#12 Coffees in One Machine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 months ago

Text

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really.

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat.

Well, most of the time.

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store?

Total dream job.

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong?

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like:

“Can you work nights?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, you’re hired.”

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate.

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across.

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear.

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits.

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask).

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur.

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe.

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule.

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being.

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait.

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns.

And looks directly at you.

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?”

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks.

Gasp.

So we can cross mute off the list.

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh.

Almost.

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment.

Excuse me?

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume.

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look.

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf.

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction.

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics.

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?”

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged.

“No.”

You blink.

“No?”

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.”

You blink again.

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes.

This man is dead serious.

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious.

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death.

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger.

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie.

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face.

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N.

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?”

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood.

He does not smile back.

Not even a flicker.

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life.

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall.

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager.

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans.

Your jaw drops slightly.

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?”

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face.

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.”

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.”

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.”

Silence.

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review.

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.”

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him.

“You mean regular spicy.”

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.”

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here.

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store.

“Hello?”

Oh. Right. Your job.

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible.

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two.

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.”

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.”

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you.

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night.

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent.

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread.

And the second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo.

No, he doesn’t care.

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world.

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace.

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm.

Does he have a problem? Absolutely.

Is he addicted? Without a doubt.

Does he care? Not in the slightest.

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent.

Well, except for last night.

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible.

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome.

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter.

Yup, there she is.

You.

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice.

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him.

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight.

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are.

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk.

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night.

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again.

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds.

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen.

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?”

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night.

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’”

Okay, ouch.

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not.

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off.

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.”

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know.

Do you recognize him?

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something.

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast.

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him.

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands.

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head.

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues.

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest.

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk.

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious.

And now you’re in his head.

Great.

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float.

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird.

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk?

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?”

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.”

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something.

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.”

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.”

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh.

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight.

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat.

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?”

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips.

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.”

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal.

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating.

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices.

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him.

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?”

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you.

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?”

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way.

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.”

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along.

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves.

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is).

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated.

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers.

And Heeseung?

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help.

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air.

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him.

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great.

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?”

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?”

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you.

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?”

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box.

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—”

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.”

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts.

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it.

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.”

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push.

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.”

And that—that makes Heeseung look up.

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too.

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his.

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that.

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving.

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck.

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here.

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.”

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store.

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.”

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought.

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves.

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.”

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.”

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about��”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing.

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter.

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight?

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance.

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster.

Why?

Because, it’s 2:21AM.

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with.

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening.

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself.

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him?

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around.

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to.

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then.

You see it.

A tweet.

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple.

Yet entirely soul-crushing.

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!”

Your breath catches.

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?”

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—”

He stops. Starts again.

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings.

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too.

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t.

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words.

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think.

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch.

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days.

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did.

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did.

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest.

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers.

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly.

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both.

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out.

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense.

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you.

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows.

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer.

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise.

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it.

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once.

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else.

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side.

You were always meant to cross it.

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

2K notes · View notes

bokutoko · 5 months ago

Text

OSAMU loves you like it’s breathing.

sure, you might be cranky in the morning before your first cup of coffee. that’s why he makes sure he has your favorite mug already underneath the keurig machine.

“samu, i’m about to kill somebody.”

“that’s real unfortunate, darlin'," he answers as he presses the 12 oz button to brew your coffee.

and of course, you might return home late, weary and drained—physically, mentally, and emotionally—from work. when you’re quiet, too quiet, he knows the thoughts in that pretty brain of yours are getting a little too loud, and with a soft sigh, he guides you to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower or bath.

and while you rest your mind, he prepares your comfort meal, knowing it’ll ease your mind, even if just slightly.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” you’d whisper after dinner as you both sit on the roof of the building, watching the stars.

looking down at you, he’d just give you that same soft, crooked smile that always brings one to your own face with the same gentle words: “i know. i wanted to.”

ever such a stubborn human... "i know i can be a lot."

"good thing i can't ever get enough of ya."

so when you feel difficult to love, osamu is always there to remind you that it's easy and innate, like how your heart beats in your chest and pumps blood through your veins. you’re in his heart, in his veins.

hell, you are his heart, and he'll continue to prove to you that you deserve it—brewing your coffee and cooking you supper for the rest of your loving, quiet days together.

a/n: such a gentle, patient man… sigh

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

1K notes · View notes

sims3alexsa · 8 months ago

Text

Beckford World- Beta

Beckford is a secluded English town situated on a picturesque little island that radiates warmth and cosiness. The central square with its fountain is surrounded by cosy cafes and shops, where locals and tourists alike can enjoy a cup of fragrant tea or coffee from the comfort of the sunny terraces. The old harbour, with its moored boats and quiet streets, invites for leisurely strolls and romantic evenings by the water. The promenade, lined with flowering shrubs and benches, offers beautiful views of the ocean and sunsets, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquillity. The majestic cathedral with its tall towers and the cosy old castle become the real gems of Beckford, awe-inspiring not only for their historical significance but also for the atmosphere of warmth that surrounds them. Beckford is the perfect place for those who want to escape from the hustle and bustle and enjoy the simple pleasures of life surrounded by nature and friendly people.

This world-Edit Hylewood by the amazing @nilxis,credit for the terrain and plant placement goes to them.Then the world was redone by one of my favourite creators @Gruesim so the replacement texture roads are to her credit. The world has 27 public lots and 16 residential lots. Stor sets are present in the world! They are included in the download in package format,also in the build there are fixes for these sets.Please read the document inside on how to properly install the Stor fixes in PACKAGE format!!!!

Also in the world there are some mods that you can download from these links: 1.Mod functional printer 2.Tennis court mod 3.Mod purchase from inventory 4.Mod More vending machine fods 5.Mod system of petrol use by cars 6.post mod 7.Shop for clothing display pedestal mod 8.Social clubs mod

9.Private Clinic Psychiatry

10.Get Pumped

11.Yoga mod

12.Spin Class by Twinsimming

Recommendations for optimising the world. I advise and even insist that you use with this world mods Nraas:Master controller,nraas Overwatch,nraas Register,nraas Traffic.(Links to them do not give, I think they have you and so all installed):)Optimise the world with these mods: remove unnecessary transport, generated by the game stray animals, paparazzi and tourists. The world is released in betta version as it was little tested (and I will not have such an opportunity in the near future, so I put it out to you earlier than planned).

Download World

Download (mirror)

Download(mirror 2)

Download CC

(Download mirror сс)

Download (mirror cc 2)

If you have any questions, please write to us and we will solve them together. Gratitude I would like to thank all the wonderful creators I used for this world! Without you I would have nothing and this world would not exist. Thank you so much for your hard work! @Phoebejaysims,@Grandelama,@Martassimsbook,@aelisinsims,@Analogica 40,@Gruesim,@aroundthesims3,@bioniczombie,@Noir and dark sims,@simaddix,@wanberlust-pixel,@zivas-blog,@mequestrianequipment,@syninplays,@olomaya,@omedievalpixel,@kerrigan house designs,@Mspoodle. Sorry who I forgot )

If you want to thank me, buy me a coffee.

#sims3 #ts3 #download #sims 3 custom world #Beckford

547 notes · View notes

favefandomimagines · 30 days ago

Text

Radio Silence (f.l)

Summary: violence against healthcare workers is ramping up all over the country...Y/N just never thought she'd be on the receiving end of it.

Request: @darkxdemonx Can I request a Frank Langdon x reader where they are married

This might be a bit long but like when Dana got punched out in the ambulance bay, reader goes out to take a break out in the ambulance bay but gets stabbed and she collapses and no one knows where she is, like she's not answering any of her pagers, Dana then goes out for her smoke break and finds her in a massive pool of blood. Like really angsty, nearly dead when found, maybe goes in a coma from blood loss. Meanwhile Frank is a mess and losing his mind, wants to help but not allowed, Robby shouts at him to leave. Happy ending tho!!

Again sorry it's so long i had a vision😂

AN: we got some more angst up in here lol similar to my fic ‘Nightmare’ but different because violence against healthcare workers is a very real thing! the united states health care system is not fun so please be kind to your healthcare workers (nurses, doctors, techs, receptionists, etc.)

The halls of a hospital never truly slept.

The Pit, the nickname for the ED, got its name for good reason. No matter what hour of the day, it was always on the edge of boiling over.

Dr. Frank Langdon leaned against the trauma bay sink, scrubbing blood from beneath his fingernails. It wasn’t his patient. He’d just stepped in when the intern froze, eyes wide at the sight of arterial spray. Another Wednesday night turned battlefield.

Frank had worked here for almost five years. He’d seen everything: stabbings, crashes, shootings, overdoses, children dying in their parents’ arms. But these days, his reaction to the madness had changed. He still worked like a machine—focused, methodical—but he carried more weight now.

Because somewhere in this chaos was Y/N.

Dr. Y/N L/N. Internal medicine with a trauma focus. Brilliant, steady, beloved by patients and staff alike. She was the calm eye of the hurricane, a quiet counterbalance to Frank’s intensity. They'd met four years ago during a particularly nasty Christmas Eve shift. He'd been elbow-deep in a gunshot wound; she’d been treating a hypothermic homeless woman in the next bay. Their first real conversation was over coffee and an argument about the hospital’s underfunding.

They’d gotten married two years later in a small ceremony on a rooftop in downtown Pittsburgh, surrounded by all of their coworkers, with, ironically, the sound of sirens echoing faintly in the distance. It was perfect.

Frank glanced at the clock: 12:54 p.m.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked Dana, the charge nurse, as she passed by.

Dana exhaled through her nose and sipped her Diet Coke like it was the only thing holding her together. “She said she was heading out for a break about twenty minutes ago. Ambulance bay, I think. Didn’t even take her coat. I told her it was too cold.”

Frank nodded, trying not to let the worry show on his face. “I’ll check on her in a bit.”

“Don’t take too long. Triage is drowning and psych just offloaded another patient.”

“Business as usual,” he muttered.

Y/N rubbed her temples as she leaned against the cool brick wall outside, the night pressing in around her. The hum of fluorescent lighting spilled out from the ambulance entrance behind her. Somewhere down the block, a siren wailed. She could still hear the garbled voice of the dispatcher over the radio inside. Another incoming GSW. ETA twelve minutes.

Just twelve minutes of peace. That’s all she wanted.

It had been a hard day. Her patient in Bay 4 had coded. A young woman with lupus and sepsis—gone before they even got the second round of epi in.

No one said it aloud, but the attending had paused long enough that Y/N could see the uncertainty on his face: Should we even keep going?

“Sometimes I hate this place,” she whispered to herself. And yet she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Her pager buzzed softly, but she ignored it for now. Just one more breath.

“Hey,” came a voice.

Y/N turned, expecting to see one of the residents or maybe a paramedic coming in from a call. But it wasn’t a face she recognized.

The man standing in the shadows of the ambulance dock was disheveled. Gown askew, shoes missing, an IV still taped to his wrist.

“I’ve been sitting in there for hours,” he said, voice slurred but angry. “No one does a goddamn thing.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said gently, instincts kicking in. “Let me take you back inside and get someone to—”

“You people think you can just ignore people like me,” he snapped. “Let us rot in the waiting room while you just pick who you treat.”

“That’s not true,” she said, cautiously stepping forward. “I promise you—if you’ll come with me, I can help.”

He didn’t move.

And then something flashed in the dim light.

Y/N’s eyes widened.

“No—wait—”

The knife plunged into her abdomen. Once. Twice. A third time, as hot pain exploded in her core and blood began to soak her scrubs.

She gasped, stumbling backward into the brick wall. Her legs gave out beneath her. The man turned and ran, his footsteps vanishing into the night.

The world tilted. The air turned cold. She tried to reach for her pager, for anything.

Frank… she thought, before her vision blurred into black.

The clock ticked toward 1:30pm, and the ER pulsed with the uneasy rhythm of a shift that had gone on too long. Monitors beeped in overlapping tones, overhead pages droned, and the smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung thick in the air.

Frank was elbow-deep in a consult on a ruptured spleen. He should have been entirely focused—the kid on the table was pale, blood pressure tanking—but something gnawed at the edge of his consciousness.

He hadn’t heard from Y/N in almost an hour.

That in itself wasn’t that unusual; sometimes they were just too busy to check in. But he’d texted twice. Paged her once. Silence. No read receipts. No reply. The longer it went, the more the unease in his chest spread like a slow bleed.

“Dr. Langdon, do you want to hang back and walk the family through the consent?” asked one of the interns.

Frank blinked, realizing he’d been standing still, staring at the surgical consent form without reading it.

“No,” he muttered. “You go. I’ll be back in a few.”

He checked his phone again. Still nothing. He sent another message. You okay? Where are you?

No answer.

“Hey, Dana,” Frank said as he approached the central nurses’ station, tension wrapped tight in his voice. “Has Y/N come back from her break? I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

Dana looked up from the computer, frowning slightly. “Not sure. That was about, what, forty, forty-five minutes ago?”

“That long?” he asked, his voice tightening.

“She probably ran into a call or went upstairs. You know how it is.” She reached for her coat and half-empty pack of Camels. “I’m heading out for a smoke. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Frank gave her a small nod, but the unease was already rising, thick and bitter in his throat.

The wind had picked up since earlier, biting through Dana’s thin hoodie as she pushed open the door to the ambulance bay. She lit her cigarette with one hand, shielding the flame from the wind, and took a long drag.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The rust-red bricks along the far wall glinted under the fluorescent security lights. One of the gurneys had been left by the door, probably by the last EMS crew. Dana glanced around, exhaling a stream of smoke. She turned to lean against the concrete barrier—

—and froze.

There was something wrong with the ground just past the dumpsters.

A shape. Crumpled. Still.

Dana took a slow step forward, her cigarette falling from her hand and landing in a puddle with a soft hiss. Her eyes adjusted. Her breath caught.

“No… no, no, no—”

Y/N’s body lay curled on her side, her scrub top soaked in dark red. Blood had pooled beneath her, so much blood that it had started to dry around the edges where the wind had cooled it. Her pager blinked weakly in the dirt beside her, flashing with unanswered alerts.

“Oh god! Somebody help!” Dana yelled, her voice cracking as she sprinted the remaining distance. She dropped to her knees beside Y/N, her hands shaking as she checked for a pulse.

It was there—thready. Weak.

But there.

“Hang on, sweetheart. Hang the hell on,” Dana whispered, pulling her phone out with fumbling fingers.

She slammed her fist against the emergency call button near the entrance, and the alarm echoed inside. The ER doors burst open seconds later.

“She’s here!” Dana cried. “It’s Y/N! She’s been stabbed! Get a crash cart—now!”

The emergency doors burst open as a trauma team scrambled into the ambulance bay. Y/N was already on the gurney, Dana at her side, pressing gauze to her abdomen.

“BP 60 over palp! We’re losing her!”

Frank heard the shouting from halfway across the ER.

“Trauma code in bay two!”

Then he heard the name.

“Y/N.”

He was already moving, sprinting through the corridor like a man possessed. He shoved past techs, interns, anyone in his path.

“Make way!” someone shouted.

He turned the corner and stopped cold.

There she was.

Pale. Unconscious. Her blood soaking the sheets of the gurney. The paramedic was holding pressure to her abdomen. A nurse straddled her on the gurney doing compressions. Dana stood off to the side, her face streaked with tears.

Time slowed.

His ears rang.

“No…”

He surged forward.

“Frank -- stop!”

Dr. Robby appeared, physically blocking him as the trauma team wheeled her toward Trauma Two.

“Let me in! That’s my wife!” Frank shouted, his voice raw and cracking.

Robby grabbed him by the shoulders. “Frank—listen to me! You can’t go in there. You know you can’t!”

“I can help her! She’s dying—Rob, please—”

“You’re too close!” Robby shouted back. “You’ll make a mistake! Let us do this!”

Frank stood frozen as the doors slammed shut between him and Y/N.

He heard the words no doctor ever wants to hear.

“Get the paddles!”

“Clear!”

“She’s coding!”

He leaned against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor, fists clenched in helpless fury.

Somewhere behind the trauma doors, they were fighting to save the love of his life.

And for the first time in his career, Frank Langdon couldn’t do a damn thing.

The ICU felt like a different world from The Pit. Here, the chaos dulled to a constant, rhythmic hum—ventilators sighing, monitors beeping steadily, a far-off intercom calling for someone who wasn’t going to answer anytime soon. It was colder here. Quieter. Too quiet.

Y/N lay motionless beneath crisp white sheets in Room 6. Machines surrounded her bed like silent sentinels—an IV tower hung with fluids and antibiotics, a central line dressing at her clavicle, a monitor displaying a sluggish heart rhythm, and a ventilator that rose and fell with an eerie mechanical breath.

Her face, usually so expressive and animated, was pale and still. The only color came from the bruises along her collarbone and the deep purple dressing taped across her abdomen—evidence of the emergency surgery that had saved her life.

Barely.

They’d told Frank she lost almost half her blood volume. That the knife had nicked her iliac artery. That she flatlined twice on the table. That it was a miracle she even made it to the ICU.

But none of that mattered now.

She hadn’t woken up.

Two days. Forty-eight agonizing hours.

Frank sat beside her, still in the same rumpled scrubs he’d worn since the night she was brought in. His white coat was draped over the back of the visitor’s chair, stained and wrinkled. His hands—usually so steady in the trauma bay—trembled slightly as he brushed a piece of hair from her forehead.

He hadn’t left her side.

He couldn’t.

A soft knock came at the door. He didn’t look up.

Dana stepped in quietly, holding two cups of coffee. She paused at the edge of the room, looking at the woman in the bed—her friend—and then at Frank.

“You look like hell,” she said gently.

Frank exhaled, but didn’t smile. “Thanks. Just what I needed to hear.”

Dana set the coffee down on the tray table. “She’s strong, Frank. Stronger than anyone I know.”

“She shouldn’t have been alone out there,” he whispered, voice raw. “She shouldn’t have gone out there by herself.”

Dana sat in the other chair, watching the rise and fall of Y/N’s chest beneath the blankets. “We all take breaks. That’s not on her. And it’s not on you.”

“I’m her husband,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s face. “I’m supposed to protect her.”

Dana blinked hard. “You’re not Superman. None of us are.”

Frank didn’t answer.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the kind that only happens when grief and exhaustion weigh heavier than words. Eventually, Dana stood.

“I’ve got a shift starting downstairs,” she said. “Page me if anything changes.”

He nodded, barely perceptibly.

When she was gone, he took Y/N’s hand in his, carefully avoiding the IV line in her wrist. Her fingers were cold but pliant. Not lifeless. Just… sleeping.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re probably sick of hearing me talk to you. I don’t even know what day it is anymore. They say I should go home. Get some sleep. But I can’t. Not until you wake up. Not until I see those eyes again.”

His voice caught.

“I miss you. I keep thinking about stupid things, like how you always steal the last dumpling or leave your coffee half-finished. And the way you laugh when you’re too tired—like it slips out without your permission.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the back of her hand.

“I would trade places with you if I could. In a heartbeat.”

The monitor beeped steadily beside him. A nurse came in quietly to check vitals, adjusted a setting on the ventilator, then nodded and slipped out again without a word.

Frank closed his eyes.

“Come back to me, Y/N. Please.”

The silence was so complete, so constant, that Frank almost didn’t notice it when something shifted.

A tremor.

Not in the machines.

In her hand.

He opened his eyes slowly, sure it was a trick. But no. Her fingers twitched again. Slight, but deliberate.

He sat up sharply. “Y/N?”

The monitor picked it up a beat later—heart rate climbing, irregular but stronger.

Her eyelids fluttered.

“Y/N. Hey—hey, it’s me. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Her eyes cracked open just barely, unfocused and glassy. Her lips moved soundlessly.

