementia. A rare form. And to make matters worse, it was hitting you far too early before you’d even reached thirty-five. The doctors had explained it all in somber tones, but the truth was, none of it really sunk in at first.

It was a shock, a blow you weren’t sure how to handle. The thought that, in just a few years, you might forget everything, the art you created, the people you loved, the moments that had shaped your life, was downright terrifying.

And yet, here you were, staring at your phone screen with Megumi’s name blinking back at you. He’d reached out. You hadn’t heard from him in so long. The last time you saw him, things were… complicated. So many years spent apart, so many unspoken words, and yet, when you saw his name, your heart skipped a beat.

You thought it might have been fate. Or maybe just a desperate wish. The idea that you had a shot at all was one in a million. In this small window of time, before it all slipped away— to make some memories. To live whatever life you could, before the inevitable began to take hold. You wondered how that could be.

So you called him back. And when he answered, the voice on the other end was familiar and steady, just like you remembered.

“You really want to see me?” he asked, the surprise evident in his voice. “It’s been a while.”

You smiled softly, your fingers curling around the phone. “I do. I want to see you, Megumi. I need to. I—” You paused, unsure how to explain it. How could you? “I just want to make some memories.”

There was a long silence before he spoke again, and when he did, his tone was gentler. “Okay. Let’s make some memories then. How about we go to the aquarium? I know it’s random, but… I thought it might be fun.”

You felt a small laugh escape your lips at the thought of it. Megumi…Your Megumi. He was always so serious, always so reserved, ever so practical — but somehow, a trip to the aquarium seemed like just the thing you needed.

He was keeping you afloat, keeping you alive, wanting to do things. Wanting to make life interesting, even with that orderly fashion of his. It makes you warm inside. It always has. It always will.

“That sounds perfect.” you said, the words coming out easily, almost relieved.

And so, there you were, standing in front of the entrance to the aquarium, waiting for him. Your heart was a little heavier than before, the weight of the diagnosis still there in the back of your mind. But in this moment, with Megumi on his way, you felt something else: a little spark of hope. A little spark of life.

You caught sight of him as he rounded the corner, looking just as you remembered, though maybe a little older, a little worn around the edges. His eyes were still the same, dark and intense, but there was something softer about him now, something that made your heart ache.

“Hey,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “Long time no see.”

You smiled back, the weight of the years between you almost forgotten. "Yeah. It’s been too long."

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, his gaze lingering just a little too long, as though he could tell something was different. You didn’t have to say it out loud. He could read you like a book. He always has. You don’t think he’ll stop now. You hope he wouldn’t. You smiled at him.

“I’m glad you called.” he said softly, as if unsure of how to proceed, but that familiar warmth in his voice was still there. It had never really gone away, had it?

"Me too." you replied, and for the first time in a long while, you meant it. "I needed this."

Megumi nodded, and the two of you walked into the aquarium together, the world around you a blur of soft lights and flowing water. The sound of distant laughter and the rhythmic swoosh of fish in tanks filled the air, but all you could hear was his voice, the way it brought comfort, the way it made you feel like maybe you weren’t alone in this after all.

You pointed out the exhibits as you wandered through the aquarium, asking him what he thought of the colorful fish or the playful otters, though truthfully, your mind wasn’t always on the sea creatures. You couldn’t help but glance at him, at the way he reacted to everything, his quiet smile, his dry humor. It felt so familiar. So right.

“Remember when we came here when we were younger?” you asked, your voice soft. “We didn’t know anything about what we were doing, just wandered around aimlessly.”

Megumi chuckled, though it sounded bittersweet. “I think I spent most of the time trying to keep you from getting too close to the sharks.”

You laughed, the sound light and free, just like it used to be when you were younger. "You always were protective."

He didn’t respond to that, but the way he looked at you said it all. You both knew. You both remembered the connection you had once shared. And now, as you stood together, surrounded by glass tanks and exotic sea life, it felt like maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as broken as they seemed.

Megumi turned to you after a while, his blue – green eyes searching yours, as though considering whether to say something, something important. Sometimes Megumi gets like this.

He tries to do well when figuring out what to say, how to say them. To avoid misunderstanding. To be clear. And yet in that moment, he seemed like he already had those words. But he doesn’t want to bring it up. At least not yet.

“Do you… do you remember what you used to tell me?” he asked, his voice hesitant. “When we were kids, you said you wanted to live life fully. You didn’t want to waste a single second.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. It took a moment for you to recall those words, but when you did, a small laugh escaped your lips. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You still want that, right?” Megumi’s gaze was steady, unwavering.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat. There was no need to speak the truth aloud—it was clear. Even with everything you had to face, you still wanted to live, even if it was just a little longer, even if it meant creating new memories, even if it was messy and imperfect.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

And with that simple admission, Megumi smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, a little brighter than before. He didn’t ask you what was coming next, or how much time you had left, or any of the things you had to worry about in the back of your mind. He just stood there, by your side, ready to make the most of the time you had left.

And in that moment, you realized something else too—maybe it wasn’t the best idea to let him back in, but it felt like fate. Fate had given you a chance, and you weren’t going to waste it.

Not now. Not ever again.

As you and Megumi wandered through the aquarium, the world outside seemed to fade away. There was something peaceful about the soft glow of the tanks, the gentle movement of the sea creatures, and the quiet way you and Megumi existed in each other’s space. The sounds of the outside world, the murmur of people and the occasional squeal of children, felt far away, like they were part of a distant dream.

Megumi leaned closer to one of the tanks, his eyes following the delicate movements of a seahorse. You caught yourself watching him more than you watched the creatures inside the glass, his expression thoughtful, like he was lost in the quiet beauty of it all.

His features softened in a way that made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just his looks, though—it was the way he was. The way he had always been there for you, even when life pulls you in different directions. Everything about him makes you orbit around him, like he was your earth and you were his moon. He kept you balanced. And you like it. You always have.

“Hey, Megumi.” you said, nudging him lightly. “You’ve gone quiet. Do you still hate fish?”

He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow in that familiar, teasing way. “Not the fish, just... I can’t believe you’ve dragged me here, of all places.” But his words held no real malice. There was warmth there, a soft playfulness that made you smile.

“Admit it already.” you teased him. “You like it. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Megumi snorted, and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Maybe I do. But don’t go getting any ideas. I’m not a seafood enthusiast yet."

You grinned, poking him in the ribs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You both wandered deeper into the exhibit, laughing at the odd little creatures, pointing out your favorites, and making light-hearted jokes. At one point, you found yourselves standing before a tank of jellyfish, their long, flowing tentacles creating a mesmerizing dance in the water. You both watched in silence, the gentle sway of the jellyfish almost hypnotic.

“This is kind of like us, isn’t it?” you asked, turning to Megumi, your voice quieter now. “Just... floating along, not really knowing where we’re going, but just kind of going with it?”

Megumi looked over at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah. Maybe it is.” he murmured, his voice soft and a little more serious than usual. “But, you know, I don’t mind floating along with you.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, and without thinking, you reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hand wrapped around yours almost instinctively, and in that moment, it felt so right. So simple. So perfect.

"You're really good at this." you whispered, giving his hand another squeeze. "At making things feel easy."

Megumi’s fingers tightened around yours, and he turned his head slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I think you’ve always made it easy, you know?” he said quietly.

You both stood there for a while, hand in hand, watching the jellyfish move. Time seemed to slow down as you both took in the moment, each of you content in the other’s presence. The world around you felt like it had paused, just for a little while, just for the two of you to exist together.

As the day began to wind down and the aquarium started to empty out, Megumi pulled you closer, his arm lightly draped around your shoulder, a natural, easy gesture.

You leaned into him, grateful for his warmth, his presence, the way he made you feel like everything would be okay. You knew it was, even when you weren’t sure about anything. As long as you have Fushiguro Megumi, life will turn out alright. It always has. It always will.

“Thanks for today, Megumi.” you said softly, your voice full of meaning. "I needed this."

Megumi glanced down at you, a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad. I needed it too.”

As you made your way to the exit, you felt lighter. The weight of your diagnosis, the fear of what was to come, was still there in the back of your mind—but in this moment, with Megumi by your side, everything else seemed distant. The future, no matter how uncertain, didn’t feel so scary anymore.

You both stepped out into the evening air, the cool breeze brushing past your faces. The city lights were just beginning to flicker on in the distance, and the streets felt full of life.

You glanced over at Megumi, his expression soft, content. The night was still young, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were living in the moment, not worrying about what was to come.

“You know……” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe we should do this again sometime.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. “What, go to an aquarium?”

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “Why not? You never know, next time we might get to see the dolphins.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was unmistakable. “You and your love for sea animals,” he teased.

“I’m serious!” you said with a laugh. “But next time, maybe you’ll actually like it more.”

“Maybe,” he said with a chuckle. "Just maybe."