Frank hit the call button like his life depended on it.

“She’s waking up!” he shouted, heart slamming in his chest. “She’s waking up!”

The nurse from earlier burst back in with another in tow, both rushing to her side. A doctor followed moments later. The ventilator hissed louder as they began to adjust her settings.

“Pupils reacting. Respiratory effort increasing. She’s coming out of it.”

Frank stepped back only when they made him. But he stayed in the room. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.

Y/N’s eyes drifted toward him. Not quite focused. But there was something there. Recognition.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You came back.”

And she squeezed his hand.

Y/N was already awake when the first light filtered into the ICU room.

She hadn’t slept much. Her body still ached with a dull, bone-deep heaviness, and her dreams remained fragmented with flashes of blood, pain, the cold pavement of the ambulance bay… and Frank’s voice, calling out for her through it all.

But today wasn’t about that.

Today was about moving forward.

She was going home.

Slowly, she turned her head and looked around the room that had been both prison and sanctuary for the past two weeks. The IV pump next to her bed had fallen silent. The heart monitor still blinked lazily, a green line rising and falling with steady rhythm. The ventilator had been removed days ago—thank God—and her throat was no longer raw, just hoarse.

And there, in the recliner next to her bed, was Frank.

Sleeping.

If you could call it that. His posture was too stiff, one hand curled into a loose fist, the other resting on the side of her bed as if he couldn’t bear to let go even in unconsciousness. He hadn’t left her side. Not once. Every shift change, every sunrise, every IV bag swapped—he’d been there.

She reached out, her hand trembling slightly from residual weakness, and brushed her fingers over his knuckles.

“Frank.”

He stirred immediately, like her voice had sliced through whatever shallow dream he was caught in. His eyes flew open—still bloodshot from days of sleep deprivation—and landed on her.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, voice cracking as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to the place,” she whispered, a crooked half-smile forming.

Frank chuckled under his breath, half-relieved, half in awe. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who gets sentimental about the ICU.”

“Only because I lived,” she replied.

The smile faltered for a second as the weight of that truth passed between them. She had come dangerously close—too close—to not surviving. And Frank had been the one forced to watch it all unfold.

He reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently just below her eye.

“I almost lost you,” he said, barely audible.

“But you didn’t,” she answered.

And that was all that mattered now.

Nurse Harper arrived with the discharge kit—paperwork, instructions, prescriptions, a light wheelchair, and a pair of hospital-issue grip socks that had somehow made it into Y/N’s collection of personal effects.

“You get to keep the socks,” Harper joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Best part of this entire experience,” Y/N deadpanned, her voice still raspy.

Frank helped her change slowly, his hands moving with reverent care, as if she might break from even the lightest pressure. He’d seen every inch of the damage—the surgical dressing on her abdomen, the fading bruises across her ribs, the angry red line where the chest tube had gone in.

But now he was dressing her in something soft and warm: a loose hoodie and sweatpants she had worn on call too many nights to count. A symbol of normalcy.

“Thank god I’m getting out of here before I hit a three-week ICU bill.” she muttered as he gently eased the hoodie over her shoulders.

Frank smiled but didn’t answer. He was too busy memorizing the curve of her smile.

Dana arrived with coffee and a ridiculous pink balloon that said “YOU DID IT!” in rainbow foil letters.

“I figured something sparkly was in order,” she said, setting it down at the foot of the bed.

Y/N laughed, then winced. “You’re trying to kill me all over again.”

Dana gave her a careful hug. “I still can’t believe it. You being here. Walking out. There were moments we didn’t think you’d make it.”

“I had good people,” Y/N said. “You. The team. Frank.”

Dana turned to Frank. “You should’ve seen him. Total menace to every intern and med student on shift. I think Robby almost sedated him.”

Frank shrugged. “I’d do it all again.”

The door opened again, and this time Dr. Robby himself entered. He looked uncomfortable, like the emotions he’d been suppressing for two weeks were threatening to break through. He carried her discharge summary, eyes darting to Frank and then back to Y/N.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Vitals stable. Labs look good. You’re officially kicked out of the hospital.”

“Such warmth,” Y/N said with mock affection.

He handed her the paperwork, then added quietly, “You’re a fighter. I hope you know that.”

Y/N’s smile softened. “Thank you for keeping me alive.”

“Wait!” Y/N stopped him. “What about work?” She asked.

The entire room froze.

Dana choked on her coffee.

Frank’s head snapped around so fast Y/N half-worried he’d pull something.

Even Robby blinked.

“Excuse me?” Dana sputtered.

Frank leaned forward, gripping the back of the chair. “Y/N. You just woke up from a coma. Two weeks ago. You were nearly exsanguinated in a parking lot. Maybe take a beat?”

Robby crossed his arms, giving her a look that hovered somewhere between clinical concern and sheer disbelief. “You’re seriously asking about your next shift right now?”

Y/N shrugged, wincing slightly as her stitches pulled. “I just… I want to know what the path back looks like. I don’t want to sit around doing nothing. The longer I’m away from trauma, the more I feel like I’m forgetting how to do it.”

Dana leaned in, deadpan. “You forgot how to breathe on your own. Let’s maybe start with that.”

“I’m not saying next week,” Y/N said, a little sheepish now. “I just… I need a goal. Something to work toward.”

Frank crouched down beside her so they were eye level. “Hey. You’re not less of a doctor because you need time. Okay? You lived through something people don’t come back from. You’re not behind. You’re alive.”

That word hung heavy in the room.

Alive.

Y/N looked down at her hands, at the bruises fading on her wrists from countless IVs. She hated feeling weak. Hated feeling like a patient. But Frank was right.

Robby finally broke the silence, voice softer now. “We’ll start with outpatient follow-ups. PT. Maybe some consult work once you’re cleared. Low-intensity stuff. You won’t touch a trauma case until we all agree you’re ready. Mind and body.”

She nodded, subdued but still determined.

Dana sighed. “God help the next resident she precepts. They’re going to get a surgical evaluation and a motivational speech.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll start charging by the hour.”

Robby handed over her discharge paperwork. “No shifts. No heroics. No ‘I feel fine, let me just assist on this one case’ nonsense. If I so much as hear you peeked into the ED, I will personally sedate you and send you back up here.”

Frank raised his hand. “I volunteer as the sedative delivery system.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted.

She folded the paperwork across her lap and glanced between the three of them—her mentor, her best friend, and her husband. All of them looking at her like she was precious and maddening and slightly out of her mind.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “I’ll behave.”

Dana snorted. “We’ll believe that when we see it.”

The air outside felt like another world. Clean. Brisk. Fresh in a way the ICU air never could be.

Y/N paused on the hospital steps, squinting into the light, her hand shading her eyes. She turned her head slowly and looked at Frank.

“You ready?” he asked, the car keys dangling loosely in his hand.

“No more hospitals,” she said.

“For a while,” he added.

“For a long while.”

He opened the passenger door, and she eased in with a quiet grunt of effort. He adjusted the seatbelt for her, checking three times to make sure it wouldn’t press against her surgical site. When he closed the door and circled to the driver’s side, he paused for a second, staring at the hospital behind them.

Then he climbed in, started the car, and reached for her hand.

Y/N laced her fingers through his.

They drove away slowly, the hospital growing smaller in the rearview mirror. The road ahead was long—and healing would take time—but they were together.

And that was enough.

#imagine #the pitt imagine #the pitt #dr frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon imagine #frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon #frank langdon #frank langdon imagine

398 notes · View notes

aliesbienish · 7 months ago

Note

buddie x reader where they’re a couple, but they both meet reader separately, for example she’s an ER nurse or something and they both gain feelings for her and feel guilty and tell each other until they realise they both like the same person and decide to go for it together??

The doctor is just what they ordered

Established Buddie x Reader

Eddie met you first. You were exhausted, nearing the end of a busy 12 hour shift, with your hair spilling out from what was once carefully constructed braid and remnants of god knows what on your scrubs. He’d handed over a driver involved in a nasty collision and was sitting waiting for Hen so they could head back to the station.

Eddie had grabbed a seat across from the nurses station and had a perfect view of you taking a sip out of a coffee mug only to grimace at the taste.

Simultaneously as you thrust it back onto the desk in disgust a paper coffee cup appeared before your eyes.

“I think you could use this,” Eddie smiled, gently nudging your hand with the, blissfully, still warm coffee as you stared at him in confusion.

“I guess I now know why my ex didn’t believe me when I swore up and down I liked his cooking,” you quipped, gratefully grabbing the drink.

“If it helps the fact that the mug had been sitting untouched since I sat down nearly twenty minutes ago also indicated whatever was in that cup wasn’t going to go down well,”

“Hmm I’ll except that explanation, solely because I’d like to stay blissfully unaware if my face is an open book or not.” You took a sip of the coffee, the heat almost making up for it being from a shitty hospital drink machine before coming to a realisation.

“Hang on, does that mean I just stole your coffee?”

“Stole is an interesting choice of words when I literally handed it to you. But no, you technically stole my colleagues.”

“Even better, get me in the bad books of someone I don’t even know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll only tell her that you claimed it while my back was turned and proceeded to call her all sorts of bad names,”

“Wonderful, I’m assuming she’s a firefighter too?” You asked having caught sight of the man’s LA Fire uniforme. He nodded in affirmation. “Great, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again,” you noted sarcastically.

“Im not sure you will, since I for one have never seen you before,”

“That’s because I’ve just moved here. Regrettably I don’t know the good hiding spots yet so I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,”

“Well I for one look forward to it, I have plenty of other colleagues I can turn against you,”

“Great,” you laughed, barely managing to stop sitting out the coffee.

“Well there she is now,” He pointed at a women across the room waving at him to get a move on. “Nice to meet you Dr…. Sorry I didn’t get your name,”

You laughed, introducing yourself and shaking his hand.

“Right well I’m Eddie,” he said, giving you a nod as he turned away,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buck’s first meeting with you was a bloody mess, literally. It was only a few weeks after Eddie had first saw you, and in true Buck fashion it was chaos.

Los Angeles had been hit with a Tsunami, the worst in the US since 1964, and the hospital was overwhelmed with patients. Luckily Cedars-Sinai was far enough inland that the hospital hadn’t been damaged, but others had. Meaning that they couldn’t take on emergencies but they also had to transfer critical patients who were already there.

The hours since the Tsunami were a blur as you moved through emergency patients addressing their injuries enough to keep them stabilised, before moving them off to specialised wards.

You were currently in the bay waiting on an incoming ambulance, with a critical but awake patient onboard. From what you could gather the poor guy had been at the pier when the tsunami hit, spent the day rescuing others despite being already injured, before collapsing at the makeshift VA hospital. They’d sent him across as he needed to be imaged to make sure their wasn’t internal damage, and with the VA running on generators they weren’t able to do it there.

The ambulance pulled up abruptly, knocking you out of your thoughts, and the paramedics open the door to a man who was smiling despite the downright awful day you had. You followed the paramedics into the ER, listening as they rattled out Evans, Buck as he apparently preferred, injuries and symptoms.

“Hi Buck,” you introduced yourself, “sound like you had a rough day,”

“Wasn’t my favourite. Although I’m sure yours hasn’t been a walk in the park either,”

“More like a marathon dash if I’m honest. However between the two of us I think I’ve had it easier, I got to stay dry after all,”

“Not a fan of swimming?” Buck laughed.

“Love swimming, just never liked waves. Silver lining to all this is that I get to call up my mum and tell her how wrong she was calling my fear ‘irrational’,” Buck started laughing again, but quickly grimaced and held the left side of his upper abdomen.

“Alright, time to pause my one woman show and get you check out. You lie back and relax okay,”

“Thanks Doc,”

You quickly went through the motions of your head to toe assessment. Buck had clearly suffered rib bruising and had cuts that had been hastily patched but needed better dressings, otherwise externally he was in surprisingly good nick. It was the leg you were worried about, ordering a CT to make sure it was all okay. You placed Buck back into a quite corner of the ER to get his bandages redressed and wait out the results while you dived back into the fray. After a few hours you got to give him the good news.

“Hiya Buck,” you greeted pushing through the curtains. “Your looking a bit more spritely,”

“It must be the food they serve here, ever since I got my hands on a sandwich I’ve been feeling a million bucks,” he winked.

“Oh ha ha. I also don’t believe you, I’ve tried the food here and I don’t think anyone’s had a higher reaction than ‘meh’. Should I call for a psych consult?”

“Threatening a sick man. That’s low,”

“Well the good news is I wouldn’t call you sick, just slightly bruised and battered. You’ll have to promise to rest up but I don’t see why you can’t go home straight away,”

“That’s great news! Thanks for everything today, this hospital stay has been one of the more pleasant ones due to you,”

“Bet you say that to all your doctors. Now is someone available to pick you up or do you need me to give anyone a call?”

“My partners just outside making a call, I’m all good to go! Thanks again,”

“Bye Buck,” you smiled closing the curtain behind you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eddie was exceptionally grateful tonight that both of his boys were safe and relatively uninjured under his roof.

Chris had taken some coaxing to get to sleep but he’d eventually drifted off. Buck, after Eddie had told him to stop being a idiot and thinking he was in any way to blame for the events of the day, was in a surprisingly good mood.

So good he was in fact humming under his breath a rather upbeat tune as they lay in bed.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie whispered, turning Bucks head gently towards him so they were lying facing each other. “Are you sure your okay? Not that I want to doubt you but you’re taking today exceptionally well,”

“Ed’s don’t worry, I am now. I wasn’t to be honest initially but the doctor at the hospital was great and she calmed me down, and got me laughing,”

“That sounds like excellent beside manner,”

“The excellent-est. I would like to request her for any future, likely inevitable, injuries I sustain.”

“Shut up Buck, I don’t want to see you hurt again if I can help it.” Eddie groaned, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Which doctor was it?”

Buck relayed your name smiling, and Eddies face dropped. “Oh.”

“Oh? What’s oh mean Eddie?” Buck questioned sitting up and turning his body to Eddie.

“I’ve met her that’s all, and she’s young and pretty. Funny too.”

“Was that oh jealousy?” Buck asked exasperated, “you silly man,”

“Its just she would be perfect for you, and I imagine a lot less baggage.”

“Sweetheart, while I admit she’s appealing, I love you. Your what I want, and I happen to love Chris,”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t helped being worried.”

Buck pulled him into a kiss. “Don’t be,” he whispered against his lips before pulling away.

“Wait hang on!” He paused as Eddie tried to chase his lips. “You noticed all those things about her too, yes?”

“Maybe…”

“So does that mean you are also attracted to her?”

“Buck I would never do anything to jeopardise…”

“Ed’s I know that,” Buck cut him off, “I think this is a good thing”

“How so?”

“Well we both like her. So why don’t we both date her?”

“Im sorry what?”

“You. Me. Her,” Buck punctuated. “Doesn’t that sound good,”

“I don’t think it’s that simple Buck,”

“Why not? If she wants this too than what’s the issue? And don’t you dare say it’s not accepted, because you and I both know that caring what people think only hurts.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay Buck. If she’s also interested then let’s do it”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The last few weeks had been filled with thinking about Eddie and Buck. You managed to meet two lovely men, who talking with seemed as natural as breathing, so you could help day dream about them both individually and rather embarrassingly together.

So when the two men walked into the ER together you were almost sure you were daydreaming again. They’d approached one of the nurses who mortifingly pointed straight at you, ensuring the boys caught you staring. You gave an embarrassed wave as they came towards you.

“Hi Doctor,” Buck winked.

“Hi Buck, Eddie. Nice to see you both…together,”

“Ah yes, literally actually. We’re boyfriends” Eddie acknowledged, his face flushing red.

“Oh that’s great,” although the disappointing feeling washing over seemed to disagree, “I don’t doubt you’re amazing together,” you said genuinely. At the very least it gave you hope that two of the most genuine people you had met were together. “Here for a follow up?”

“No actually, I hope this isn’t too upfront but we we’re hoping you’d like to join us for dinner sometime soon?” Eddie asked, Buck nodding beside him in encouragement.

“Oh, as a thank you? You absolutely don’t need to do that,”

“No, although I definitely want to thank you,” Buck replied, “as a date,”

“A date?” You squeaked.

“We know it’s unorthodox but we both couldn’t stop thinking about you and once we realised we were thinking about the same person we had to try,”

“You do realise we’re going to be a scheduling nightmare right? I mean doctors and firefighters aren’t know for their set hours”

“Worse comes to worse there is the hospital cafeteria, they have some of the best sandwiches” Buck jokes.

“And coffee,” Eddie added.

“Delusional the both of you. It’s like you want this to fail”

“Is that a yes?”

“I get off in 15, meet you in the cafeteria?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Well that escalated. Thank you lovely Anon for your request.Hope you all enjoyed. Any medical knowledge (or lack there of) is brought to you by 24 hrs in A&E.

X Ali

#buddie 911 #911 fanfic #911 abc #911 imagine #evan buckey x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz x you #evan buckley x you #buck imagine #evan buckley x reader #buck x eddie #evan buckley #buddie imagine #buddie x reader

411 notes · View notes

jjungkookislife · 1 year ago

Text

Home for the Holidays Pt. 2 (M)

pairing: jungkook x f. reader

genre: fake dating au, f2l, christmas au, smut [18+] Put your age in your bio so you don’t get blocked please 💜 this is an 18+ blog

summary: Jungkook is in desperate need to find a girlfriend for Christmas. His mom has nagged and nagged about him bringing someone home for the holidays. Determined, Jungkook recruits his friends in hopes of finding the right girl to take home. In need of a place to stay, and no plans for Christmas, you answer his friend’s ad.

You have 25 days to convince not only his parents but his grandmother that you’re in a real relationship, solid enough to get through Christmas with the Jeons.

wc: 14.3k

warnings: pet names (babe, baby, sweetheart, honey, love, darling, good girl, doll), food/food mention, mention of conning JK's grandmother, mention of a blowup doll, making out, marking (scratching, biting, hickeys), jungkook has a motorcycle but his grandmother forbids him from using it while she's there, mention of jungkook's grandfather's death, one-bed trope, mention of slot machines, mention of a breeding kink, reader is on the pill, mention of being self-conscious (reader), mention of drowning in melting snow due to embarrassment, hair pulling, jungkook is a consent king (and it's hot af, okay?), fingering (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), oral sex (f. giving), unprotected sex, spanking, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: a HUGE thank you to @btsgotjams27 for allowing me to scream about this JK in her inbox for weeks! and for helping me go over the ending! thank you, thank you, thank you!

read part one here

date: January 12, 2024

The moment you set foot in Jungkook’s family home, it was like stepping foot in a department store the day after Thanksgiving.

Holiday decor sits on every inch of the living room wall—there are snowflakes, snowmen, Santas, and jolly words on every bit you see.

A giant Christmas tree takes up a large portion of the living room in a corner far from the fireplace. Large red bows hung from the branches, and a gold star sat on the top. A candle on the coffee table burns, filling the home with its vanilla cookie scent.

The dining room had an elegant arrangement of candles and ribbons. A glass jar of red and gold ornaments sat in the middle as a centerpiece.

“Jungkook!” Came an elated greeting from the kitchen. An older woman came rushing toward him, her hands cupping his cheeks as she hugged him tightly.

Jungkook grunted when he was pulled to her height, swaying side to side as she hugged him.

“Never leave me,” she nearly sobbed dramatically. You bit back a laugh.

“Mom,” Jungkook wheezed. “You’re scaring my girlfriend. She doesn’t know you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking,” his mom laughs as she squeezes him one last time before releasing him.

“Mom!”

Jungkook’s mom ignored him as she stepped toward you.

“Hello,” you wave meekly. You introduce yourself, and she smiles.

“I’m Aera,” Jungkook’s mom introduces herself as she pulls you into a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you! Jungkook said nothing but good things about you. I swear he’s so in love!”