As you walked side by side, the cool evening air wrapping around you, your thoughts wandered again to the future, the future that was becoming a little more uncertain with each passing day. But then you looked at Megumi again, at the soft smile on his face, and for a moment, it didn’t matter. For now, everything was perfect.

And in that perfect moment, you realized: this—him—was what you wanted. Not just tonight, not just this moment, but forever. Or at least, as long as you could have it. You didn’t know how much time you had left, but in this instant, you were going to savor every second of it.

You glanced up at Megumi, squeezing his hand gently as you whispered, “I want this to last forever.”

Megumi squeezed your hand back, his voice steady and warm. “I do too.”

But you knew, you knew too well, as he did.

Nothing on this earth was bound to last forever.

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HE DIDN’T EXPECT HOW THIS WAS GOING TO END. But then again, you too didn’t expect it. Everything was unpredictable. But he expected this to happen. Even if he didn’t want it to. That was just his fate. The pain had been creeping up on him more and more, gnawing at his insides like a constant reminder that his time was running out.

Every movement, every step, felt like a battle. His body wasn’t his own anymore, and no matter how much he tried to push through it, the heaviness of his condition weighed on him more than he cared to admit. Everything was miserable, and he hated it. He hated how this was happening.

But there was something, someone, that made it all seem bearable. You. The thought of you kept him going, even when his body felt like it was betraying him. At the time when everything was starting to know its place, to fit perfectly. Right time, right place, right person. And yet, this had come to pass. He was sick. Beyond fixing.

Yet Megumi was certain that he was going to fight it. For as long as he can still do it. For as long as he had the strength to. He still wanted more time with you. More chances to make up for those five years. But he knew that it was getting harder. He didn’t want you to see how bad it was getting.

Sometimes he can’t even move himself. Sometimes he felt like he was going to throw up everything he ate. Sometimes he feels like he was going to pass out. But he doesn’t want to give up just yet.

He can’t. It wasn’t time, not just yet. He still needs to live. No matter how painful it all gets. He wants to live. He wasn’t giving up. Not when he still wanted to be there for you. Not when he still wanted to make you smile.

And he wanted to prove that. He always wants to prove that. That he was strong enough. That he can still stay here. That he can still take care of you. Tonight was one of those nights. It was already late when he got your call. But he didn’t care about the time. He had to go there for you.

He rushed out with his meager winter coat and rushed over there. The sound of your voice was filled with frustration and a little bit of panic, and that was enough to get him moving immediately. It kept ringing in his head, the tone of your voice. He doesn’t think he had ever heard that voice from you before.

All the way there, he thought more about your frustration and your panic more than his own pain. He didn’t even think about how exhausted he was or how much his body ached. You were what mattered to him at this moment. Nothing else. You mattered more to him. He was always going to put your first, especially now.

When he arrived at your apartment, he found you standing by the door, frowning and rifling through your bag. Your face lit up with a mix of relief and embarrassment when you saw him. He took a moment to breathe before greeting you.

“Megumi, I’m so sorry.” you said, wiping a hand over your face. “I can’t find my keys. I’ve looked everywhere. I—I think I’ve lost them.”

The distress in your voice was enough to make his heart tighten. He immediately stepped toward you, trying to hide the wince that flickered across his face as he reached for the door handle.

“It’s okay, hm?” he said softly, his voice steady, even if the pain inside was threatening to make it crack. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

He tried to ignore the way his legs ached as he crouched down to check the bottom of the doormat, his hand shaking slightly as he pushed it aside, looking for any sign of the missing keys. You stood beside him, still fretting, your hands wringing together.

“I’m sorry, Megumi. I don’t want to be a burden to you.” you murmured, your voice trembling.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stood up again. “You’re not a burden. You never have been.” He reached out, gently wiping the tears that had started to fall down your cheek. "I’m happy to help."

I’m happy to be needed. He thinks to himself, looking at you. I’m happy to be wanted by you.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing from the warmth of his touch. You didn’t understand how he could be so calm and collected when you felt like you were falling apart. But then again, it was just like him to make sure you were okay, even if it meant putting aside his own pain.

“I’m so sorry, again.” you said again, this time more softly. “I shouldn’t have let this get to me.”

Megumi just shook his head. “Hey, it’s okay. We all have our moments. It’s normal to get frustrated. I’ll help you find them, I promise.”

He glanced around for a moment, and then his gaze softened as he met your eyes. For a brief second, the weight of his own pain seemed to vanish, replaced by the quiet, soothing comfort of being close to you. The way you looked at him like he was the one thing that made sense in the chaos made everything feel a little easier.