“Mom!” Jungkook hissed as he ran his hand over his face.

You giggle, linking arms with Aera. “Is that so?”

Jungkook watches as the two of you head toward the kitchen, arm in arm, while he rolls the suitcases further into the house after shutting the front door.

“Oh, Jungkook,” his mom says as she has you sit at the table. “You’re in Seojun’s old room, and this sweetheart is in yours.”

Jungkook nods as he locks eyes with you, silently asking if you’ll be okay for a few minutes while he takes the luggage upstairs.

“Here,” Aera hands you a small dessert. “Seojun made these just for you. You’ll meet him tomorrow along with his fiancée, Saraí.”

“Ooh, chocolate,” you grin as you take the chocolate and take a bite. You moan from how good it tastes, melting right on your tongue.

Aera claps her hands, turning on her heel as she grabs a few more desserts for you to try.

By the time Jungkook joins you, you’re on your third dessert.

“Mom,” he sighs. “Please don’t force-feed my girlfriend. She just got here.”

Aera frowns at her son. “Fine. You open up.”

Jungkook dodges a brownie bite and sits beside you. His mom heads back to the kitchen to grab drinks as the front door opens and shuts.

“Sorry,” Jungkook apologizes. “I told her to wait at least thirty minutes before she stuffed you full of chocolate and desserts.”

“Hello,” a voice calls. You smile, though nerves still eat at you when you realize Jungkook’s father has arrived home.

“Dad!” Jungkook rises from his seat to hug his dad tightly. Jungkook looks just like him, though a little taller and broader.

You rise from your seat, wiping your hands on your pants in a poor attempt to clean them.

You introduce yourself to Jungkook’s dad, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, honey. I’m Dae.”

“We’re gonna go get settled in,” Jungkook says as he takes your hand. “We’ll be down for dinner.”

“When am I seeing Jimin, Joon, Tae, Jin, and Yoongi?” Aera asks her son. “It’s bad enough that Hoseok won’t join us this year.”

“He had plans, Mom,” Jungkook explained.

“Love, the kids just got home to their parents. Let them take their shoes off before you host a reunion,” Dae chuckles. Aera nods, going for her house phone to ring up Jimin’s mom across the street to chat about their boys.

Jungkook uses the distraction to lead you toward the stairs.

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook groans as he plops down on the desk chair of his old bedroom. “I thought I had a minute or something before she started feeding you.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Your mom is just excited.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook grumbles as he wraps his arms around your waist. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem! Besides, those brownie bites are delicious!”

Jungkook chuckles. “There’s plenty more downstairs. Lemme show you around.”

Jungkook shows you where the bathroom is. His room is across the hall from yours, while his parents' room is further down the hallway. There’s another stairway upstairs that leads to the entertainment/game room. Downstairs is an office, a guest bathroom, and a laundry room.

The backyard is through the back door in the kitchen, and the door near the living room leads to the garage. It’s all pretty simple to memorize. You’ll mostly be on the second floor unless you have to use the kitchen or living room.

By the time you’re back in the kitchen, Jimin’s sitting at one of the chairs with a plate full of brownies and a glass of milk. He gives you a chocolaty smile as Mrs. Jeon sets a plate of cookies beside him.

“Got enough to share, Jimin?” Jungkook asks as he pulls a chair out for you before he sits beside you.

“No,” Jimin swallows his bite and downs half a glass of milk.

“Jimin,” Aera laughs, and Jimin reluctantly pushes the plate of cookies toward you and Jungkook.

“So,” Dae smiles at you. “How did you and Jungkook meet?”

“School.”

“Jimin.” You say, cringing at Jungkook’s answer being different from yours.

His parents look confused for a moment before Jimin speaks up.

“I met her in one of my classes, and we became friends. Then Jungkook stole her from me,” Jimin jokes.

Jungkook turns red. “I didn’t steal her! You said you were just friends!”

You laugh with his parents. The two men bicker back and forth like children.

“I always had a crush on Jungkook. The moment I saw him, I knew he was special,” you admit. Jungkook pauses his fake fight to look at you; his eyes are soft, and something sparkles deep within.

Even Jimin stares silently. He knew you had a crush on Kook the moment you laid eyes on him, but there was no way you were this great of an actress. After all, he had been the one to go with you to audition for Cinderella, and you tanked. Sorry to say so.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?! True love!” Aera sings as she clasps her hands.

“Mom!” Jungkook protests, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. Perhaps he should have prepared you for his over-enthusiastic parents.

“I hear wedding bells!” Aera continues until Dae grabs her and leads her out of the room.

“Come on, let’s go get their pajamas.”

The three of you wait until you hear their footsteps disappear up the stairs.

Jimin exhales dramatically. “You couldn’t even get the first lie correct?”

“We tried!” Jungkook hisses in response.

“Yeah,” you nod vehemently. “We got it right anyhow. We just fumbled a bit. No biggie.”

“The group chat isn’t gonna like this,” Jimin sighs. “Are you sure you can pull this off without us here?”

“It was just a little mishap,” Jungkook waved his hand. “We’ve got this.”

Jimin looks unsure but says nothing else as he gulps his milk down and rises from his seat.

“Okay, I better get back to my family. I only snuck out for treats.”

You laugh as you hug him after he’s set his glass in the dishwasher.

“Come around whenever,” Jimin instructs, kissing your forehead before waving to Jungkook.

“What’s up next?” You ask your boyfriend.

“Probably Christmas pajamas and a movie, then dinner and bedtime,” Jungkook replies as his parents' footsteps come down the stairs.

“Here they come.”

The evening flies by after you receive your pajamas. You thank the Jeons profusely as you put them on.

The couple has gone to bed, leaving you and Jungkook to finish the last two minutes of the movie.

Jungkook begins to clean up as soon as the credits roll before the two of you head up the stairs.

Hushed voices greet you as you reach the landing.

“I don’t know, Dae. Something seems fishy,” Aera said softly.

“You’re overthinking this, love. Maybe they’re just respectful or shy.” Dae countered.

“Well, Saraí and Seojun were always kissing and hugging. It just seems a little off.” Aera states.

Jungkook looks at you, worry evident on his face.

“Maybe they’re not as comfortable with PDA. That’s fine by me,” Dae chuckles as he tells his wife to go to bed.

Aera does so reluctantly.

Jungkook takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom you are occupying for your stay. He shuts the door as quietly as possible before he sits on the bed and pats the spot beside him.

Once you’re on the bed sitting beside him, he wrings his hands in his lap.

“I suppose we need to be more hands-on,” he states nervously.

“How about we wake up early tomorrow and watch a movie in the living room? We can cuddle and kiss a little when we hear them get up,” you suggest.

Jungkook nods in agreement.

“Do you need anything before I go?”

You walk Jungkook to the bedroom door. You bite your bottom lip, suddenly feeling shy. He is your fake boyfriend, though.

“A goodnight kiss?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm at your words, but he gently grips your chin with his fingers before he presses his lips to yours. Your hands grip his shirt, holding him close as the kiss deepens and your lips muffle his moans.

“Good night,” Jungkook whispers with one last kiss to your lips.

“Good night,” you whisper as you watch him go. Your heart flutters as you shut the door and press your back against it. You squeal in delight and faintly hear Jungkook chuckle as he heads to his room.

You ignore the heat that rises to your cheeks before scrambling to get into bed.

The next morning, Jungkook shakes you awake gently. “Come on, darling.”

“Mmh,” you whine, swatting at him in your sleep.

Jungkook dodges the next swipe, capturing your hand and kissing your palm.

“Baby,” he whispers as he shakes you again. You curse, peering open one eye and then the other.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumble as you sit up. Jungkook grins smugly. “Or I’d bop you on that cute nose of yours.”

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. “Come on, babe. My parents will be up soon.”

“I’m sleepy,” you huff but get out of bed and follow Jungkook downstairs. He’s already got a movie playing in the background and two mugs of hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table.

You try not to squeal in excitement when you see he’s poured yours into a snowman mug.

By the time Jungkook’s parents make their way downstairs, the both of you are cuddling on the couch. Jungkook’s got your head on his shoulder, feeding you pretzels and holding your hand.

Aera and Dae exchange a look but say nothing other than their morning greetings as they get ready for work.

Dae is out in ten minutes, promising to be home early, while Aera stops by the living room to kiss each of you on the top of your head on her way out.

“Seojun and Saraí will be here for dinner,” she calls as she grabs her keys and heads out the door.

You spend the day with Jungkook watching movies and playing video games upstairs. Jimin and Joon pop in for a quick visit, but their parents call them home for lunch and they leave you alone with Jungkook again.

“I think we’re doing pretty well,” you muse as you hold Jungkook’s hand while he waits for the game to load on the TV screen.

He chuckles. “Seojun might mess it up.”

You giggle, shaking your head.

“I think we’ve got this,” you state as you kiss his cheek, his jaw, and the mole beneath his lip. Jungkook sighs happily, dropping the controller on the carpet before he cups your face.

Fake or not, he genuinely enjoyed kissing you. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to do so now.

You moan when he pushes you back onto the couch, your legs on either side of his hips. His lips feel soft against yours as your hands slide under his shirt.

“Kook,” you moan softly as you move your head to allow him more room, his lips burning in their wake as he trails kisses down to the collar of your shirt.

Your fingers weave through his long black hair, tugging when his lips nip at your skin. He moans your name softly, groaning when you beg him for more.

His hand grips your hip, squeezing as his hips rock against you. A curse escapes you as you melt beneath his broad shoulders, your nails dragging down his back.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his lips finding yours as his tongue pushes past the seam of your lips as the kiss deepens. You whine as you feel him press against you, your hands greedy as you pull him impossibly close.

“Shit!” A voice startles you.

You pull away from Jungkook, face warm as Jungkook gets off you.

“Sorry, we should have knocked.” A woman apologizes. She’s shorter than Jungkook and the man beside her. Her hair is curly and black, falling in waves down her back. Her beautiful golden skin appears glowing and rivals the brightness of her smile.

“We did knock,” the man says, looking at her. She jutted him in the ribs with her elbow before turning to Jungkook.

“We’ll be downstairs,” she announced in a rush as she shoved the man out the door before shutting it.

Jungkook groans, hiding his cherry-red face in his hands. “That was Seojun and Saraí.”

“Oh!” You exclaim with wide eyes. “Fuck.”

“Well,” Jungkook said, carding a hand through his hair. “At least Seojun will believe us now.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“To be continued?” You’re not sure where this bout of confidence has come from, but you know what you felt, and Jungkook wanted you just like you did him.

“Tonight?” He asks in a sultry tone that makes you tighten around nothing. His dark-hooded gaze makes your pulse rise, and it takes everything in you not to push him onto the couch and continue where you left off.

Jungkook holds your gaze, his tattooed hand resting on your lower back, a little too close to your behind. You bite your bottom lip, and his eyes watch you carefully as you slowly take a step back. Fire builds between you, nearly suffocating you, and you’d gladly let it for another taste of his lips.

“Tonight,” you whisper as you head for the door. You swallow thickly as you eye him up and down, a hunger pooling deep inside you.

Jungkook presses his thumb to his bottom lip as he devours you with his gaze, knowing one more lingering look will be all it takes to have you screaming his name as loud as your lungs allow.

Ten minutes later, Jungkook and you join Seojun and Saraí in the living room. Jungkook introduced you to the couple as he sat beside you on the loveseat.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Sarai exclaims. “Seojun thought you were imaginary.”

“Babe,” Seojun protests.

“¿Que no?” Sarai asks him with a raised brow. “Didn’t you say Kook probably had a blowup doll?”

Jungkook and Seojun burn brighter than Rudolph’s nose as they sink into the couches. You laugh along with Sarai at the men’s expense.

“I like you,” you said with a bright smile. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”

Sarai smiled, “We have to stick together.”

“Saraí,” Seojun whines. “We just got here. You can’t recruit my little brother’s girlfriend against me already.”

“Why not?” Saraí asks with a mischievous grin.

Seojun groans as he shakes his head, but his smile never dims as he looks at his fiancée. You cuddle up to Jungkook, and his arm drapes around you before he kisses the top of your head, almost second nature.

A few hours later, Saraí and you share the couch upstairs while the Jeon brothers fight over the working controller.

Saraí follows you on all your socials as she lies beside you. The both of you laugh as you show each other funny TikToks. Despite only knowing her a short amount of time, you’re glad she’s easygoing and loves to talk. It takes the pressure off you having to recall any information from Joon’s PowerPoint and flashcards, though the information is ready to be pulled at any moment should you need it.

“So then he takes me to the very top of the building,” Saraí gushes as she shows you a photo on her Instagram account. “You know, the ones with the glass panes you can stand on to overlook the city? Well, I was busy looking at the city while Seojun was turning green behind me! He’s terrified of heights, but he knew I wanted to go up there since forever, practically!”

“I almost threw up,” Seojun comments as he gives the controller to Jungkook, he’s no longer interested in fighting his younger sibling over the controller that doesn’t stick.

Saraí laughs. “I turned around to tell him to join me. The view was incredible!”

You hang on her every word as she swipes to another photo.

“And that’s when I noticed the mariachis and Seojun down on one knee. He even had my family there!” Saraí wipes a stray tear as she recounts her proposal and shows you more photos of the grand event.

Seojun smiles at Saraí, hearts in his eyes. He turns to Jungkook with a raised brow. “It’ll be you two before you know it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jungkook coughs as he looks at you for help. His eyes have tripled in size from panic.

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling like a bobblehead. “We’ve only been together for a bit.”

“Four months?” Seojun asks.

“Five!” You and Jungkook answer in unison, startling the happy couple.

You clear your throat. “Almost six.”

“Nowhere near you guys time together,” Jungkook adds as he nervously tweaks the buttons on the controller.

Saraí waves her hand. “You’ll hear wedding bells before you know it.”

“Yeah,” Seojun chuckles. “Ours.”

The two giggled before you and Jungkook exchanged nervous looks.

How far would you take this?

Dinner passes without incident. Aera and Saraí are elbow-deep in wedding plans, scheduling lunch with Saraí’s mom before the evening ends.

You excuse yourself when your friends show up, and the lot of you head upstairs with a plate of warm cookies accompanied by a tray filled with glasses of milk and mugs of hot chocolate.

Seokjin is on the lookout, watching the door as Joon gets comfortable beside Jimin and Yoongi.

“How’s it going?” Taehyung asks as he takes Jungkook’s phone to upload a few more pictures to Instagram.

“Yeah,” Joon says through a mouthful of cookies. “Jimin says you fucked up the first question Momma Jeon asked.”

“Jimin,” Jungkook hisses.

“The first one?” Seokjin scoffs as he looks over his shoulder at you. “Babe, I would have done better.”

“I’m the one who needed to date someone!” Jungkook hisses louder.

Seokjin shrugs. “I said what I said.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at his friends and calms down when you grip his arm.

“His parents thought we weren’t all over each other like Saraí and Seojun. We have to kick it up a little for them,” you state, your lip caught between your teeth.

“Damn,” Yoongi sighs. “If they see through it, your grandmother won’t fall for it, Kook.”

“Don’t give up now,” Jimin insists while holding a rough sketch. “We’ve worked so hard for this. I already started designing my room in Kook’s new place.”

“Give me that,” Jungkook rips the paper from Jimin’s hands and crumples it.

“I have copies,” Jimin smirks.

“Look,” Taehyung speaks up. “We’ve all done our part. We just gotta get through it.”

Namjoon nods. “Tae’s right. We all did what we said we’d do, even Hobi. He’ll be in town before the new year, and we can’t tell him the plan tanked. We all worked too hard for this. Let’s see it out.”

“I’m in,” Seokjin shrugs, feigning nonchalance by looking at his nails.

“Same,” Yoongi and Jimin add with a firm nod.

Joon and Tae look at the two of you.

Jungkook looks at you, and you nod. You were already knee-deep in it; might as well make it to the other side.

“Alright, we’re in,” Jungkook states ruefully.

“Don’t worry, one of us will try to be around when Grandmother Jeon arrives. It’ll be a piece of cake!” Jimin grins.

It was not a piece of cake.

And if it was, it was a shit cake.

Grandmother Jeon rolled up with enough suitcases to rival a traveling circus.

“Mother,” Dae gasps as he greets her at the front door. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had!” Jungkook’s grandmother huffs as Dae and Jungkook help bring in the suitcases.

Aera dashes to the kitchen for refreshments, and you hurry after her in a panic.

“First, I misplaced my bingo winnings on the train. Then, they threatened to kick me off because Luna wouldn’t stop barking!” Grandmother Jeon looks at all her bags until Jungkook holds one away from him while he pinches his nose.

“Oh, there she is! Kook be a dear and take her outside. Rinse her dog carrier for me. These old bones aren’t what they used to be,” she says as Dae helps her to the couch and then shuts the front door.

“Mother,” Dae said as he sat beside her. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, I didn’t want to be a bother!” She waves her hand about. Her glasses slip down her nose, and her hat is tilted.

“You’re never a bother, Mom,” Dae states as he helps her out of her shoes and faux fur coat.

“Good,” Grandmother Jeon states firmly. “Because Luna and I need a place to stay for the holidays.”

Jungkook freezes with Luna, a yapping black and white chihuahua in his arms. “What?”

Dae sends a glare at his son. “Of course, you can stay with us. What happened?”

“Dang cellphone made my reservations for next Christmas,” Grandmother Jeon huffed. “Dang things are called smartphones, more like dumb phones. Scheduled me for the wrong year!”

Dae exchanges a look with Jungkook, but neither says a word as you and Aera walk into the living room with coffee and cookies.

“Oh, Aera! You look lovely! Keeping my boys in line?” Grandmother Jeon asks with a smile.

“Always! We're so glad you’re staying with us,” Aera says genuinely, hugging the older woman.

“Ooh, you know me. I gotta spread a little holiday cheer everywhere I go,” Grandmother Jeon jokes before she spots you.

“And who is this marvelous woman hiding behind you, Aera?”

Jungkook opens the back door, puts Luna out, and rushes to your side before you can blink.

“Grandmother Jeon, this is my girlfriend,” Jungkook tells her your name, and her eyes light up like the fairy lights on the Christmas tree.

“I’m Grandmother Jeon or Minji, whichever you prefer, dear. Let me look at you,” she coos as she takes your hands and looks you up and down.

“You’re beautiful,” Minji grins widely.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly.

“And you know how to take a compliment. I like that! Confidence and a tough exterior are what you need to wrangle in these boys. They’ll give you more heart attacks than you can handle. Troublesome they are,” Minji shakes her head.

“Mom!”

“Grandmother!”

“What?” Minji raises a brow, daring them to protest further. “Am I lying?”

“No,” Jungkook and his father shake their heads, avoiding eye contact.

“Thought so,” Minji laughs. “Don’t worry, dear. Jungkook is the least troublesome of them all, though that motorcycle I saw on the driveway is enough to earn a lecture, Jeon Jungkook!”

“But-!”

“Jeon Dae, what did I tell you about my grandbabies riding those!” Minji sighs heavily as she lets you go.

“Mother,” Dae starts as Minji rises from the couch. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

Minji whirls on Jungkook, a sharp, well-manicured nail poking his broad chest. “You stick to driving while I’m here, sweetie. I don’t think my old heart could take it seeing you riding around town on that motorcycle.”

“I promise,” Jungkook raises his hand, and Minji grins, reaching to pinch his cheek.

“Good boy,” she states before releasing him. “Now who’s gonna show this old bag of bones and her pup to her room?”

“Mother, you’re only-” Dae is cut off by a glare so icy it could freeze Hell and all its inhabitants.

“Get my dog, son. She gets cold without her winter wear,” Minji grumbles as she heads towards the stairs. “She’s your little sister, after all. You should treat her as such.”

“Mother,” Dae sighs heavily, but he knows it’s a losing battle. He opens the back door instead, and Luna walks into the home after wiping her feet on the mat.

“Jungkook, sweetie, be a doll and get her wipes from the pink bag for me. I have to get her cleaned up before dinner,” Minji says as Dae hands her the little chihuahua.

“She’s not going to expect Luna to have a seat at the table, is she?” You ask Jungkook’s mom as you watch Dae and Jungkook carry her bags up the stairs.

Aera says your name with a whimsical smile. “Expect the unexpected.”

Jungkook knows you’re trying your best not to stare, but you fail miserably.

Dinner is in the dining room with the large dining table that seats twelve, but there are only eight of you tonight.

Dae sits at the head of the table with his wife on the left and his mother on the right. Beside Aera, Jungkook has taken his spot while you sit beside him. However, you can’t help but look at Luna in her high chair across from him.

Seojun sits across from you with Saraí on his right. She smiles politely as she tries to muffle a laugh in her napkin. She was as surprised as you the first time Minji rolled into town with her dog and the high chair.

You’re sure Luna is eating out of a crystal bowl and drinking from a crystal goblet. The only thing that sparkles more than both is the ring sitting on Saraí’s finger.

“So, sweetheart,” Minji starts as she dabs at her mouth. “How did you meet our Kookie?”

“Mother,” Dae shoots an annoyed look her way that she waves off with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m merely curious,” Minji smiles softly, her pearls draped over her bubblegum pink dress. There’s not a silver hair out of place, nor is her lipstick smudged from eating and enjoying a glass of wine with dinner.

“We met through Jimin,” Jungkook answers for you, but Minji continues to stare at you, awaiting a response.

“We met through Jimin at school. Jimin and I shared a class and introduced me to Jungkook and his friends. I had a crush on him since the first time I saw him,” you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks as Jungkook takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles before setting it on the table.

“So, who broke first?” Seojun asks with interest, ignoring his “aunt” as she chews on her steak.

“Jungkook,” you giggle as you recite the story Yoongi had concocted. “We went on a walk after dinner one night and he confessed. Asked me out for the next night, and we’ve been dating ever since.”

“We went to the beach for our first date,” Jungkook adds. “Shared a milkshake on the boardwalk.”

“My Kookie finally found someone!” Minji claps her hands, startling the dog beside her.

“Do you have pictures?” Aera questions as she rises from the table.

Luna finishes her meal, and Dae takes her outside while Jungkook and Seojun clear the table. You send Jungkook a wary look, but he smiles in reassurance, mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

“Let’s head to the living room for tea and hot chocolate,” Aera said as she dashed to the kitchen to grab drinks and desserts.

Saraí goes to help her while you help Minji to the couch.

“I don’t know how to snoop on the phone like Seojun loves to do,” Minji laughs as you take your phone out of your pocket.

“Ah, there’s my boy,” Minji says as she adjusts her glasses to look at your Lock Screen. A photo of you and Jungkook in matching Christmas sweaters greets her.

“He looks at you the way his grandfather looked at me before he passed. Love is a magical thing, dear. It can get you through almost anything,” Minji says, full of wonder as she stares off into the distance for a moment before she clears her throat.

Your heart sinks in your chest. Jungkook hadn’t mentioned his grandfather before and seeing Minji now and going through with this plan was making you feel sick.

“I hope we didn’t miss anything,” Saraí sings as she sets down a tray of hot drinks. She hands one to Minji before she takes one for herself.

Aera and Dae join you, while Luna curls up under the Christmas tree on the tree skirt beside the presents.

“I hope we did,” Jungkook utters, only to be elbowed by his older brother.

“I saw a few photos on Instagram this week,” Seojun comments as he grabs a cookie. “You both look cute.”

Saraí helps Aera log into her account so she can see the photos on Instagram while you show Minji the pictures on your phone.

“The two of you are adorable,” Minji coos as you show her another photo. Jungkook watches on from beside his father, the two sharing the couch closest to the fireplace.

For a moment, Jungkook can pretend that it’s real. That you fit into his family perfectly, just like Saraí does. That they adore you just like he does and that you could possibly love him.

Thirty minutes later, Minji is yawning and calling for Luna. The two head upstairs slowly, yawning and wishing everyone a good night.

“Oh, dear,” Aera says as she looks at you and Jungkook. “We gave Grandmother Jeon Seojun’s old room.”

You look at Jungkook with wide eyes.

“You don’t mind sharing Jungkook’s old room, do you?” Aera asked as she and Saraí cleared up the drinks and cookies. “It’ll be just like at home.”

“Um… yeah,” you cough as you look at your feet. “Just like home.”

“Perfect,” Dae says as he helps clean up. “Why don’t the two of you unpack in Jungkook’s room, and we’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sure, Dad,” Jungkook takes your hand, saying goodnight to his family before leading you up the stairs.

On the landing, you hear his grandmother and Luna snoring already, and you wonder how they could fall asleep so quickly.

Jungkook leads you into the bedroom and shuts the door, pressing himself against it.

You’re careful not to trip on his suitcase as you open yours to get your pajamas out. You’ve been following Hoseok’s strict clothing schedule and you’ve sent Hoseok photo confirmation every day so far.

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook whispers as he walks toward you. “I never thought this would happen.”

“What do we do?”

“I’ll sleep upstairs in the game room,” Jungkook answers. His back already hurts from imagining a night on the lumpy couch.

“Your parents will know something’s up,” you hissed in response.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, then,” Jungkook shrugs. “Problem solved.”

“But it’s your room. Your bed.”

“And I got you into this mess,” Jungkook frowns. “It’s only for a few nights, anyway. No biggie.”

You bite your lip but say nothing as you take your pajamas and step out of the bedroom to go to the bathroom. You change and brush your teeth before going to the room once again.

Jungkook goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do his skincare routine before returning to the room.

He grabs extra blankets from the closet and a few pillows before he lies down on the floor.

The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jungkook chuckles.

You throw a stuffed animal at him.

“Jungkook!”

“What? You were thinking about it!”

“You didn’t have to say it,” you grumble as you roll on your side to stare at him. You pull the covers over your shoulders, shivering in your oversized tee and pajama shorts. Hoseok dropped the ball with this one outfit, but maybe he didn’t care too much about your sleeping clothes.

“Goodnight, sweet girlfriend of mine,” Jungkook coos, wiggling his toes in those dreaded toe socks.

“Goodnight,” you huff, sticking your tongue out at him.

Wednesday greeted you with Luna’s obnoxious barking.

You groaned as you placed a pillow over your head, hoping to drown out the sound, but alas, it was no use.

“Koo,” you whine, throwing a pillow at him. He grunts in response from his makeshift bed on the floor.

“I hear it too,” he murmurs as he tries to cling to sleep, but it’s useless.

Cursing, Jungkook sits up. He stretches and yawns for a minute before getting to his feet and folding his makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. His back and neck would be hating him all day.

With all the excitement of Grandmother Jeon and your new sleeping arrangements, there wasn’t any time for any practice.

Now you have bedhead and morning breath, and god, you hope you don’t have dried drool on the corner of your mouth. You can’t let Jungkook see you like this!

“Close your eyes!” You hiss as you scramble out of his bed.

Jungkook's eyes widen in alarm. “What?! Why?!”

“Just do it! Don’t look at me!” You hiss as you hear the barking move further away. You try to step over your fake boyfriend but trip on a blanket and fall beside him.

Jungkook grunts when you elbow him in the stomach, and before either of you can move, the door opens, and Jungkook’s mother stands there with wide eyes.

“Um, breakfast will be ready in a bit,” she says as she shuts the door as quickly as possible. Perhaps next time she’ll remember to knock, but after the commotion, she was worried someone was hurt.

“Great,” Jungkook sighs as he falls back into his pillows to stare at the ceiling.

What a great way to start his morning.

Jungkook’s parents and grandmother are gone for the rest of the day. Something about slot machines and Grandmother Jeon feeling lucky… or did she say she was gonna get lucky?

“Luna Patrice Jeon,” you huff, stomping your foot as you try to get her coat on her, but she wriggles in Jungkook’s beefy arms.

The two of you were supposed to be outside five minutes ago, and all your friends and their dogs were waiting for you and Jungkook.

Jungkook had managed to put Luna’s booties on, but she was a squirmy little thing when it came to her coat and earmuffs. Minji had been very thorough with her instructions, and Jungkook promised to watch his aunt.

His dog-aunt.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Seokjin coos as he lets himself into the Jeon home.

Luna pants as Seokjin rubs between her ears and easily gets the coat on her. About four inches of snow had fallen overnight, and the dogs were eager to play at the park just down the road.

“There we go, Luna. That wasn’t so bad, huh?” Seokjin grins as he kisses the dog on the forehead and puts the earmuffs on.

“God, he’s a dog whisperer,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, but Seokjin ignores him as he sets Luna in the stroller with her blanket and some treats. He zips the stroller shut and carries it out onto the sidewalk.

“I can’t help it if the ladies love me,” Seokjin smirks as he sends a wink your way. You smile bashfully, giggling when he blows you a kiss.

“Hey!” Jungkook stomps his foot. His cute bunny nose scrunching. “You’re my girlfriend!”

“Better keep her close, JK!” Jimin teases as he pushes his dog stroller.

Namjoon and his little dog wear matching coats and booties, leading the group down the road. Taehyung pushes his stroller, where his Pomeranian sleeps wrapped in a fluffy blanket, and Seokjin carries Hoseok’s dog that he may have snatched for this outing.

“Who knew we’d end up pushing strollers this Christmas break instead of clubbing,” Yoongi chuckles as he meets up with you at the end of the block. In his stroller with the spinning rims sits his dog, Holly.

“Almost seems like we’re growing up,” Taehyung wipes a fake tear from his cheek as the group pushes the strollers on the sidewalk.

“Who do you think will push one of these with an actual child first?” Namjoon asks as his dog sniffs the snow, his nose freezing at the contact.

“Jungkook,” the group answers as Jimin and Taehyung push their strollers in a light jog, racing to the first tree they see a few feet away.

“Pfft, why me? I’m the baby,” Jungkook protests.

“Aren’t you the one with the breeding kink?” Yoongi smirks as he walks past the two of you.

Jungkook is left flabbergasted. His face rivals a tomato’s as he feels his ears burn just as bright.

“I told you that in confidence!”

“Whoops!” Yoongi cackles as he joins the race between Tae and Jimin.

Jungkook wonders if four inches of melting snow would be enough to drown him.

You push the stroller with Luna, giggling as you jog past Jungkook.

“Sucks for you!” You call over your shoulder. “I’m on the pill!”

Jungkook curses Yoongi, running after him as he threatens to end the Min line with him.

Namjoon smiles as he walks beside Seokjin, enjoying the chaos he created from his question.

“You’re an evil little man,” Seokjin cackles as Namjoon laughs and follows the group.

Thursday afternoon is filled with last-minute Christmas shopping.

Seojun and Saraí have joined you. Seokjin and Jimin tagged along, but it seemed they weren’t as necessary now as they thought they would be.

Sure, Seokjin still curbed the conversation when you or Jungkook failed to answer a question or two about your relationship, but it wasn’t anything detrimental. The group honestly thought you had this in the bag, and with Christmas only three days away, there wasn’t a whole lot to worry about.

Jungkook rubs his neck for the fifth time. He can’t seem to get rid of the soreness he’s gotten from sleeping on the floor.

You pull him away after you lose Jimin and Seokjin in a department store with blasting Christmas music.

“Sleep with me tonight,” you said as you held Jungkook’s hand in a surprisingly empty aisle. The hustle and bustle of shoppers falls into the background, and all Jungkook can hear is the rapid drumming of his heart.

“W-what?” He stutters with wide eyes. He toys with his lip ring, a nervous habit of his.

“Sleep with me on the bed tonight, Kook. You’re obviously in a lot of pain, and I feel bad.” You frown as you turn him around to rub his neck and shoulders.

Jungkook resists the urge to curse, biting his lip to hide a moan as you get into the muscles. Fuck, he really needed to sleep in a proper bed soon.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks as he slowly pulls your hands off him to hold in his.

“It’s only for a few more days,” you shrug. “Grandmother Jeon leaves for her cruise before the new year, so why not?”

Jungkook is reluctant, but as a cramp hits his neck.

He nods. “If you’re sure.”

“Definitely,” you smile as you lace your fingers with his to lead him out of the aisle. You lead him out of the store and toward the giant Christmas tree in the center of the mall.

You take your phone out and snap a cute picture of the two of you before looking at it and see mistletoe on one of the branches above your head.

Jungkook blushes as he pecks your lips, but you pull him back in for another kiss. You fist his jacket in your hand as you pull him close, your lips moving with his perfectly as the cool metal of his lip ring brushes your lips. You moan when he nips at your lip, gently sucking it before releasing it.

His dark gaze sends tingles down your spine as you wrap your arms around his neck, and he leans in to kiss you again.

“Tonight,” Jungkook murmured against your lips, the two of you stuck like magnets, unwilling to pull apart.

“Tonight,” you agree as you kiss him again, your fingers tugging on his lush locks just enough to make him curse against your lips.

“You’ll pay for that, baby,” he groans when you do it again.

“I can’t wait, Koo.”

Your shower takes longer than usual that night. You shave, exfoliate, and lotion every bit of you that Jungkook might touch.

You’re nervous but excited at the thought of him touching you. Just kissing you nearly sends you over the edge sometimes, and the way he grips your hips as if he must be anchored to you to breathe, well, it’s a nice feeling.

By the time you’re climbing into bed, the house is silent. Jungkook turns on his mood lamp, and his playlist plays softly in the background.

He’s made sure to lock the door this time to keep his mother out.

A purple towel is draped over his shoulders as he plops down on the desk chair. He gives his hair one more rub, but he’s already had the hairdryer on it for a bit.

You try not to ogle his bare chest, the colorful sleeve of tattoos grabbing your attention almost

immediately as he sets the towel down.

“Mind if I sleep without a shirt on? I tend to run hot,” he explains as he tongues his ring.

“That’s fine,” you squeak as heat rushes to your cheeks. You pull the covers to your chest, wiggling your toes as you avoid meeting his gaze. Though his abs are now in your view, and your thighs press together in response. What you wouldn’t give to kiss every beautiful ridge of his torso, taking your time on his sensitive brown nipples. You wonder if he’d ever get them pierced.

“Need anything while I’m up, babe?” Jungkook asks as he stretches, his arms raised over his head and you nearly whimper as you feast on his perfect physique.

You’re nearly salivating by the time he’s finished stretching. He tilts his head as he waits for your answer but you blink owlishly and finally meet his gaze.

“Hmm?” You ask as you blink again as he laughs. He shakes his head as he crosses the distance between you, moving the blankets out of the way as he gets into bed with you.

“You’re adorable,” he whispers as he pecks your nose.

You smile, clearing your throat as you lie on the bed. Jungkook turns on his side to face you, and you do the same. His arm drapes over your waist, and you snuggle in closer.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, almost as if it were a secret. Perhaps it is with the way he strokes your waist, refusing to make eye contact; afraid of what his words will shift.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Kook. I don’t want to be anywhere else,” you admit as his gaze meets yours. He studies you for a few moments. His beautiful eyes sparkle like the stars in the night sky, shining brighter and brighter with each passing second until they flutter shut and his lips mold to yours.

“Jungkook,” his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks in between kisses, his hands never straying from your hips until you guide them upward to cup your tits. He curses, dark eyes piercing through your soul as you make him squeeze them.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Jungkook kisses you again, swallowing your moans as his thumbs brush your pert nipples. Your hands settle on his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he trails kisses down your neck until he hits that one spot that has you seeing stars behind your lids.

“Jungkook,” you sigh as you part your legs for him. He settles between them as your nails rake down his broad muscular back. You’d love to kiss every inch of it. Leave your mark behind for all to see. For now, you’ll settle for your scratch marks, storing each of his delicious sounds for later.

Fiery lips meet yours as his hips rock against you. His hands feel every bit of you, moving when he notes any hesitation.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly, his gaze locked on yours.

You nod.

“I need words, baby,” he says as he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “I need to hear it.”

“Please,” you swallow thickly, mesmerized by his soft doe eyes. “I want it. Want you.”

Jungkook traces your bottom lip with his thumb, admiring your beauty for a moment before he kisses you again as if it were the last time.

Time means nothing to you as you melt beneath him. His hands are hot against your flesh, needy where they meet to pull you closer. Your name escapes him between moans and gasps, your hand guiding him between your legs.

“Please,” you beg as he pushes your shorts to the side, groaning when he feels how wet you are.

“No panties, darling?” He grins as he kisses your jaw and trails downward.

“Didn’t think I needed them,” you gasp when his fingers brush your clit. He’s teasing you. He wants to see how far he can take you before you beg him for more, plead and whine until he gives you just what you need.

Jungkook licks his lips, shaking his long hair out of his eyes before he tongues his lip ring. His breath fans against your heated skin, teeth gently nipping your earlobe as he whispers, “You were right.”

Your thighs shake at the sound of his seductive tone, spreading further for him as he lifts your shirt to bunch above your breasts.

“Keep that right there, baby. Can you do that for me?” He raises a brow, and you nod.

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing your lips before making his way down until his fingers are tugging on your flimsy sleep shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Jungkook asks as he meets your eyes. You nod, feeling fire pool deep in your belly. You want him desperately, almost embarrassingly, with how soaked you are for him already.

When he doesn’t make a move to take them off, you remember he wants you to be vocal about your consent.

“Yes, please.”

Jungkook pulls the shorts down your legs at a snail’s pace, giving you enough time to change your mind if you wish to. You encourage him by lifting your hips and kicking the shorts off to be lost on his bedroom floor.

You don’t get a chance to be self-conscious as he cups your face and kisses you so deeply, that you almost wonder if he’s in love with you.

The pounding of your heart is deafening as the kiss deepens and his hips press against your cunt. Your name rolls off his tongue, cursing and groaning when his hard cock grinds against you.

“You’ve soaked my sweatpants,” he laughs breathily, and you clench around nothing. Your face feels like it’s burning, but from lust or embarrassment, you’re not sure. Jungkook kisses your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips.

“S-sorry,” you apologized as he rubs your clit, his nimble fingers circling it just to make you whine. Jungkook teases your entrance with his tattooed fingers, loving the way you whimper and beg for more, biting your bottom lip to keep from getting too loud.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan when he finally sinks two fingers in knuckle-deep. You clench around them as he slowly fucks them into you, his thumb rubbing your clit as he focuses on the rise and fall of your chest.

Jungkook palms his cock with his other hand, moaning softly when your eyes lock. He smirks as you reach for him and he places your hand on his cock.

“Can you take them off?” You ask bashfully, and he chuckles before slowly taking his fingers out of you. He sucks them into his mouth, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he gets a taste of you.

Fuck, he’d have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for the rest of his life if you’d let him.

Your thighs tremble as he steps back, cunt soaked and dripping onto his sheets. You’re the first girl he’s had in his bed like this and he hopes your scent lingers long after you’re back home.

Jungkook is a vision. An Adonis among men. Michaelangelo himself would have shed a tear upon gazing at the masterpiece that is Jeon Jungkook.

Speechless, you reach for him as he chuckles. He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before placing it on his chest.

“Do as you wish, my love,” Jungkook says as he follows your hand with his hooded gaze.

Your brain seems to be empty of all thoughts except Jungkook. His name, his body, that sinful smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. He’s eyeing you with mirth, licking his lips as your hand descends until it’s cupping his erection.

“Fuck,” he breathes as you stroke him, your fingers sliding under his boxers to feel the weight of him in your palm. He groans, whispering your name as you continue to stroke him, pausing only to spit in your hand. He takes the moment to tug his boxers off.

Jungkook kisses you as you touch him again, his fingers finding their home between your thighs as he gets you to nearly sing his name in praise as you tighten around him.