“Let’s check inside your bag again.” he suggested gently. He took the bag from you, unzipping it with a practiced hand. As he rummaged through it, you watched him carefully, your anxiety easing just a little from the reassurance in his tone.

And then, as if by magic, he pulled out the keys from the deepest pocket of your bag. He held them up with a small, triumphant smile.

“Found them, dummy.” he said, and the relief in his voice made your heart swell.

You let out a shaky laugh, tears still lingering in your eyes, but a smile now tugging at your lips. “I��m so hopeless sometimes.”

Megumi’s smile widened, his eyes softening. “Don’t say that. You’re not hopeless. You just had a moment.”

His hand brushed against yours as he handed you the keys, and for a second, it felt like everything was perfect. Just you, him, the simple act of being together in the quiet, unspoken moments.

You met his gaze, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Thank you, Megumi. For everything.”

His bright blue–green orbs could only soften even more, and for the briefest moment, you could see the quiet ache in them, but it wasn’t pain. No, it was something else, something deeper. Something more beautiful, something more true. Everything about him felt so genuine. More than ever before.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just happy I’m here with you.”

And for that moment, in that small, shared space, it felt like nothing else mattered. The world outside could have been crumbling, but in his presence, you felt a quiet sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

Megumi gave you one last, reassuring smile, wiping away the last of your tears, and then offered his arm to you as he moved to open the door for you. You stepped inside, the cool air of the apartment a small comfort after the small storm of emotions. Megumi was right. Everything would be fine.

At least, for now, it was. You could forget about the worries of tomorrow and just be in the moment. As he followed you inside, a part of you couldn’t help but think how much longer you wanted this moment by your side. How you wished you could hold onto these moments forever.

The evening had grown colder, but the light snowfall made everything feel magical, like a scene out of a dream. You and Megumi had just finished your little excursion to find the perfect hotpot place, and as you sat at a cozy table by the window, the snowflakes drifted lazily outside.

The warmth of the restaurant was a nice contrast to the chilly air, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Everything about tonight was what would make winter feel the want to enjoy being alive, being warm in the cold breeze of its existence.

You pulled your phone from your bag, feeling the impulse to capture the moment. You glanced up at Megumi, who was poking at his bowl, looking surprisingly content for someone who usually seemed to prefer avoiding anything too flashy.

His serious demeanor had softened, and his usual guarded expression was replaced with a rare sense of comfort. With a smile, you snapped a quick picture of him. Megumi looked up, startled by the sound of your camera clicking.

“Hey, no pictures, you dummy.” he protested, though his tone wasn’t harsh. He reached for the camera, but you pulled it away quickly, holding it to your chest with a grin.

“Why not? You look cute, you know?” you teased, winking playfully at him.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You always say that. Why do you take so many pictures anyway?”

You leaned back in your seat, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess… I just want to remember things. The little moments that matter. You never know when they’ll be gone, so I figure I should capture the ones that make me happy.”

Megumi’s eyes softened, and he gave a quiet nod, his gaze thoughtful. “I’m glad you do that. You’ve always had a way of making ordinary moments feel... special.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I’m glad you’re here to make them feel special too.”

The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable silence, filled with small chatter and the occasional clink of chopsticks. You felt more at ease than you had in a long time, the weight of the world outside the restaurant seemingly lifted.

Once dinner was over, you both left the warm comfort of the restaurant, stepping into the crisp winter night. The air was fresh and sharp, and the snow had started to fall heavier, painting the streets in a blanket of white. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at the sky, the snowflakes drifting down like confetti.

You walked ahead a few steps, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night, when you suddenly realized that Megumi wasn’t next to you. Turning around, you saw him standing still, almost frozen in place, his posture slumped in an uncharacteristic way. You paused, confused, until you saw him sway slightly before collapsing onto the snow-covered pavement with a soft thud.

Your heart stopped.

“Megumi!” You rushed over to him in a panic, your breath catching in your throat as you knelt beside him. His face was pale, and his body was limp in the snow, the cold seeping through his clothes.

You gently shook his shoulder, your voice shaking as you called his name again. “Megumi! Hey, wake up, please…”

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t stir. You were beyond scared now. His condition had been worsening for a while, but seeing him like this made your entire world feel like it was crashing down around you. You could feel your heart beating, faster than it ever has. You had never felt such fright in your entire life.

“Megumi, stay with me, please. Please, oh my god—someone help! Please!” you say, your voice breaking as you hovered over him, panic rising in your chest.

You couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Warm tears were starting to fall from your eyes, contrasting the cold. Everything about this moment felt like you were losing to fate.