“Wish you were wrapped around my fat cock, babe. I’d make you scream even louder,” he goads as you muffle your cries in his broad shoulder right beside his little scar.

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as he kisses you deeply. It’s hot, messy, all teeth and tongues and desperate touches as his cock pressed against your clit. You’re soaking wet, dripping onto the sheets and allowing his cock to glide easily, the fat head bumping against your clit as your legs wrap around him trembling at his sides.

“Koo!” You whine, biting down on his shoulder. Hasty kisses meet his skin as you soothe the pain of your love bite. Your body becomes overwhelmed with pleasure, arching into him as you orgasm, squeezing his fingers until they’re soaked beyond his wrist.

Jungkook cries out your name, lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss that swallows his moans and groans as he cums all over your cunt. His hips rock against you until he’s well spent, cock too sensitive to go on.

“Shit!” He breathes as he lies beside you with his arm over his head.

You’re warm and sticky beside him, his cum coating your skin generously. Jungkook kisses your cheek as he pulls you to him, using his other hand to fix his boxers.

He doesn’t like the way they cling to him and he’ll be sure to clean himself up as well as you before you go to sleep.

Silence fills the space between you as you stare at each other with bashful smiles and gentle touches. Jungkook kisses your lips softly, his fingers caressing your cheek.

“I really do like you, ya know,” he admits, and it sends your heart soaring into the heavens.

You bite back a giant grin as you lace your fingers together. “I really like you too.”

Jungkook blushes, kissing you once more before he climbs out of bed to get cleaned up. He assures you he’ll be back in a few minutes and he cleans you up with a warm washcloth and helps you to the bathroom.

Once you’re both in bed again, he snuggles into you. His fluffy hair splays on your chest as he snores softly. You smile to yourself as you hold back a yawn.

Jungkook sleeps soundly as you stroke his hair, hoping this can be more than just pretend.

Christmas Eve brings a blanket of snow and Seojun and Saraí.

Though you and Jungkook haven’t done more than fool around that one night, you’ve found it hard to keep your hands to yourself.

Seojun, Saraí, and Jungkook took you sledding at one of their favorite spots.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi were already there when you arrived, holding hands with Jungkook.

“Where are Joon and Seokjin?” You ask as you hide your face from the wind on Jungkook's shoulder. He laughs as he tightens your scarf and kisses your head.

“They went to pick up Hoseok at the train station. Hoseok’s parents are busy prepping for Christmas Eve dinner, and his sister is bringing someone home,” Jimin explains as he hands his sled to Taehyung to take a turn.

“Sounds serious,” Yoongi comments with a sly grin.

“My parents keep asking when I’ll bring someone home,” Jimin sighs. “Are you free next Christmas?”

Jungkook scoffs. “As if.”

“Not you.” Jimin rolls his eyes before saying your name.

Yoongi laughs as Taehyung comes back.

“I don’t think passing me around as a fake girlfriend is what your parents mean, Min,” you shake your head as you take the sled from Taehyung.

Jimin shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

Jungkook glares at him before you tug him away to the top of the hill. He helps you onto the sled before he gets on behind you and pushes. You scream and close your eyes as you go down, laughing when you come to a stop moments later.

“Wanna go again?” Jungkook grins as he helps you up. You shake your head as you pat the snow off your clothing.

“I’m good,” you laugh. “Once was enough.”

The trek back up the hill is rough as you stomp in the snow to reach your friends. Jungkook hands the sled to Yoongi as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder.

Despite admitting to liking each other, you haven’t talked to determine what that means. For one, you kind of like this limbo you’re in where you’re not not together but also not truly faking either.

At one point or another, you’ll have to have that conversation, but it’s Christmas Eve, and Jungkook looks too cute with his giant snowball.

Oh, no.

He’s heading toward you and Jimin. This is what happens when you get lost in thought. Jimin grabs your hand and pulls as Yoongi and Taehyung run in the opposite direction.

Jungkook cackles as he chases after you and Jimin. The snowball rises high in the air as he shouts, “Come get your Christmas gift, Park!”

Luna herds the family up the stairs later that night when she’s ready for bed.

Jungkook and you wear your matching pajamas. An evening of food, laughter, and photos has drained you as you go up the stairs after Minji and Luna.

Jungkook keeps his hand on your lower back, guiding your sleepy self up the stairs and down the hall.

“Goodnight, honey,” Minji kisses Jungkook’s cheek and then yours.

You smile as you climb into bed with Jungkook beside you. His mood lamp is on, and you’re grateful for the pink stars that light the ceiling. Even at your age, you’re still a little scared of the dark.

“What’s on your mind?” Jungkook asks as he rolls to his side to face you.

You face him, your fingers laced with his.

“I’m just really glad I came to your home for the holidays. It’s been amazing. You, your family, everything has been perfect.” you smile warmly as he brings your knuckles to his lips to kiss gently.

“I’m glad you came. I know this whole thing has been a little odd, but getting to know you and being here with you has been the best part of this Christmas.” Jungkook pecks you on the lips, unable to control the smile that lights up his face.

Your gaze holds his, the sparkle in his eyes making you fall for him a little more as they grow brighter with each passing second.

“Kiss me,” you whisper as you lean in closer, and he closes the distance between you with his lips. They’re soft and taste like strawberry chapstick when they brush against your lips. You break apart for a moment, his eyes revealing more than you want to speak of now.

Instead, you whisper, “Kiss me again.”

Slowly, Jungkook kisses you again. He cups your face while you tug on his shirt, quickly removing it from him.

His breathy laugh brushes your skin as he noses at your throat. “Eager?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, climbing on top of him as his hands grip your hips.

Jungkook groans at your words, licking his lips as you take your top off to discard on the bedroom floor. Your fingers make quick work of your bra and soon you’re left topless and horny on top of him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses as he gets an eyeful of your breasts and nearly drools as his hands move upwards to cup them in his hands. You moan his name when his fingers brush the sensitive nipples, making them peak.

As much as he loves seeing you on top, Jungkook wants to take his time with you. This was a turn of events he wasn’t expecting, otherwise, he would have waited for your first time together to be at his place, in private where you could scream his name as loud as you wanted.

However, he won’t pass up the chance to have you. You’ve had such a hard time keeping your hands off each other even around your friends. Stealing kisses and sneaking off to make out in dim hallways and busy restaurant alleys. Light touches under tables, lustful looks shared across the room until you could sneak off together and kiss as if your lives depended on it.

If Jungkook could do this all over again, he would. Only he’d make you his from the get-go. But that’s a thought for another time as your hands glide up his torso, moaning at the sight of him.

“Jungkook,” his name tumbles so sweetly from your kiss-swollen lips.

His breath fans across your face as he chuckles. His dark locks create a curtain between you. Slowly, your fingers push his hair out of the way to find his sparkling eyes locked on yours. You melt beneath him as he kisses you.

Your hands grip his strong shoulders as your legs wrap around his hips to pull him close. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness, teeth nipping your bottom lip before releasing it.

Jungkook kisses his way down to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin until his name fills the bedroom. You cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but he’s quick to remove it.

With lust-filled eyes, you watch as he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each fingertip until he’s kissing your palm and moving upwards.

Jungkook wants to take his time with you. Show you his appreciation from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. He knows you’ll only let him do so much before you beg for more, more, more…

Like clockwork, your fingers thread through his hair directing his lips to yours as you kiss him with everything you’ve got. He moans against your lips, cursing when you tug on his bottom lip.

Your hands move downward across the massive expanse of his back, each muscle rippling beneath your touch as you arch into him. Your hips grind against him, the thin material of your shorts already soaking wet with your arousal.

Jungkook nearly growls when he feels it, cock throbbing in the next moment. He hikes your leg up higher on his waist, his hand grabbing your ass as his lips feverishly seek yours.

Gasps and moans fill the space between you in between hot, needy kisses that make your toes curl. Panting, you beg him for more as his hands tug your shorts off to toss on the bedroom floor; forgotten until morning.

You lay bare beneath him as he sat back on his haunches. His hands lace with yours, a soft bashful smile on his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes never straying from yours as he leans in for a kiss.

Jungkook’s had enough teasing. His hands grip your thighs, cursing when he feels your wetness on your skin. He slowly rubs your clit, his dark hooded gaze on yours.

“Fuck, baby,” he curses as he moves his fingers downward and slowly slides them inside you. He watches you closely; loves the way your eyes flutter shut and your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he curls his fingers and rubs your clit with his thumb.

“Kook,” you moan when he goes faster, slipping a little deeper just to watch you tremble. “Fuck me.”

You’re tired of waiting. You’ve wanted this since before you shared your first kiss and now being naked in his bed is becoming too much. You’ve dreamed of this time and time again and it’s about to become a reality if Jungkook can stop teasing you and just split you open.

You’ll beg, plead, and cry if you have to just for a taste of him. Just for a moment of sweet bliss.

“Please,” you beg as your hands palm over his cock in his pajama pants. You’re quick to tug them downward and Jungkook laughs at your excitement. He gets off the bed to kick them off and your mouth waters at the sight of his thick cock as he wraps his hand around it and strokes it.

You bite your bottom lip, watching him intently until you’re getting on your knees and crawling to the edge of the bed.

Jungkook groans when your hand wraps around his length. Your tongue licking the head teasingly. His gaze burns into the top of your head as your lips wrap around him. You relax your jaw as you take him in further, drooling all over yourself as you remind yourself to breathe through your nose.

He feels heavy on your tongue as you open wider. His hands grip your hair hesitantly before you pull off him.

“Don’t be scared,” you giggle. “I won’t break.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans as you wrap your lips around him once again. He lets you find your pace, not pushing too deep before he’s guiding you. Your hand rolls his balls while the other strokes him.

“Just like that. Fuck,” Jungkook throws his head back, the mood lamp illuminates the room, accentuating the veins in his neck, and he curses again. You moan around him, slurping as you get messy, bobbing up and down, gagging on his fat cock while Jungkook loses his mind over your pretty lips.

He pulls on your hair, using it to fuck your mouth until your nose presses to his abdomen. You choke, pulling off him to catch your breath.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Jungkook tongues his lip ring as he takes you in. You’re breathing heavily trying to catch your breath. Your hair is mussed from him tugging on it, and your lips are smeared with spit and his pre-cum. You look beautiful.

Jungkook leans forward, kissing you. All teeth and tongue, unable to resist how gorgeous you look in that moment.

It’s not too long before you’re back on the bed with your legs spread wide open for him, begging for his cock once again.

“So needy,” Jungkook coos as he strokes himself, the fat head of his cock brushing your clit.

“Please,” you whimper, trying to raise your hips in hopes that he’ll just slide right in. “Fuck.”

Jungkook bites his lip. He’s never seen anyone so desperate for his dick. It makes him throb as he teases your entrance and a whine of his name escapes you, nails digging into his back.

“Don’t make me find someone else,” you huff.

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he kisses your jaw, trailing upward to your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth.

“They can’t fuck you as good as I will,” he laughs cockily.

You arch into him, lips meeting his in a needy kiss as he slides into you. The stretch is wonderful. Stars illuminate your vision as Jungkook’s lips muffle the moan that threatens to wake the whole house.

The two of you have managed to keep the noises down to a reasonable level but Jungkook knows his luck might run out if he gets too carried away. Shit, he should have waited until he had you to himself at his apartment or even your dorm.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. Or I’ll have to stop,” Jungkook whispers as he sinks in further. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

“No, please don’t stop. Koo,” you press your lips to his shoulder as he goes deeper, gripping your thighs with his large hands. He settles between your legs perfectly, cursing at the ceiling at how warm and wet you feel wrapped around him. It’s better than he could have ever imagined.

Jungkook grabs both of your legs, throwing them over his left shoulder as he pummels into you.

Tears flow down your cheeks. The pleasure is too overwhelming, lighting your body ablaze with each deep thrust that rewards you.

“So tight,” Jungkook grunts as his hair falls over his eyes. He pushes it back with his tattooed hand before moving it down to grope your breast, his fingers rolling your nipple just to listen to the sweet cries that escape you.

You tighten around him, soaking his cock as you cover your mouth with your hand.

Jungkook smiles, fucking you deeper, harder. Your cunt clings to him, thighs shaking as he holds your legs to his chest. His lips press a kiss to your calf before you dig your nails into the sheets beneath you, beyond ruined.

The creaking of the mattress is louder than Jungkook would like, but you look like you’re about to combust. His name leaves your lips in quick succession, nearly panting as tears roll down your cheeks, leaving behind stains as you bite your hand to keep from screaming his name as you tighten around him when you cum.

Jungkook fucks you slower, eyes focused on where your bodies connect. He waits for you to calm down, leaning forward to kiss your lips.

“Can you go for one more?” Jungkook asks in between kisses, your tongue meeting his as he cups your face.

“Yes,” you answer honestly, wanting more of him.

Jungkook kisses you one more time, moaning into the kiss as you clench around his cock. He nearly growls when you do it again, moving your hips against his.

“Let me get you on your hands and knees, darling,” Jungkook says as he pulls out of you and you whine at the loss.

Jungkook chuckles. “Easy, doll. You’ll have my ego growing bigger.”

You laugh, flipping him off. Jungkook laughs, leaning forward to gently nibble on your finger before you rip it out of his mouth.

Smirking, Jungkook helps you onto your knees as you plant your hands on the bed, arching your back.

Jungkook runs his tattooed hand over your back, gently slapping your ass just to watch it jiggle. He couldn’t lie, seeing you in jeans made his mouth water and there were a few times he had to excuse himself after staring at it for too long.

“Kook,” you say his name in a wanton tone that makes him melt.

Your eyes lock and he smiles as he grabs your ass in both hands, spreading you open for him. Your face grows hot as you turn around, unable to handle the dark lust-filled gaze he rewarded you with.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any more time as he lines himself up at your entrance, cursing when you welcome him easily.

His hands grip your hips tightly, almost enough to bruise. His name rolls off your tongue. You nearly drool when he reaches places others have only dreamed of.

You're so warm, so wet. It nearly drives him insane as he spears you on his cock. You’re soaking him, absolutely drenching him, and ruining him for anyone else. You’re the only one he wants, the only one he could ever want, and as he throws his head back in pleasure, he loses himself to thoughts he’d only shared with Yoongi.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook growls, gripping your ass as he continues to fuck you. He cards his hand through his hair, feeling sweat bead on his brow as you grow restless and fuck yourself on his dick.

“Just like that, baby. Use me. Use my cock. Fuck,” Jungkook groans as you fuck yourself on him, panting and moaning. He can see you biting down on his pillow, cunt pulsing around him as you scream into the pillow trying to keep quiet.

Jungkook watches you for another moment or two before he’s slamming into you. You cry out, face buried in his pillow as he grabs handfuls of your hips and ass, unable to decide what to use to anchor himself as he fills you again and again.

“Fuck, darling. You feel so good wrapped around me,” Jungkook grunts as his eyes flutter shut. His body tingles all over, and your moans are growing in octaves despite the pillow clenched between your teeth soaked with spit and tears.

The obscene smacking of your coupling is almost too loud but Jungkook can’t be damned to give a single fuck as you clench around him, nearly milking his cock. He moans your name and curses as you tighten around him, moaning incoherently as you orgasm once again. Your poor legs shake as you ride it out, sobbing unintelligibly into the bed as praises you.

“Want to fuck you full of my cum, baby,” Jungkook can’t help himself as he thrusts in deeper. He’s so close. His lip is caught between his teeth as you fuck yourself weakly on his cock, your body still tingling.

“Please, do it,” you spur him on as you clench around him, tempting him.

“Baby!”

“Jungkook!”

“Gonna fill you up until you’re dripping. Gonna fuck it all back into you, baby. Make you think of me all day.” Jungkook curses as you meet each of his thrusts, his fingers finding your sensitive clit as you muffle a wail of his name in your hand.

“Come on, love. Just one more for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook encourages as he nears the edge. He curses, losing himself as he fills you, and you tighten around him, soaking him and the sheets. A whimper escapes you as you fall forward on the bed, utterly spent.

Jungkook exhales deeply as he fills you to the brim before pulling out. He’s tempted to spread your legs and set them on his broad shoulders, lick you clean, and put you to bed.

But you’re spent, eyes barely open as you reach for him.

Jungkook kisses you gently. “Gotta clean you up, babe.”

You groan, legs already feeling sore. Jungkook helps you out of bed. He puts a shirt on you and opens his bedroom door as quietly as possible. He peeks into the hallway, making sure the coast is clear before he leads you to the bathroom.

Jungkook made sure you were steady enough to not fall before he ran to the room to change the sheets and pillowcases. By the time you’re back, he’s in a pair of boxers.

“Get in bed, babe,” he instructs as he helps you in and tucks you in. “I’ll be right back.”

You watch him go, waiting for him and smiling when he comes back a few minutes later with some water. He lets you drink a bit before he gets into bed beside you.

You curl into him, still unsure of what all this means, but you don’t care much when he wraps you up in his arms and holds you close.

“Sleep well, darling.”

Christmas morning passes in a whirlwind of breakfast and movies. Lots of stories from Jungkook’s childhood; few you heard from the man himself and more from his parents. Jungkook grows embarrassed soon, but nothing beats the flush on his cheeks when his mother pulls out the photo albums. Lunch came and passed with more stories and photos as Jungkook hid his face on your shoulder.

It’s not until after dinner that you’re all gathered in the living room with Minji and the Jeons.

“Come here, dear,” Minji pats the spot beside her as she holds a large pink photo album in her lap. One she brought for your arrival.

Jungkook sits on the arm of the couch next to you, curious eyes on the album as Minji opens it and takes out two envelopes.

One she hands to Jungkook and the other to you.

You’re confused. The family had exchanged gifts just after dinner with good wishes and warm coffee and cookies. Wrapping paper and gift bags still littered the living room floor.

“The two of you are so good together,” Minji comments as Jungkook kisses the top of your head. “I had this same talk with Saraí and Seojun when he first brought her home. Same with your father and your mother, and now you.”

Minji places a hand on yours. “I first met Jungkook’s grandfather at the Christmas parade in town. Oh, we couldn’t stand each other one bit!”

Jungkook chuckles as he listens to his grandmother.

“We were assigned the same parade float, and I swear that man was as stubborn as a mule! He wanted goats instead of reindeer, fireworks instead of candles, and he wanted me to be Santa! He said he’d be an elf! He was over six feet tall! An elf!” Minji shakes her head as she points to a photo of her as an elf and who you assume to be Jungkook’s grandfather as Santa.

“I arm wrestled him for it!” Minji exclaims proudly. “In front of his friends, and I won fair and square! I grew up with three brothers.”

You laugh as she turns the page, and Minji sits with her brothers. They all smile in the photo and make silly faces.

“I thought he’d be embarrassed that I beat him. But I got my way. I stood my ground and he claimed that’s when he knew I was the one for him,” Minji continues as she flips the page and runs her fingers over her wedding photo.

Tears pool in your eyes as you look at Jungkook. He looks like he’s about to cry, and guilt fills your chest.

“That man gave me a wonderful life. Beautiful children and cute grandkids. I miss him every day. Stubborn man he was, but there was nothing we couldn’t get through together.” Minji wipes a stray tear before smiling fondly.

“Anyway,” she sniffles as she sets the album on the coffee table.

“I wanted to give you two something special to get you started. I know you haven’t been together for too long, but Jungkook looks at you the way his grandfather looked at me and you the way I looked at him. I know it deep in my soul that you two belong together.” Minji smiles warmly as she takes your hand and Jungkook’s. “Be good to each other.”

You wipe a few tears and look at Jungkook. He opens the envelope, and it holds a photo of a home (not an apartment) with the address written on the back and a small gold key.

You can’t do this.

Not anymore.

The Jeons have welcomed you with open arms and all you’ve done is lie to them. Guilt washes over you in waves as you force yourself not to cry. This is wrong.

You hand the envelope back to Minji before rising to your feet. Your heart pounds in your chest, nearly deafening you as you try (and fail) to steel yourself.

“We lied,” you state, wringing your hands in front of you.

Jungkook frowns as he hands his envelope back to Minji. Guilt bubbles deep in his belly, and he knows this has gone too far. He should have never gone on with this scheme. Conning his grandmother? He felt terrible. He should have told the truth from the beginning.

“We aren’t a couple,” Jungkook admits, feeling the confused stares of his family. “We lied to you all.”

Aera and Dae stare at their youngest son and then at you.

Minji shakes her head.

“I lied,” Jungkook continues as he takes your hand. “She had nothing to do with it. I begged her to help me. I’m so sorry, Grandmother Jeon.”

Seojun stares with furrowed brows as Saraí places her hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t fathom why his little brother would lie.

“I thought Grandmother Jeon would give me an apartment or something if she thought I was seeing someone seriously like Seojun.” Jungkook hangs his head in shame. “The lie kept growing and growing until I was too embarrassed to tell the truth. I never meant to hurt anyone. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not all his fault, Grandmother Jeon,” you said as you squeezed his hand. “I agreed to help. You’ve all been so welcoming, and I didn’t have a place to go for the holidays, and I agreed. We never intended to harm anyone. We’re both so sorry.”

Minji laughs from her seat, surprising Aera and Dae.

“I know all about your little scheme,” Minji laughs, shaking her head as if this were the most comical thing she has witnessed. “Jimin’s grandmother hits the slot machines with me, and that boy sure loves to open his mouth. I’ve known since I arrived, honey.”

“Jungkook! Why would you lie? You know you could have told us anything!” Aera crosses her arms as she scolds her son.

“I just felt pressured,” Jungkook admits, and his mother sinks. “I hadn’t dated in a while, and I know you’d like to see me married like Seojun, but it just seemed like this is what everyone wanted from me.”

“Son,” Dae approaches him, hugging him. ��We know we can be a little pushy, and I promise you will no longer feel pressured to settle down. We just got excited over Seojun. We wanted you to have the same happiness and partnership he and Saraí do.”

“Your father’s right,” Aera nods as she hugs Jungkook. “Oh, my baby! I’m so sorry for pressuring you! I just worry about you being alone so far away.”

“I’m fine, mom. I’ve got friends, and now I have her.” Jungkook reaches for you once his parents release him from their hugs.

Aera hugs you. “I’m so sorry for all this. We enjoy having you here. You’ve made our son and family so happy with your presence. It’s been a joy getting to know you and seeing how happy you’ve made our Kookie.”

You smile, hugging her tight before Minji hands Jungkook the envelope again.

“That’s yours to do as you please,” she states as she hands you your envelope.

You open it and gasp when you see two tickets to a resort you’ve wanted to go to. They’re dated for Spring Break.

“I’ve got a place down there that you’re welcome to visit during your vacation, but Jimin’s grandmother and I will be busy partying.”

“Mother!” Dae exclaims in shock.

“What? I’m old enough to drink! I’ve been old enough to drink.” she shakes her head with a laugh.

“I can’t accept this.” you try to return it, but Minji won’t take it.

“No takebacks!” She grins as she rises from the couch, and Luna follows her, yapping at her ankles.

“Should we go see the Christmas lights?” Seojun suggests as he rises to his feet and helps Saraí.

The family heads out to join the rest of the neighborhood on a walk. Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin join you as you let your families go on ahead without you.

“How’d it go?” Hoseok asks as he shivers, his ears peeking from his beanie.

“Yeah,” Seokjin grins. “Did you get the apartment?”

“Did the plan work?” Taehyung questions.

“Yes,” you say with a wry smile.

“And no.” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Huh?” Yoongi furrows his brows.

“Jimin needs to learn that gossiping with your grandmother can bite you in the butt!” Jungkook hisses as he laces his fingers with yours.

Jimin pales, turning his head and whistling to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah, Min!” You agree with a laugh as Jungkook kisses your cheek.

“I thought she’d forget!” Jimin defends as he gets playfully shoved by his friends. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you continue to walk, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting on the snow.

“Oh no,” you giggle. “Jimin’s grandmother told Grandmother Jeon.”

“And she knew the moment she stepped into the house,” Jungkook sighed with a shake of his head.

“Whoops!” Jimin laughs.

“So much for ‘Con Jungkook’s Grandma, huh?” Namjoon sighed as a chill ran through him. His scarf fluttered in the light wind as snowflakes fell from the sky.

“Shut up!” Jungkook laughs as he stops to form a snowball.

Seokjin laughs, pulling Yoongi with him as they run away from Jungkook.

Hoseok and Jimin slam into each other in their haste to escape the ricocheting snowball that smacks Namjoon in the chest.

Namjoon curses, forming a snowball as Taehyung runs away, following Yoongi and Seokjin, begging them to protect him.

You laugh as you take off, running with Jungkook as Namjoon hurls a snowball in your direction.

Laughter fills the streets of the neighborhood as more people join the snowball fight while you jog away with Jungkook, holding hands as you hide behind a tree for cover.

You’re pressed to his chest, peeking to see if you’ve been discovered yet, but being so far away from everyone just means silence surrounds you.

The evening is quiet as snow continues to fall, and Jungkook wraps his scarf around you to keep you warm. You’re wearing matching coats, hands warm in your gloves as he pulls you closer.

Everything fades into nothingness as his gaze meets yours. His hand is gentle when he cups your face. His gaze flits to your lips and back to your eyes.

“You know this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Jungkook whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper as you hold his gaze.

“There’s only one thing that would make it better,” Jungkook smiles softly.

“And what’s that?” You ask as you bite your bottom lip.

“If you were mine,” Jungkook said with a dimpled smile. “For real this time.”

“I think I can make that happen,” you tease with a coquette smile. “But only with a kiss.”

Chuckling, Jungkook cups your face. “As you wish, baby.”

Jungkook captures your lips with his own, moaning when your fingers thread in his hair. He kisses you deeply as snowflakes coat your hair and his.

There’s nothing better than kissing Jungkook, your boyfriend. The word makes your heart skip a beat as he deepens the kiss, soft moans escaping the both of you as your lips move in sync.

Jungkook can’t help but be elated. His heart flutters as he realizes this is your first Christmas together. The first of many. He can see his future in your eyes—a home, a marriage, and children running down these streets covered in snow and Christmas lights.

There’s nothing more he could ever want.

When he catches your gaze, a bashful smile appears on your lips as you ask, “What?”

Jungkook shakes his head slightly, “Nothing. Just thinking about next Christmas.”

“Oh, will I be back?” You ask cheekily as he pulls you closer, the laughter of your friends ringing in the background as they grow closer.

“Definitely.” Jungkook seals his promise with a kiss just as your friends arrive, hooting as they circle you.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Namjoon huffs. “Momma Jeon’s got hot chocolate and cookies waiting for us.”

You laugh as Jungkook takes your hand, smiling as his friends race down the sidewalk to be the first on Momma Jeon’s porch. You smile, imagining all your Christmases like this, with your friends and Jungkook at your side.

Before you reach his home, Jungkook stops you just beneath the door frame before pointing up. Mistletoe hangs above your head, and you share a smile. Jungkook gently places his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing it as he whispers, “Merry Christmas.” before he kisses you.

<< part one

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader insert #bf!jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fake dating au #bts christmas #fic: hfth #fic: home for the holidays

2K notes · View notes

padmesweetheart · 3 months ago

Text

Caught in 4K

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Young Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Domestic Chaos

Word Count: ~2,100

1/5 of the Hayden Vs Ring Camera series

Harold makes a comeback

It started out like a normal morning.

You were at work, sipping lukewarm coffee from the world’s saddest vending machine, minding your own business, when your phone pinged with a Ring notification.

Motion detected: Front Porch — 9:12 a.m.

You tapped it absentmindedly, expecting to see the mail carrier or maybe Harold the donkey getting too close to the steps again.

Instead… oh.

Oh.

You watched in real-time horror as your husband—your tall, once-dignified, formerly Jedi husband—stepped outside in his usual “morning farm chores” attire (read: boxers, hoodie, socks, no shame), holding a bag of feed in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

You’d warned him about those steps a dozen times. “They get slick with morning dew,” you said. “Be careful,” you said.

But did he listen?

Of course not.

In stunning high-definition, you watched Hayden Christensen take one confident step onto the porch… and immediately bust his ass.

Like, full wipeout. Legs up, arms flailing, coffee airborne like a dramatic slow-mo explosion in an action movie.

He landed flat on his back with an audible THUD, the bag of feed bursting beside him like a pillow fight gone wrong.

You gasped—then clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud in the breakroom.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself, rewinding the footage because yes, it was that good. You even screen-recorded it. For safety. For insurance. For….blackmail.

Just as you were about to text him and check if he was alive (after laughing a little longer), he beat you to it.

Hayden:

I’m fine.

In case the ring camera ratted me out

Don’t ask how I know. I felt it.

You wheezed into your coffee.

When you got home that evening, you walked through the door with the kind of innocent smile that was way too innocent.

Hayden was sprawled dramatically on the couch with an ice pack under his back, hoodie half-zipped, hair tousled like a man who’d been in a bar fight with gravity.

You dropped your bag and crossed your arms. “So… how’s your tailbone?”

He squinted at you. “How many times have you watched it?”

You didn’t even try to lie. “Four.” Pause. “Okay, six.”

He groaned and threw a pillow over his face. “This is how I die. Not from the fall….from the shame.”

You flopped onto the couch beside him, pulling the pillow off just enough to kiss his forehead. “You really went down like Bambi on ice, babe.”

“That was not Bambi. That was full Wile E. Coyote. There was….. hang time.”

“I was gonna say… you were in the air longer than I thought physics would allow.”

He peeked at you through one eye. “You screen record it?”

“…No.”

“Liar.”

You grinned and snuggled into his side, gently rubbing his chest like you were soothing a wounded war hero. “Don’t worry. I’ll only show it to our future kids, the neighbors, and your agent.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m in love.”

He sighed dramatically. “At least let me edit in cool sound effects first. Like, when I fall, it goes ‘WAAHHH—bonk.’”

You snorted. “Deal.”

A beat of silence passed, and then, with absolutely no shame, you whispered,

“…You did a full mid-air starfish, babe. I’ve never been prouder.”

He buried his face in your lap and groaned, “Take me out back like Harold. I can’t live like this. Put me in the barn”

Taglist: @skyguytoast @dessxoxsworld

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagines #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader #Hayden VS Ring Camera Series 📸#hc imagines

240 notes · View notes

ruesol · 8 months ago

Text

Gojo is your insufferable boss who is also in love with you.

Note: female bodied reader, reader is referred to as princess at one point, angst to fluff, they argue in the end but all is well. This is NOT proof read so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. I’m still in the process of editing it.

Edit: this is an old fic. Excuse the corniness and grammar mistakes

Word count: 2.8k

-•-

Click clack

Gojo was counting down the steps of your echoing heels from the other end of the corridor. His heart stirred as he took in your attire- pencil skirt, crisp blouse without a single crease, and a simple smart watch adorning your wrist. In your hand, you were holding your bag for the day and Gojo’s iPad that you used to organize his plans.

His smile grew as you approached closer. He knew that crushing on his assistant was unethical, but could he really help himself? The way your tone changed when you’d find out about him skipping important meetings just made you seem more irresistible to him. It didn’t help that you had the kind of beauty that was seen born once every century (in his humble opinion).

It was obvious that Gojo had a thing for people that commanded attention and authority. Except you didn’t see yourself as that kind of person.

“Good morning, dear.” The cheeky CEO was grateful to be wearing shades in doors because who knows what you would’ve said if you found out that he was checking out how your breasts looked in that blouse. “Good morning, sir.” He inwardly groaned at the term. You oblivious that you were undeniably attractive to this man.

The entire day he would only stare at you. During meetings with potential investors, he’d ask for your opinion out of the blue, catching you and the the attendees by surprise. It was said behind closed doors that you were the true head of the company as Gojo always asked you first before making any important decisions. It irked many of his clients but they knew the man grew up spoilt.

It angered female employees to see that you were getting special attention from him. You even had your own coffee machine by your desk because he didn’t want you to go all the way to the employee break room. He would even send his chauffeur to pick you up if you called in about the train being too late. Of course, he’d be in the car too. He doesn’t want you alone with any man for too long.

However, there were negative aspects of receiving his undivided attention too. He’d make you stay late at the office for extra paperwork, so you would both end up working together and even sleeping on the employee couches at times. He would always call you at lunch time to eat and work with him, often letting your homemade lunch go to waste. And last but not least, he would make you work with him during all his recreational and wellness retreats because he couldn’t stay in the office for longer than a week.

You were exhausted and you wanted to quit to pursue your long term goal of starting your own small business. As gorgeous as he was to look at, he was a chore to work for. All you needed was an excuse.

Unfortunately, you had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even know it.

Which is why you were surprised when he asked you out on a date. And he was even more surprised when you declined.

“Why not, princess?” It was 12 am and this man was on your doorstep, drunk and on his knees. He had discarded his usual suit jacket and his shirt had two buttons unbuttoned from the top. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was a mess, almost like he had been running his hands through them all night. He looked like the definition of a drunkard.

“For one, sir, you are my boss and second, you are drunk. It is obvious that you are not well.” You had taken care of him when he was drunk before but it mainly involved dropping him off at this apartment after he had one too many drinks at a hotel bar. Never a situation where he would come to your place by himself.

“Then I’m firing you.” He slurred, eyes glossy from the tears of rejection.

“Sir, please, this is after work hours and I would like to sleep on time for at least one night. I don’t know how you got here, but I’m calling your chauffeur.”

“No! Don’t call Ijichi! Just give me 5 minutes and I’ll leave. I need to tell you how I feel.”

You sigh and nod. Your patience was running out but you decided to listen to the poor man. He stood up (still slightly wobbly), rested one arm against your door frame and leaned in dangerously close to your face to the point where you could smell the Pinot noir on him.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were going to be my wife. I knew I couldn’t let you go.” His glossy eyes bore into yours as his eyebrows furrowed. You could tell he was feeling particularly rough today.

“You know what kind of a man I am. I have no discipline. I’m rash. I’m a flirt. But you-“ he lifted his finger and pointed it right above your chest.

-you straighten me up. I felt like a fucking loser. I had no direction but when I’m with you, I feel like I have nothing to lose.” Your seething anger was replaced with curiosity. Why was he having all these feelings for you out of all people?

“You have no idea how much I like you. I’ve had to pinch myself to not kiss you when you tell me to take my meds on time.” Your eyes widened at his words.

“I’ll make you happy I promise.” He whined as he toppled on to you. His legs had finally given out. You huffed and puffed as you dragged the 6 foot something man to your couch. After sending a quick text to Ijichi, you handed him a glass of water. “Ijichi will be here soon, sir.”

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me. Let me finish!” He began whining again. You sighed as you sat next to him. He took that as a sign and leaned his head against your shoulder. You didn’t have the energy to complain so you let him stay there. “You’re one of the only people who is honest with me. Everyone tells me what I want to hear but you tell me what I need to hear. Thank you.” You could hear him slur a few more confessions before he fell asleep.

You couldn’t help but think about how lonely it must have been to live life like that. To rely on your assistant because no one else seem trustworthy.

You would be lying to yourself if you said that Gojo didn’t provide you with any sense of companionship. But at the end of the day, he was your boss and you were just an employee. It was wrong and unethical.

So why are you letting him sleep on your shoulder?

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out to scratch his head. His hair feels softer than it looks (courtesy of all the hair treatments he invests in. You would know since you’re the one who schedules them). His arms suddenly wrap around you and you’re stuck in one position.

As wrong as it was, it felt like the two of you were destined to be this close to one another. The warmth his body gave you was like any other and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way his muscular arms fit around you.

“Just tonight.” You whispered to yourself, hoping that Ijichi would take his sweet time driving to your place.

The next day at work was the same as usual. You walked in, greeted Gojo, gave him his hangover medicine, he thanked you as he downed another large cup of coffee, told him about his plans for the day and you went back to your desk.

However, there was a certain shift in Gojo’s energy. He wasn’t directly looking at your face nor was he making the same flirty remarks he usually made. You had a feeling that Ijichi might have filled him in on the details from the previous night (you didn’t tell the man about Gojo confessing to you so you were hoping that Gojo himself didn’t remember anything).

And lucky for you, for the first time in a while, he hadn’t forced you to work during lunch. It was the perfect time to hand in your two weeks notice. He was away on some personal business and wouldn’t return until a couple hours later so you emailed him your resignation.

You walked into his office and left a white envelope.

An hour later, you could see all your colleagues rush into their work spaces. There was still half an hour left before lunch ended. “What’s going on?” You asked Ino Takuma from Logistics. “Gojo’s mad. I don’t know why but everyone’s scared because nobody has ever seen him like this.”

You had a feeling that it was because of you. A few minutes later, you could hear him stomp through the hallway toward your office. You immediately stood up and bowed to greet him.

“Good afternoon, si-“

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His tone was sharp and his voice was deeper than usual.

“One minute I’m getting a suit fitted and the next I find out that you don’t want to work for me?” He sounded betrayed. You almost felt bad what you were doing but you knew you couldn’t handle the mental stress of working for him.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to his office. Usually you’d be standing across his desk but he stood you in front of the panoramic window. “Look, I’m sorry for last night, that was wrong of me. Hell, I’ll never drink again. I might’ve accidentally told your address to the taxi driver because Ijichi picks you up all the time but I swear it won’t happen again.”

You inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t remember.

“Do I not pay you enough?”

“It’s not that, sir.”

He started pacing around the office now.

“Are you getting married?”

“I don’t have the time to date, let alone get engaged.”

“I see, I see. Loan sharks after you? I can pay them off for you.”

“Sir, it is none of the reasons you have stated. It’s personal and I would like to start with the hiring process for your next assistant as soon as possible.”

“But why?! What’s so bad about me that you want to quit?” He whined and you were reminded of the previous night’s events.

“I don’t have enough time for myself because of this job. I’d like a break from the work force.” You reluctantly answer him. You knew he would keep pressing until you nudged so you decided to give him what he wanted anyway. His spoilt nature won again.

“I can just hire a second assistant, take all the vacation days you need and just come back to work.”

“Sir, that would be unfair and unethical.”

“You don’t get it, you’re the best I’ve ever had.” He said as he walked towards you. “I don’t think I’ll find anyone like you again.” For moment, it felt like he was saying what was in his heart. His big blue eyes were tantalizing to stare at. You could clearly see his pupils dilate. How could you not realize that he wanted you sooner?

However, you couldn’t let your heart tremble at his unintentional seduction so you used your most professional voice. “There are many dedicated individuals out there. And I’m sure I’ll find someone even more capable.” You smiled.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to compile a list of potential assistants.” You said as you walked past Gojo. His heart sunk as he saw you leave his office. He was going to find a way to keep you whether you liked it or not.

He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed the number of his best friend/lawyer.

“Gojo, you son of a bitch, wouldn’t you be able to date her if she resigned?” Gojo’s lawyer, Geto Suguru, said through the phone. The man had decided to use the law to keep you with him. “Yeah but, now is the easiest time for me to show her that I can take care of her! Find a way!” The lawyer groaned and hung up. He could only take so much of Gojo’s tantrums.

Gojo decided on the next best thing to dig deeper into the exact reason why you didn’t want to stay with him.

He walked out of his office and called you out. You got up in your seat and bowed to him. “You’re staying late today.” He commanded and went back into his office.

Great. Overtime.

You were sitting with your laptop on one of the couches in Gojo’s office while he was signing a few papers on his desk. You groaned because your back hurt from sitting in an uncomfortable position for hours on end.