You hated this feeling. You hated this helplessness. You hated the thought of losing the love of your life. Everything about this was cruel. And that had just made you cry even more.

You take a breath, calming yourself, as you quickly pull your phone from your pocket, dialing the emergency number, your hands trembling as you explained the situation to the operator.

You try to check on him, trying to get him to wake up. Tears still pouring endlessly, like raindrops in the winter hale. The minutes stretched on, every second feeling like an eternity.

Megumi stirred slightly, his eyes opening just enough for him to give you a half-smile, his voice weak but still trying to reassure you, even though he clearly wasn’t fully conscious. You gasped, trying to explain to the operator that he woke up. But he immediately cuts you off, his hand on your own. He weakly squeezes it.

“Don’t... don’t worry about me.” he mumbled, his voice barely audible through the cold air. “I’m... fine.”

You shook your head, your tears threatening to spill as you grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “No, you’re not! You’re not fine, Megumi. You’re really not fine.”

“Hey, you…you dummy.” he said, his words slurring slightly. “You... should smile. You... should still... take pictures.”

You shook your head again, laughing through the tears that had started to fall. “I don’t care about pictures, Megumi. I just care about you.”

His eyes fluttered closed again, but he seemed comforted by your words, the faintest hint of a smile still on his lips. You kept holding his hand, never letting go, until the sound of the ambulance arrived in the distance. You didn’t want to, you never wanted to leave. Not him. But you could only pray that he’s just as resolved not to leave you too.

After all, how could you live without him?

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU HATED THE SMELL OF HOSPITALS. You don’t like the smell of death, the smell of grief. The smell of suffering all at once gathered through the halls. You were aware just as much that Megumi doesn’t like hospitals either. He’d always hated it as much as you. Even just doing check–ups made him upset. But there was no other choice. He has to live.

This was the only way to keep him alive. This was the only way he wouldn’t leave you. You'd rather he spend the rest of his life hating the smell of this one moment than let him die. You'd do anything to have him for what time is left.

The cold hospital lights buzzed above you as you sat next to Megumi’s bed, your fingers clutching his hand so tightly it almost hurt. His body was hooked up to various machines, the soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor the only sound that filled the sterile room. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, the sight of him lying there, pale and fragile, making your chest tighten with every passing second.

The ambulance ride had been a blur of frantic moments, the flashing lights reflecting off the cold pavement as you gripped Megumi’s hand, trying to keep him awake, trying to keep him here with you. But he slipped in and out of consciousness, each time his body growing weaker, his breath shallower.

When you arrived at the hospital, the doctors didn’t waste any time. They immediately ran tests and checked his vitals, and within what felt like an eternity, they informed you of the worst news you could have imagined.

You felt like you were going to lose it when you finally heard all of it in detail. You didn’t want to hear more of it. But you had no choice. You needed to know. You needed to know so you could understand.

Fushiguro Megumi had been battling a terminal illness, something that had been eating away at him for months, maybe even longer and he had never told you. They told you about his rare, degenerative condition, how it had been causing him excruciating pain, and how little time he had left.

You didn’t even know how to process it. There was no true way to process it. He was dying. And you just got him back. You were going to lose him, just when you had him back. And that made you feel like you were dying too. Because how? How does one not go mad with it already?

You wanted to scream, to yell at the world for being so unfair. But instead, you sat there, numb, tears streaming down your face, your hands trembling as you held onto Megumi like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Why didn’t he tell you? Why had he tried to carry all of this on his own?

And yet, there was a part of you that knew exactly why. It was just like him. Megumi, ever the stoic, ever the quiet one, always putting others before himself, always bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help.

The sound of his voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. It was weak at first, a soft murmur, but it was unmistakable.

“Hey… stop crying…..you dummy.”

You froze, looking down at him as his eyelids fluttered open, revealing the familiar dark eyes you had always loved. They were dull now, tired, but there was still that softness in them. That quiet strength that had always drawn you to him.

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling from your eyes. “Megumi, please, I—I can’t…” Your voice cracked as the words caught in your throat. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

His hand weakly squeezed yours, his grip not as strong as it used to be, but the touch still sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He shifted slightly in the bed, his brows furrowing as if trying to find the strength to sit up, but his body betrayed him, and he sank back into the pillow, wincing in pain.

“Don’t cry over me. Enough.” he whispered, his voice low and strained. “I’m... I’m not worth it.”

You let out a small sob, your head dropping to the edge of his bed as you tried to compose yourself, though the tears kept coming. “Megumi, you are. You are worth it. You always have been.”