“Get used to it. It’s gonna be like this for two weeks. I’m behind on a new acquisition.”

You ignored him. You had two weeks left till ultimate freedom so you didn’t want to sour your mood by clapping back.

A few minutes later, an agitated Gojo walked towards you and stood right in front of you, commanding attention. He was almost like a child when he wanted something. “Your boss is standing in front of you and you’re choosing to ignore him?”

“I’m doing what my boss wants me to do- work.” You failed at clapping back. So much for being at peace.

His hand pulled your laptop away and he put it on his desk. To say that you were annoyed was an understatement. You were sleep deprived, hungry, dehydrated, and in pain and this man wasn’t letting you cater to any of it.

He plopped himself next to you and folded his arms. Staring at you. You stared back at him. This moment felt like deja vu, reminding you of the night before.

“What are you gonna do once you leave the company?”

“Do you really care?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to start my own business. I have a lot of ideas but first I’m gonna look for space to rent.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because, my dear assistant, I own more than half the commercial spaces in this city. You will eventually be working for me anyway.”

Of course he did. Being such an influential man came with the perks of having so many properties. You were bound to run into him and you forgot to factor that in. And unfortunately enough, you didn’t have enough funds to move to another city.

You stood up. “I think I need some water.” But before you could leave Gojo’s office, he stood up and pinned your arms against a wall.

“Quit playing games with me, Y/N.” His hands moved down to your wrists and held them firmly. “You’re unbelievable. You’re never gonna leave me alone, are you?” You asked him.

“Darling, I know you want me too. I didn’t forget what happened last night. The way your hands moved against my hair said a lot.” His usual smirk was gone and he looked serious.

You couldn’t believe he manipulated you. Oh who were you kidding? You should’ve seen it coming.

“You’re an insufferable man. You’re spoilt, conniving, scheming, obsessive and-“ you couldn’t go on because Gojo planted his lips against yours.

At first you were angry. How could this man just shut you up with a kiss but a second later your body began reasoning with you as you leaned into him.

“And somehow you put up with this spoilt man, didn’t you? Working for him for years and seducing him so easily.” He whispered against your lips. You could only look away but he was quick to find your lips again, this time, taking his sweet time to enjoy the feeling. His mouth worked slowly against yours as he swallowed your moans. His tongue licked your bottom lip and he used his thumb to pull down your chin so he could explore your mouth.

His other hand went around your waist, pressing you further into him.

Your hands move from his chest to grab his face to pull away.

“This still doesn’t mean that I’m going to keep working as your assistant.” You breathe out.

“Works for me, no code of conduct violated.” He said as he stared down at your swollen lips. His ego swelled because he knew that he was the reason behind it.

You were starting to look forward to overtime.

-•-

Idk what I did with the ending 🗿

P.S. you cannot tell me this clip doesn’t scream Gojo

#gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo fluff #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk au #jjk fluff #jjk

423 notes · View notes

obfuscateyummy · 12 days ago

Text

Only the Young.

Hi. Sorry this has taken me forever to get out. I'm back with another installment of the Welcome to the Pitt series. Please join me for a time jump a few years.

I am not the best at warnings, so if I missed something PLEASE let me know. Mentions of death (no main characters). Mass Shooting. School Shooting (guns suck, people suck). Mentions of Mental Health struggles (please babies take care of yourselves and if you need an ear my inbox and message are always open <3). Takes place in the future (Fall/Winter 2026). Probably medical inaccuracies (All medical knowledge is from medical dramas staring one (1) Noah Wyle. and the Google machine). Title of the fic is from the Taylor Swift song Only The Young. This was a lot more bloody, and detailed events of lucy's day in my head - but the teacher in me couldn't bring it to life

Michael "Robby" Rabinovich x F!ED Dr. Wife. Lucy - Age 5 Twins - Age 1

You splashed some water on your face and ran your hands over it as you looked in the bathroom mirror. You were barely even halfway through your shift, and you already lost count of how many codes you had ran. Your husband kept track - it was 6. You walked out of the bathroom and caught his eye.

He knew that look on your face. Pure exhaustion. He signed as he watched you sit down to type your patient notes. He went into the staff lounge and poured you a cup of coffee, just the way you liked it. He exited and walked over to you.

“Hey, thought you might need this,” he said as he sat the cup next to you.

You smiled at him. “Thanks,” you said as you took a drink.

“Didn’t have time to run to the cafeteria and get you an iced one. I’ll order one if you want.”

You were surely lucky to have the best husband in the world. “Crappy lounge coffee is fine, thanks baby.”

“If either of them don’t sleep tonight, I’ll stay up,” he offered, as he leaned on the table in front of you.

You were up the entire night with your son, who was going through a 12-month sleep regression. Your youngest daughter had gone through one just two weeks ago. Thankfully, they didn’t go through it at the same time. “As long as Mikey doesn’t scream his head off the minute he realizes I’m out of the room,” you said as you threw your head back and closed your eyes.

Michael chuckled. “He’s a mama’s boy, just like his namesake of a father. Besides, Cami does the same thing when I leave the room.” The twins had been that way since the day they were born. “At least Lucy didn’t care which one of us was with her.” Michael said.

You chuckled, “She still doesn’t care which one of us is with her. She just wants attention. Between the twins and her starting kindergarten, she misses us.”

Michael nodded.

“Gotta go check on my patient in South 20,” you said as you stood up. “Thanks again for the coffee, baby,” you said as you both stood. You got on your tiptoes to reach his cheeks to give him a quick kiss.

You were barely down the hall before Dana walked up to him. “Hey Robby, school shooting in our zone, we gotta prepare for code triage protocol.”

“School shooting? What school?” he asked. He didn’t want to worry - but Lucy’s school was in PTMC’s zone.

“Allegheny Central Elementary.” Dana said. His face went white. Michael Robinavitch looked like he just saw a ghost.

“Robby? You okay?” Dana asked.

“Lucy,” he said, his voice a whisper. He didn’t have to say more, Dana realized instantly. “I got to go find Y/n,” he said as he ran towards South 20.

Michael entered South 20 a mess. He had just run through half the Emergency Department. He opened the curtain, causing you to turn around quickly at the sound. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

You glared towards him. He never called you by your first name in front of patients.

“I’m with a patient, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said. There was annoyance in your voice. You were unsure if it was lack of sleep or the fact your husband was acting like you weren’t at work.

“I’m sure your med student can finish up here,” he said pointing to the newest student assigned to you. “Please.”

“Fine,” you huffed as you followed him out. Once out of ear shot of your patient, you started to lay into him. “What the hell, Michael!” you hissed.

“Y/n,” he started but you continued,

“You never call me Y/n in front of patients. What is going on?” You asked. You were angry, furious even. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping your situation any.

“There was-” he started to say, as the intercom went off

“Code Triage - Emergency Department”

You looked up at him for the first time since he busted into the room. Tears in his eyes, panic on his face. You had seen this look a few times before, and it was never good.

“There was a school shooting,” he started to say.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“At Allegheny Central Elementary,” he finished his statement.

“Lucy,” you said as your phone began going off. You reached for it, reading the emergency alerts coming through about the shooting.

“We’re the nearest trauma center…” Michael said, as he gained your attention back.

“I can’t do this,” you said, “I can’t go out there and save lives without knowing if our daughter is okay.”

“And that’s why we have to know she’s okay. She watches everything we do, everything you do. She wants to be a doctor because she wants to be you. She’s always asking us medical questions. Hell, Jack taught her how to make an improvised tourniquet this summer at the cookout. She’s going to be okay. And if she’s not, we’ll save her.” Michael said.

You looked up at him, and all you could think of was the worst possible scenario, “What if we can’t?”

Michael faked a smile, “We will save her.” He looked past you and saw Samira walking in. “Thought you were off today, Mohan.”

“I heard in on the scanner,” she said with a smirk, as Jack walked in behind her.

“Ah guess the old man is rubbing off on you,” you said laughing. The two got together after the Pittfest shooting, with a little help from you and Robby.

“Oh I would say the old man is doing more than that,” Jack said with a smirk, towards you and Michael.

“They don’t want to hear about our sex life, Jack,” Samira said with a giggle, and punched Jack’s arm.

“Hear that, brother? I guess we gotta find a new rooftop topic,” Jack said as he patted Robby on the back as he walked past him, towards Central.

Michael’s face turned beat red. Your eyes shot up to him, as he did everything to not make eye contact with you.

“Do you talk to Jack about our sex life on the roof?” you hissed.

“Nooo….” Michael said. He quickly got you back on topic. “I have to brief the team.”

The two of you began to walk towards Central, where Michael could brief the team about protocol for the chaos that was about to occur in the ER.

“Alright, listen up. There’s been a shooting at Allegheny Central Elementary. We are starting our mass shooting protocol.” Michael said.

Jack began going over each team having a head in an orange vest. You had zoned out. Your eyes fixed on your husband. It was Michael’s turn to speak.

“Red Zone will be our trauma zone. The most critical patients. Dr. Abbot, Dr. Mohan, Dr. R, and myself will be in the Red Zone,” Michael paused as he saw the disapproving look on your face. “Next is the Pink Zone, patients that will die within an hour.”

Exhaustion, Fear, Anxiety were all rushing through your body as you worried about your daughter.

Michael began to continue explaining the different zones that would be. Jack was assisting him at this.

“Call your loved ones now, I guarantee cell service will go down soon,” Michael said. “We meet back here in 5.”

Before everyone dispersed, you ran into the nearest restroom. You broke out into a silent cry you didn’t realize you were holding in. You took a few deep breaths as you pulled out your phone and dialed your mom’s number.

When she answered, you spoke before she could, “Hi Mom.” There was a crack in your voice.

“Hey honey, is everything ok? Aren’t you at work?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m at work, uh, mom, I need you to pick up the twins from daycare,” you said avoiding the question.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” your mom asked.

You took a deep breath, “There was a shooting at Allegheny Central Elementary. We are the nearest-”

Your mom cut you off, “Oh my god! Is Lucy ok?”

Your voice began to crack, again, and tears fell down your face as you spoke, “I-I don’t know. The first round of injuries will be here in a few minutes.” Michael walked into the bathroom as you were speaking. You looked up at him and he took you into his arms. You began to match his breathing as you continued to speak, “I’ll update you when I can. Can you please-”

“Yes, honey, I will go get Michael and Camile. I’ll take them to your house, I’ll make sure there’s something hot for dinner when you guys get home.”

“You’re the best, mom. Thanks,” you said.

“Of course. Thank Michael for calming you down.”

“How?”

“Your entire breathing changed. That’s when I knew he was with you,” she said. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you said as you hung up.

You took a deep breath as you spoke, “Mom’s gonna go get Mikey and Cami and take them to our house. She said she’d make sure to have dinner for us when we get home - if we get home,” you said against Michael’s chest.

“Sounds great,” Michael said, as he rubbed circles in your back.

“She said ‘thank Michael for calming you down.’,” you said.

Michael chuckled, “You can do this, you know.”

You shook your head and pulled away, “I want to know the moment she’s brought in. She’s going to be so scared. Michael, what if she is scared and doesn’t see anyone she knows?”

Michael shook his head, “I requested for Victoria to come down from her psych rotation to do triage.” You smiled at him as he spoke again, “Does that help you?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah that helps a little.”

“Okay, we have to go out. They’re pulling up any minute.” Michael said. As the two of you walked out, you heard the sirens rolling up.

You had tried to black out most of the events occuring. The kids that came in who were crying for their mommy and daddy, the ones who came in unconscious, the two who didn’t make it, the countless adults from the school, teachers, assistants, paras, the secretary, a bus driver, and the 3 of them you couldn’t save. It had been an hour and you felt like you took your first breath since you got the news. Your daughter still hadn’t been brought in, and at this point you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. You went to walk out of the trauma room and were met at the door by your husband, who had a half full and a new bottle of water in his hand.

“Hydrate,” he said as he unscrewed the top of the new water and gave it to you. You took the water and took a drink.

“Thanks, you hear anything about-”

He shook his head as he finished the rest of his water. “Just heard there were more coming in,” he said, as 2 more gurneys came in, “Got a kid and adult. Student and teacher.”

You didn’t register who said it. You took the teacher, Jack took the kid.

You looked at the lady laying on the gurney. You recognize her immediately. Ms. Lopez, Lucy’s kindergarten teacher.

“Robby! Now!” Jack yelled behind you, where he was working on a child just brought in.

You snapped your head behind you, fearing the worst. You saw the kid. A boy. His name was Jason. A kid in Lucy’s class.

“He’s in Lucy’s class, name’s Jason,” you said as Robby went over to assist Jack.

You were elbow deep in blood trying to save Ms. Lopez, who had a bullet to the chest, barely missing her heart.

“Bullet to arm. Responding to pain. Came in with this makeshift tourniquet,” Jack said.

Robby’s eyes quickly landed on the child’s arm. He looked up at you, “Lucy’s sweater,” he whispered.

“Means she’s ok, brother,” Jack said, “And paid attention when I taught her that.”

“And I thought she’d never need it,” Robby said as he gloved up to help Jack.

“Yeah, I hoped she wouldn’t,” Jack said. Jack had seen more than he would ever admit. Jack looked over and saw you struggling, “Go help her save the teacher, tell her goose is ok.” Goose was a nickname Jack had given Lucy.

Robby rushed to help you save Ms. Lopez.

“I need another unit O-Neg,” you yelled as you continued to attempt to stop the bullet wound from bleeding on her right side.

“That’s the third unit,” Perla said to Michael as he walked up across from you, on the other side of Mrs. Lopez, next to Dr. Santos, who was giving her CPR.

“I got it,” you said as you looked up at him. “Go help Jack.”

When your eyes met Michael’s, he could tell you were fighting back tears. “She’s okay,” he said. He wasn’t saying it to be reassuring, he was saying it as a fact.

“You don’t know that,” you hissed. “This is her teacher, Jason is in her class - the shooter was in her-”

Michael cut you off when he spoke, “Jason, he has a makeshift tourniquet above his bullet wound,” Michael said. You looked up at him, “She used her sweater, and some popsicle sticks. Just like Jack taught her.”

“You sure?”

Michael nodded as you spoke again.

“Bleeding stops if I hold pressure right here,” you said.

“Stop compressions,” he said.

“Nothing,” Trinity said as she checked for a pulse.

“Resume compressions,” you said.

Trinity looked at Robby who nodded for Trinity to continue.

“I saw that,” you said glaring at Michael.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he said, “We don’t know how long she’s been down. Mass casualty protocol says..”

“Fuck mass casualty protocol, Robby! She’s our daughter’s teacher. Lucy loves her. I’m not, I can’t.” you looked towards the door and you saw it. You saw Victoria walking in, carrying something - or someone. She was looking around, frantic.

“Dr. Robby, take over applying pressure for me?” you said as he gave you a confused look.

“Stop compressions,” he said.

Trinity stopped compressions, “Got a pulse, faint, but I got it!”

Michael walked over and took over for you. “You okay?”

“Lucy,” you whispered.

“What?” Michael said as he looked around. He missed where Victoria was standing.

You ignored him, as you ripped off your gloves and ran towards Victoria. That’s when she saw you.

“Mommy!” a scream heard through the ER. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief they didn’t know they were holding in. Robby looked up, just as you took Lucy out of Victoria’s arms. Her clothes were covered in blood. You noticed she had a cut on her head, it likely would need sutures, but it wasn’t currently bleeding. You held her close.

“Lucy, my lovebug, you’re okay,” you said as you hugged her close. “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m right here.”

“She came in with the kid and teacher. Most of the blood belongs to the teacher, Lucy was applying pressure to her wound before the paramedics arrived. She wouldn’t come out of the ambulance. She was terrified, she didn’t see anyone she knew. One of the paramedics called me over, and as soon as she saw me..I think you know the rest,” Victoria explained, as she rambled. She does that sometimes, especially when she is nervous.

“Mommy, I was so scared. I tried to help Jason and make a tourn-eequet like Uncle Jack taught me. And I held Ms. Lopez when she was bleeding until the ambulances came, just like you held my knee when I feel off my bike,” Lucy said

You ran your fingers through her hair. “You did so good Lucy, helping people, I’m so proud of you.” You kissed the top of her head and held her like you were never going to let her go.

Dana walked over to where you were holding Lucy, “Hey kiddo. Let’s get you out of the middle of the hallway?” she said leading the two of you over to trauma 2.

“Thanks Dana,” you said as you walked in. She nodded. She knew you would’ve stood there forever with Lucy.

Surgery was ready for the next wave of patients. First, they took up Ms. Lopez. A surgical intern took over for Michael holding pressure on her wound to control the bleeding. Michael ripped off his gloves. He scanned the ER for you and Lucy.

“Trauma 2, Rob,” Dana said as Robby sprinted in that direction.

“Mommy?” Lucy asked as she looked up at you. You had just finished stipping her blood soaked clothes off her, and traded them in for a peds patient gown. She was on your lap as you sat on a gurney.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy is helping save,” you were cut off by Michael walking in the room.

“DADDY!” Lucy screamed as she reached for him.

He sat next to you on the gurney, and Lucy climbed into his arms.

“You okay, bug?” Robby asked as he held Lucy close.

“Yeah. My head hurts, though.” Lucy said as she went to touch the cut on her head.

“Let Daddy take a look,” he said as he looked at the wound, already knowing it would need stitches.

“You’re gonna need a few stitches,” he said.

Lucy frowned as she spoke, “Is it gonna hurt, daddy?”

“I’ll go get some medicine to put on it so it won’t hurt, and mommy will be right here, too,” Michael said.

“You’re doing them?” you asked.

Michael stood as he spoke, “I’m not letting an intern-” Michael said as you cut him off.

“Have Jack do them,” you said as you reached for his hand. He took your hand and looked at you for the first time since entering the room. Exhaustion washed over your face, and tears in your eyes threatened to fall. “Stay, please?”

Michael nodded as he sat back down. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” He pulled you closer to him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. He whispered, “I love you,” as he kissed your forehead. Lucy shifted so she was seated on both yours and Michael’s lap.

“Daddy? Is Ms. Lopez okay?” Lucy asked.

You felt Michael take a deep breath as he spoke, “She was hurt really bad Mommy and I helped her when she was here, she’s in surgery now to help fix her.” He was trying to explain lightly to Lucy how serious Ms. Lopez’s injuries were.

“I held where she was bleeding, to help make it stop,” Lucy told her father. Michael looked into her little brown eyes.

“You did a good job,” Michael said in a soft voice.

“Did you and mommy help Jason too?” Lucy asked.

Michael shook his head, “Uncle Jack helped Jason.”

“I gave him a tourn-eequet like Uncle Jack taught me,” Lucy said.

“You did. Lucy, I am so proud of you,” Michael said as he looked down at her. His own emotions catching up with him and tears forming in his eyes as he talked about the day's events over with his daughter. She didn’t deserve to be put through this. No child deserved to be put through this, ever.

“Is he gonna ok?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.” Michael said. “He’s in surgery to get the bullet out.”

There was a knock and then Jack walked into the room. “Hey, I heard there was a goose in here who needed a few stitches.”

Lucy giggled, “Uncle Jack!”

“Uncle Jack is gonna get you all fixed up, goose.” Jack said, walking over to his unbiological niece.

“I thought daddy was gonna fix it!” Lucy said as she grabbed Michael and buried her face against his chest.

“Bug, It’s okay, Uncle Jack will do a good job..” Michael said as he rubbed Lucy’s back.

“Daddy, I’m scared though!” Lucy said as she started to cry.

“How about your daddy helps me?” Jack suggested. Lucy nodded against Michael’s chest. “You can put on the LET, Rob.”

“Okay, you gotta let me go, so I can help Uncle Jack,” he said.