He turned his head slightly toward you, his eyes still clouded with exhaustion, but there was something softer there, something almost apologetic. You hated that look on his face. Because there was nothing to apologize about. Not even once. All you wanted to do was take care of him. All you wanted to do was keep him safe.

“I’ve been so... selfish, haven’t I?” His voice was barely audible, the words coming out in a rasp, but you heard them clearly. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to burden you with this...”

“You never burdened me, Megumi. You should know that.” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his. “You never were a burden. I would’ve done anything for you...”

He let out a quiet sigh, the corners of his lips twitching up in the faintest smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart ache even more. He looked so resigned to his fate, to all of this pain. And you didn’t like it. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be in pain. He shouldn’t be content. Not when you just got back together.

“I know, I know.” he murmured, his voice so weak now that it was almost lost in the hum of the machines around you. “I know you would’ve.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but it was difficult with the weight of everything pressing down on you. “You don’t have to be strong for me anymore, Megumi.” you whispered, the words barely escaping. “It’s okay to let me help you. Please don’t push me away. I can’t lose you like this.”

His eyes closed again, and for a moment, you thought he might have fallen asleep again, but his voice broke through the silence, softer now, as if he were speaking to himself as much as to you. It was such a low voice, so weary and exhausted. You didn’t like seeing him like this. So beaten by something he can’t control.

“Maybe... maybe I should’ve let you in sooner. I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen if I told you everything.”

You gently cupped his face with your hand, wiping away the tears that still fell freely. “You don’t have to apologize for any of it. I just wish I’d known. I wish I could’ve helped sooner.”

Megumi’s lips parted, but his breath hitched in a shallow cough before he could say anything more. His hand gripped yours again, and this time, he managed a little more pressure, just enough to make you feel the sincerity in his touch.

“I’m glad you’re here, you know?” he whispered softly. “I don’t have much time left... but I’m glad I have you now.”

Your heart shattered at those words, but at the same time, you held onto them, clinging to the fragile thread of time that remained between you. You leaned over and kissed his forehead softly, your heart aching with the knowledge that you didn’t know how much time you had left with him, but you were going to make the most of every precious second.

“I’m here, Megumi. Always.” you whispered. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Days blended together as the winter months stretched on. The world outside seemed to freeze, as if mirroring the heaviness in your heart. Snowflakes continued to fall softly outside the hospital windows, blanketing the world in quiet white, but inside, it felt like the world was slowly slipping away.

You didn’t let yourself dwell on the inevitable. You couldn’t. Every time you looked at Megumi, you saw the man you loved, the man who had always been there for you, even when you hadn’t known you needed him. You stayed by his side every day, holding his hand, speaking to him, telling him about everything you hoped for.

About how the world was still turning outside, how you wanted to keep making memories, even if it felt impossible. You even began taking photos again. Photos of him. You didn’t know how much time you had left, but you were going to capture every moment, every smile, every soft word between you.

It wasn’t easy. Some days, you couldn’t remember where you’d put your keys, or where your phone was. Little things, fading memories, were slipping through your grasp, like water running through your fingers. But what stayed, what never faded—was how deeply you loved him. How every moment you shared with Megumi had become a treasure in your heart.

It was late one afternoon, the sky already darkening as the cold winds howled outside, when you sat next to him again in his hospital room. The soft beeping of the heart monitor was almost rhythmic now, and the other sounds of the machines had become a steady background hum.

You watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling with the shallow breath of someone who had fought so long to stay with you. You had asked the doctors, of course, but they had never promised anything. They always do that. They say, they can only do their best. Promises are the hardest, especially when it comes to people’s lives.

You ran your fingers over his hand, brushing against the cool skin that had once been warm, but you didn’t mind. It was still him. Still the Megumi you knew, the Megumi you had spent years beside, growing together, building a life together. Even if that life had been cut short, you would never stop cherishing it.

You whispered softly to him, hoping he could hear, even as he drifted in and out of sleep. “Megumi... I love you. And I’m never going to forget that. No matter what happens, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember you.”

For a long while, there was silence—just the sound of the wind outside and the soft hum of the hospital machines. You thought about the future, or rather, the lack of one that you’d once planned.

The future you had dreamed of with him, one where you could grow old together, laughing at silly jokes, holding hands as you walked through life. But the truth of the situation lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

And then, just as you were about to close your eyes for a moment’s rest, Megumi’s voice broke the stillness, faint and barely audible.

“Hey...” he said, his voice raspy, but full of that familiar warmth.

You sat up straight, your eyes immediately focusing on him. He was awake, just barely, his eyes blinking slowly in the dim light. A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. He looked so exhausted.

As though he doesn’t have any energy left to live. You hated that, you hated that smile too. You can’t help it. It made you aware how fragile everything is. How fragile life is. How you were far too near to losing him.

“You... you’re awake?” you whispered, leaning closer, your heart pounding with hope.

He nodded slightly, though the movement seemed to take a lot of effort. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m... sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” you said, a smile slipping onto your face, even though your eyes were still damp. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Megumi. I’m just... glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re with me.”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his lips parting slightly as he struggled for the words. “I’ve always... wanted you to be happy. Even now, I... I want you to be happy.”

Your heart clenched, and you leaned down, your forehead resting gently against his. “I am happy. Because I’m with you. I have been, and I always will be.”

Megumi smiled again, his hand weakly squeezing yours. His smile was small, but it meant everything to you. The most precious thing in the world. You would carry that smile with you, even if the days grew darker, even if the cold winds of winter began to steal more from you.

In that moment, you made a promise to him in your heart. You promised that, no matter what, you would keep loving him. Even if you forgot everything else, you would never forget the love you shared. You would never forget him.

The room felt colder than it ever had before, despite the soft hum of the heaters and the warmth of the blankets wrapped around Megumi. You sat there beside him, holding his hand, feeling his pulse slowly fading.

The soft beeping of the heart monitor had become slower, more erratic. Your eyes were fixed on him, waiting, hoping for some miracle that you knew would never come.

The doctors had already said it to you, clearly. His time was up. There were no more treatments, no more hopes left to cling to. The harsh reality of it all was suffocating, but you didn’t want to let go. You couldn’t. Not when he had been your everything for so long.

You leaned down closer to him, brushing his bangs out of his face, memorizing the way his features were so familiar, the way his eyes had always held that quiet strength. You whispered to him softly, your voice shaky, as tears slid down your cheeks.

"Megumi... please, please stay with me. I love you so much."

His breath was shallow now, ragged. But he turned his head toward you ever so slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes still holding a glimmer of something.

Even in the face of his end, there was a calmness in him, a peace that you couldn’t quite grasp. And you wondered, not for the first time, if he had known all along that this was the way things would end.

He barely opened his mouth, but his voice was soft and full of the kind of warmth that you’d come to treasure, the kind of warmth that had always been his, even when he was hurting.

"I'm glad that you were my final view, you dummy…..my love." he said, his voice so quiet, so weak, but full of meaning. "I'm glad that you were my beginning... and my end."

Your heart shattered at the words, but you swallowed back your sobs, trying to stay strong for him. He had always been strong for you, even when he didn’t have to be. And now, it was your turn to be strong for him.

"I love you, so so much." he whispered, the words barely audible but carrying more weight than anything else he could have said. His hand tightened around yours, just for a moment, but it was enough to make your heart soar and break all at once.

You pressed your forehead to his, your tears falling freely now, each drop a painful reminder that time had run out. You wanted to cry out loud. You wanted him to wake up. You wanted him to come back. But you know he won't. He won't ever come back.

"I love you." you whispered back, over and over again, as if saying it would somehow make the pain of losing him easier. "I love you... I love you... I love you."

But there was no answer. No more words. His chest rose and fell one last time, and then it stilled. The beep of the heart monitor flatlines, and with it, the world around you seems to collapse in on itself.

He was gone.

You stayed there, for what felt like an eternity, unable to tear yourself away from his side. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go of his hand, even though you knew he was no longer there to hold it. The warmth of his skin was already starting to fade, but you still clung to it, as though holding on to him would keep him with you forever.

The quiet in the room was deafening, a silence so deep it threatened to swallow you whole. You closed your eyes, trying to push away the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to drown you. But in the quiet, you could still hear his voice, still feel the warmth of his love in your chest.

I love you, he had said. And that was all that mattered now. That was all you could hold onto.

The nurses came in, gently moving you aside, but you didn’t care. They tried to comfort you, to tell you everything would be okay, but nothing would ever be okay again. You had lost the person you loved most in the world, and no one could take that pain away.

Hours passed. Or was it days? You couldn’t remember anymore. The world outside continued to turn, the snow continuing to fall, but all you could think about was him. Megumi. Your Megumi.

The man you loved with every part of you. The man who had been your best friend, your lover, your everything. And now he was gone, and you were left with nothing but the aching emptiness of his absence.

You didn’t leave the hospital that night. You stayed there, next to him, holding his hand, telling him you loved him over and over. You didn’t know if he could hear you. You didn’t know if it mattered.

You just needed him to know. He had been the love of your life, and you would carry that love with you forever. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how much you’d forget, you would never forget him.

The days that followed were a blur of sadness and quiet moments of reflection. The funeral. The family. The friends who came and went, offering their condolences, their words of sympathy. But none of it mattered. Not without him.

Winter gave way to spring, the snow melting and the world coming back to life, but you felt like you were still stuck in the cold. The world had moved on, but you were stuck in that one moment, in that one room, with Megumi.

It was as if time had frozen the moment he left, and you couldn’t break free from it.

But still, you held on to him. You held on to the love he had given you, the smile he had worn for you, and the life you had shared together. Because that was all you had left.

And no matter how much the world tried to take it away from you, you would never forget him.

You will never forget Megumi.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

SOME DAYS ARE EASIER THAN OTHERS, YOU NURSES THINK. But today was not one of those days. Somehow, the days seemed to slip away like water through your fingers, and the world around you grew hazier with each passing moment.

You didn’t know the date, the year, or even your own name anymore. Sometimes, when the nurses spoke to you, you’d hear their voices and understand their words, but the world beyond that seemed so far away.

But there was one thing you could never forget. No matter how much time passed or how much your memory faded, there was always him.

His face, his eyes. Those blue-green eyes that shone with a warmth that made your heart flutter even now. They felt so familiar and yet you couldn’t remember who they belonged to. Who this man was. And yet, you always felt at ease when you painted him. You always felt like life was beautiful, when he stared back at you.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t remember all of it. How you’ll repeatedly ask what you did and who you met. Or what you were thinking about and or what you wanted to eat. That didn’t matter. All you knew was that whenever you had a brush in your hand, whenever you felt the quiet pull of the canvas, it was his face you painted. It was always him.

It had become a ritual of sorts. The nurses would often find you at the small desk in your room, your hands trembling as you carefully added strokes of color to the canvas. Sometimes it was a portrait.

Everyone could see his strong jawline, his dark tousled hair, the way his lips curled into a gentle smile. Other times, it was an abstract piece, his image lost in swirls of color and light. But it was always him.

No one ever questioned it. The staff knew you were once a famous artist, known for your ability to capture the most subtle emotions in a single stroke. Perhaps that’s why they never seemed surprised to see you lost in your own world, creating pieces of art that you couldn’t fully understand anymore.

But they saw the joy in your eyes when you painted him, and that was enough. It was more than enough. You were suffering already, in so many ways. What is letting you have some little joy in the things you painted? And so one afternoon, as you carefully placed another layer of paint on the canvas, one of the nurses peeked in.

"How’s the painting today?" she asked softly, her voice kind.

You looked up, smiling at her, the brush still poised in your hand. "It’s him again." you said, your voice surprisingly steady. "His eyes… I remember his eyes."

She smiled at you, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "You’ve been painting him every day, haven’t you?"

You nodded, not quite understanding why it felt so important to paint him. "He’s got the kindest eyes," you said with a quiet certainty. "The softest face."

She watched you for a moment, her expression filled with understanding. "He must have meant a lot to you."

You blinked, as if the question had never occurred to you. You couldn’t remember the details, couldn’t remember how he had come into your life or who he was, but the feeling that lingered when you thought about him, when you painted him—that you couldn’t deny. It was love. A deep, unshakable love that you could feel, even if you couldn’t understand it completely.

"Yes, I think so." you said, your voice is a little softer now. "He was special. He seems like it."

You looked down at the canvas, the figure of the man emerging once more from the swirls of paint. He had this way of looking at you, even in the paintings—this gentle warmth in his eyes that made you feel safe, loved, and understood, even when the rest of the world seemed so distant.

There was peace in that.

There was a quiet comfort.

The nurse gave a soft smile, nodding her head before quietly excusing herself. But you stayed, lost in your thoughts as your brush moved again, creating another piece of him. Another piece of your memory, even if it was the only one you had left.

It wasn’t about the name. It wasn’t about remembering the details of the past. It was about the feeling, the love that had lived between you two, that was what mattered. The man with the blue-green eyes, the man who had the kindest smile, was the one you could hold onto in your heart, even as everything else slipped away.

As you continued to paint, a small smile curled on your lips. He was with you. In every stroke, in every color, he was there. And as long as you could still remember that love, you would keep painting him.

No matter how many times the world around you faded, you would never forget him.

He had been the brightest part of your life, and even now, in the quiet of the care home, he was the only thing you still held close.

And that made everything a little easier.

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