Lucy shifted her body off Michael and back onto you. You lifted your head off Michael’s shoulder. He stood up and gave you an empathic look as he began to prep to assist Jack with Lucy’s sutures.

He walked back over ready to put LET on Lucy’s wound, as Gloria walked into the room.

“Ah, 3 of my best ED doctors in a trauma room. This better be an important case,” she said.

“Gloria, this is…” you started to say as Robby spoke louder, ignoring Gloria behind him.

“Lucy, Daddy is gonna put some of this on your head, okay? It’s called LET. It’s so you won’t feel anything when Uncle Jack gives you stitches,” Michael said as he looked into his daughter’s eyes.

Lucy nodded and grabbed onto your hand as Michael began to apply the gel to his daughter’s forehead.

“Is this your daughter Dr. Rabinovich?” Gloria asked.

“The oldest, Lucy,” you replied, knowing Michael wasn’t going to answer Gloria. Michael glared at you as you answered.

“Hi Lucy, I’m Gloria,” Gloria said as she extended her hand towards the girl.

Lucy looked up at you and you nodded. Lucy spoke, “Hi,” very softly, but did not extend her hand.

“All done, Uncle Jack is gonna give you some stitches now, okay Lucy?” Michael said. Lucy nodded in response to his question.

“Dr. Rabinovich, can we speak in the hallway?” Gloria asked.

Michael looked at you and you nodded. “Yeah, be right out,” he said as Gloria walked into the hallway. He let out a deep sigh as she left the room. He walked away to dispose of his gloves, and you could tell he was cursing Gloria under his breath. So could Jack.

“Go on, brother, I got her,” Jack said.

Michael looked over, “Thanks, brother.” Michael turned his attention to Lucy, “I’ll be right back, okay bug?” He said walking back over towards you. He moved some of your hair that had been in your face and kissed your head as he walked away. “It won’t be long,” he said.

He exited the room. Gloria spoke before he even shut the door completely behind him. “You know we don’t work on fam-”

“I was just applying LET to her-”

“You were doing it during a mass casualty!” Gloria said.

“Jesus, you don’t stop, do you,” Michael said as he shook his head.

“We don’t take outside patients during-”

It was Michael’s turn to cut Gloria off. “She wasn’t an outside patient! If you cared about your employees, or came down once to help out today, you’d know that!” Michael continued to yell at Gloria, “She is a kindergartener at Allegheny Central Elementary! That teacher, Ms. Lopez, that’s up in surgery? Her teacher. The reason she is in a patient gown is because her clothes were covered in Ms. Lopez’s blood as she applied pressure to her wound until help got there.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Gloria started to say.

“You should be,” Michael said. As he ran his hands over his face. His voice was much calmer when he spoke again. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

Michael sighed, feeling like he was going to regret this. “Coming down here and pretending like you know what’s going on.”

Gloria blinked as she changed the subject, “I take it you are not willing to speak to the media about..”

Michael just shook his head, “I would like to get back to my daughter, who just experienced something she never should have been put through.”

Gloria nodded as Michael re-entered the room.

“All done,” Jack said as he did the last stitch. “Did it hurt, goose?”

Lucy shook her head, “No, thanks Uncle Jack!” Lucy said as she reached her arms out and hugged him.

“Anytime, goose,” Jack said as he hugged her back.

Michael sat on the bed next to you and wrapped his arms around you. “I have to round everyone up, debrief..hand off cases..then we can go,” he said.

“No, no you don’t. I got you, brother.” Jack said. “And before you protest, Samira will work the rest of your shift.” As the words left his words, Samira entered the room.

You smiled, “You guys don’t have to do that, we only have an hour left.”

“It’s never just an hour,” She said, “Peds brought down some clothes for the kids - I grabbed these for Luce.”

“Thank you,” you said, taking the clothes from her and began to change Lucy.

“Surgery took up the last round. We are getting everyone into rooms, or discharging.” Samira said.

Jack nodded, “Okay, I’ll be out soon.”

Samira left the room as Robby stood up and walked over towards Jack. “I can help.”

“No, Robby, my brother,” Jack said as he put his arm around his friend, “She needs you. They both do. Trust me. Go home. Be there for them, and for Ice and Viper too.”

Robby shook his head, “I really wish you wouldn’t give my children nicknames based off characters from Top Gun.” He turned to walk back towards you and Lucy.

“It’s a good movie!” Jack yelled after him, as he left the room.

“Did he call the twins Ice and Viper again?” you asked.

“Yup,” he said as he shook his head.

“Mommy, I’m hungry and I want beanie,” Lucy said. Beanie is her stuffed animal build a bear she got on her 2nd birthday.

“We can go home soon. Did I tell you gamma is there?” you said as Lucy popped her head up.

“Gamma? Is she making meatballs?” Lucy said as she got excited.

“She better be,” Michael mumbled, as he laughed.

Dana walked in with some paperwork. “Discharge paperwork,” she said. “You’re good to go kiddo!”

Lucy hopped off your lap and hugged Dana’s legs, “Thanks Aunt Dana.”

Dana bent down and hugged the little girl. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

Lucy walked back over to you, “Come on, Mommy!” She said as she pulled at your arm. You stood up.

On the other side of the room, Robby and Dana were talking.

“I should have her talk to Kiara,” Robby said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Tomorrow,” Dana said as she put a hand on his back, “Today, tonight, she’s gonna need the two of you, and her little siblings.”

“She rarely wants Cami or Mikey,” Michael said as he shook his head laughing, “Usually, she says ‘Mommy, can you put them back in your belly.’”

Dana laughed too, “Think she gets that sass from the kid.” She spoke as you and Lucy walked up to them hand in hand.

“What’s so funny over here?” you asked.

“Just telling Dana some stories about this one,” Michael said as he bopped Lucy on the nose with his pointer finger. “You ready to go home, bug?”

Lucy laughed, “Ready, daddy!” She said as she held his hand with her free hand.

“See you tomorrow,” Robby said.

“Bright and Early,” Dana said.

“We’ll be here,” you said, as the three of you walked away.

“Bye Aunt Dana!” Lucy yelled back.

Robby stopped to get your backpacks. He handed you yours, and you put it over your shoulder.

The walk home was mostly quiet. Lucy did ask Michael to carry her the minute they crossed the street right in front of The Pitt, which he didn’t object to one bit.

As the three of you walked in, your twins came straight for you. “Cami, Mikey, Mommy missed you both so much today,” you said as you picked them up.

“Ma Ma Ma,” They cooed and babbled back to you.

Michael set her down, and she ran straight for your mom.

“Gamma!” She exclaimed, as she hugged her grandmother.

“Oh Lucy, honey!” your mom said as she hugged her. “I made your favorite.” “Meatballs!” Lucy screamed.

“Of course, and spaghetti,” your mom said as she stood up.

She hugged Michael, then you. Michael took Mikey from your arms, then Cami, and gave his youngest children hugs and snuggles, before you took Cami back. You both sat them in their highchairs, while your mom set the table and plated everyone’s dinner.

At your request, Lucy and the twins slept with you and Michael that night. Cami was the first one asleep, cuddled up against Michael’s neck. Next to fall asleep was Mikey, who fell asleep in the crook of your arm. As soon as the twins were asleep, Lucy, who was in the middle of you and Micahel, began asking a million questions - and rightfully so.

Is Ms. Lopez out of surgery?

When can I go back to school?

Are Jason’s mommy and daddy with him?

Is Jason’s arm gonna be ok?

Did any kids die?

Did teachers die?

Is Mr. Marks okay?

What does that mean? - That was always the question when she didn’t understand the response she was given.

Michael and you took turns answering the best you could - and the best you knew. Jack did text you during your walk home that Ms. Lopez was out of surgery, and in CCU. It was the last question that she asked as she began to fall asleep that hurt the most.

“Daddy? Mommy?” Lucy asked when she was almost asleep.

“Yes, Lucy?” Michael answered, as he let out a giggle under his breath.

“Why did he bring a gun into my school and shoot people?”

Michael and you made eye contact as you both looked down at Lucy laying between you two.

Michael sighed as you spoke, “Lucy, sometimes people do really bad things, and we don’t always know why.” You ran your fingers through her hair.

“It makes me sad. I loved school.”

“Do you not love school anymore?” Michael asked, worried.

Lucy hugged beanie as she spoke, “When I think of school now, my tummy hurts really bad and I wanna cry.”

“I bet that’s so hard, Lucy.” Michael said as she looked up at him. She nodded as you continued to run your fingers through her hair. You and Michael shared an empathic look.

“Was he sick?” Lucy asked.

“Was who sick?” Michael asked.

“The man with the gun,” Lucy asked.

Michael looked at you and you nodded. “Lucy,” you said as she turned away from Michael to look at you. “Sometimes, people aren’t really sick, but their brains don’t work like yours and mine. They have different thoughts and they can’t always control them. Special doctors talk to them, and give them tools and skills to help them, or sometimes medicine.” You tried to explain mental illnesses the best you could to a five year old.

“Are you and daddy those kind of doctors?” Lucy asked.

“No, those doctors are called psychologists,” Michael said.

Lucy nodded and yawned. “You had a really long day, bug. Why don’t you close your eyes and get some sleep, Luce?” you said. You never stopped running your fingers through her hair.

Soon, your oldest fell asleep. You and Michael watched your three children sleep between the two of you. You looked at him and he had that smile on his face - his goofy one. You quietly smiled as you watched him. He looked up and saw you watching him, watch your children.

“What?” he said as he smiled.

“It’s nothing,” you said.

“Oh it’s something,” he said.

“It’s just-today could’ve ended differently, and I’m glad it didn’t. But, I’m also glad I get to be on this crazy roller coaster called life with you. I love you, Michael.”

“I love you, too.” he said as he reached over to trace your cheekbones with his thumb.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #gracie writes fic #I AM SO SORRY

248 notes · View notes

skzstarl0ver · 2 months ago

Note

I know you did a long distance Felix but can you maybe do an in person one. It would make me really happy. and if you would allow me I'd love to reblog it if you do. But over all I absolutely love your work ♡

if you do accept my request please make sure to tag me if you can.

Love, Ember_Fires ♡

ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Hii @emberfiresbitchy I wasn't 100% sure what kind of fic you prefer so I just mixed a little bit of smut and fluff, I hope you like it xx

Lee Felix x reader / classmates to lovers / slow burn / smut / fluff / one shot

**involves!!** sex, strong tension, cursing, teasing, dirty talk

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

There’s a rule in our class that everyone hates, except for maybe two people.

Every Friday, Ms. Jang makes us add one song to the shared class playlist. She says it “fosters emotional intelligence and communal bonding through sound.” I say it’s just a way to expose everyone’s deeply embarrassing music taste.

But fine. Whatever.

At first, it was funny. Someone added “Barbie Girl” ironically, another added a 12-minute Norwegian death metal track that played at full volume while we were doing worksheets. But then..

The first time I notice it, I’m curled up in my dorm bed at midnight, trying not to cry over a theory exam I definitely failed. The shared playlist starts auto-playing, and instead of some chaotic EDM garbage or meme audio clip, it’s… soft.

Lo-fi. Gentle. Intimate.

The lyrics?

“I keep noticing you.” “How you laugh. How you lean back in your chair like you own the world.” “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The title is even worse: “if you knew what i felt, would you smile?”

My heart clenches.

I glance at the username. felixlee

We barely talk. He sits a few seats behind me in class, always in hoodies, always with that quiet, raspy voice that makes you want to lean in closer. He laughs easily. Smiles like he means it.

We’ve had small talk about—coffee machines, shitty printers, dumb assignments—but never anything real.

So why does this song feel like a secret he accidentally let slip?

The next week, he adds another one. And then another. Every Friday night like clockwork, after everyone else has already dropped their songs, he adds his: quiet confessions buried in dreamy lyrics.

“You smile at me like I matter. I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

I don’t say anything. I pretend I don’t notice.

But I do.

I start listening alone in my room, legs tangled in blankets, headphones in, heart in my throat.

I start looking at him differently, too.

The way he drums on his desk absentmindedly. The way his hair flops into his eyes. The way he’s started waiting at the classroom door for me.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

But when I laugh too hard one day and glance behind me, he’s staring.

And smiling.

We get paired for a midterm project.

Three weeks of working together. Study sessions. Shared notes. Coffee runs. Him leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen. Me catching his scent—clean and warm and a little vanilla—and pretending it doesn’t do things to me.

He teases me constantly.

“You always chew your pen when you’re stuck. It’s cute.”

“Is that a playlist of sad girl indie music? On brand.”

“You gonna steal another one of my pens?”

I roll my eyes. I call him annoying. I think about kissing him every goddamn day.

It finally breaks one night, deep into our last project session.

We're sitting side by side on the floor of an empty practice room, laptop between us, snacks spread out, low music playing from his speaker.

“I like your taste in music,” I say casually.

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I’ve been listening to your playlist songs.”

A pause.

His voice drops, quiet. “What do you think they’re about?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Someone you like?”

He looks at me. His eyes are soft and unreadable. “Yeah. Someone I’ve liked for a while.”

My breath catches.

He leans closer.

The air between us snaps.

And then he kisses me.

It’s soft. Gentle. Warm.

His lips move against mine slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

I kiss him back—harder, messier. My hands in his hoodie. His fingers sliding into my hair.

We’re breathing into each other’s mouths, flushed and panting, when he pulls back just enough to whisper, “Do you wanna—?”

“Yes.”

We stumble into his dorm thirty minutes later, soaked in rain and adrenaline.

He shuts the door behind us, then pins me to it—gently, hands braced beside my head. He kisses me again, slower this time. His tongue slides against mine and I groan softly.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he breathes.

My shirt is gone before I realize it. His hoodie follows. I run my hands down his chest, and he shivers under my touch.

He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed and lays me down like I’m something delicate. Then he kneels between my thighs and just looks at me.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmurs, fingers sliding under my waistband.

I whimper. “Then stop teasing.”

He grins—and pulls everything off me.

His mouth on me is heaven.

He licks slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine while he holds my hips in place. I moan shamelessly when he flicks his tongue just right. His name slips from my lips like prayer.

When I come, it’s with his fingers inside me and his tongue still working my clit.

He climbs up my body after, kissing his way up my stomach, chest, throat, lips. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice hoarse.

“Condom,” I whisper.

He grabs one from the drawer. Rolls it on. Lines himself up—

And sinks into me with a groan that sounds like he’s been holding it in forever.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel so good.”

He moves slowly at first. Deep, languid strokes that leave me gasping. He holds my hands above my head, kisses my mouth every time I moan. It’s not rushed. It’s not just sex.

It’s him saying everything the playlist couldn’t.

When I come again, I cry out his name. He kisses me through it, whispering how beautiful I look, how much he likes me, how he can’t believe he finally has me like this.

He follows right after—hips stuttering, breath catching, forehead pressed to mine like he never wants to let go.

We lie tangled in his sheets after, sweaty and breathless.

His arm is wrapped around my waist. I’m tucked into his chest. He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “You know they were all about you, right?”

I smile against his skin.

“I do now.”

The next morning, he adds a new song to the playlist.

“your name tastes better than coffee.”

And that’s when the class group chat blows up.

I feel like this one was kinda short but I still hope you liked it xx

212 notes · View notes

tammytaamm · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request headcanons about how Arcane Jayce, Viktor, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko would realise his feelings for his gender neutral future s/o please?

Arcane characters realizing their feelings for you

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Viktor

You were in his lab, pulling an all nighter and working on some equations regarding the newest update on the hexcore. You heard him yawn while arranging some papers on his desk so you made a mental note to bring him a cup of coffee too, as you were headed to the instant coffee machine to make one for yourself.

You remembered him mentioning his favorite type of coffee once while you were having a heated discussion with jayce about whether coffee with more than two thirds of milk should even be considered coffee. His favorite was black coffee with two and a half tablespoons of sugar.

You bought the two cups back to your work station. Viktor looked at you and then at the cup you held out to him. He muttered a "Thanks". He wasn't the biggest coffee guy but he knew it was necessary to drink it to finish all the work. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. The man instantly realized you remembered exactly how he liked it done and that made butterflies form in his stomach.

Viktor never thought someone would remember the little things about him and yet you proved him wrong. He wasn't sure what he was feeling but he knew something was wrong the minute he felt his cheeks reddening.

Ekko

You found ekko tinkering with an old music box with a gorgeous little plastic ballerina inside of it. It wasn't unusual for him to spend his free time repairing old stuff that no one else used.

You sat next to him criss cross applesauce and took a peek at the music box in his hands, you remembered having one similar to this when you were younger. You started going on and on about your day, he liked listening to your voice and you liked talking. He gave his input where he felt the need to and you appreciated it.

Eventually a comfortable silence engulfed you both but you still felt the need to say something.

"What does a clock do when it's hungry?", you asked him.

"What?"

"It goes back four seconds" you finished your joke and started laughing. It was a dumb joke and the way he rolled his eyes but still smiled made you snort. He looked at you, the way your smile outshone the sun and the way your eyes crinkled while you laughed made him stop working on the music box and stare at you.

You noticed his (unashamed) staring and tilted your head, confused. Out of nowhere, a slow and happy tune started playing from the music box and the ballerina started spinning gracefully.

You both looked at the little dancer. "Here. I want you to have it", ekko said, giving it to you.

Vander

Vi, powder, mylo and claggor were hanging around in the bar. There weren't any people in there as it was only 12 am and the usual rush starts well after the sun sets. You were helping vander with tidying up the place because some drunkard tripped and broke many glasses last night. You two were chatting when you heard one of the kids' cry.

You rushed over to them, vander quick to follow you, and assessed the four kids. That's when your eyes landed on powder and you identified the source of the crying. Turns out she scraped her knee after having tripped on her own feet.

You propped her up on a table and went to get some rubbing alcohol and some bandages. You calmed her down, disinfected the wound and applied some pink bandaids you knew she would like. Vander was standing by your side, his eyes darting from you and powder.

It wasn't everyday you showed this caring side of yours to him, and knowing you cared about his kids as much as him made vander feel some sort of way. He smiled, knowing very well what he was feeling. He's glad it's you out of all people.

Silco

You were a new employee hired by sevika and at first, silco couldn't care less about you. It wasn't your fault, he just had other stuff to worry about. It was when sevika called in sick and you took her place that he really started noticing you. He couldn't deny that you were fairly attractive and you had a charismatic aura to you. He knew people would let their eyes linger on you, you were a nice sight after all. But he wasn't a surface level man, no, he was attracted to capable people, and he made a promise to himself that he would never fall for someone that can't pull their own weight.

You two were on a mission, amongst some of silco's other employees, when you were surrounded by enforcers that wanted to hunt silco down. You grabbed the man and yanked him down, hiding behind some garbage bins. You pulled out your gun and started shooting while also protecting your boss and making sure to take him to a safer place. It's not like he couldn't protect himself, but it was your job to do so and you wanted to prove yourself worthy.

An enforcerer sneaked up on you and was about to knock you out when you turned around and kicked him, disarmed him and took silco's hand to retreat back to the base.

As your hand touched his, silco realized you were indeed capable and he has indeed fallen for you.

Steb

He was hosting a training camp for new enforcers. A part of said training camp was pairing up with someone and trying to knock them on the ground for 3 seconds. You and steb were going to demonstrate to the young aspiring enforcers how to do the task.

You both took your starting fighting stances and waited for the whistle to blow. When it did you carefully approached him and attempted to trip him so that he would fall down. He realized that and swiftly moved his feet to the left. His arms were reaching for your shoulders but you anticipated his move, after all you've done countless of these training exercises with him, and ducked down. That's when you managed to kick him behind his kneecaps, making him lose his balance. You came back up and pushed him to the ground, pinning him.

The position you two were in wasn't exactly the most child friendly, but neither of you noticed it. What he did notice was how close your lips were to his, how your eyes were interlocked with his and how your strong arms were pinning his shoulders down.

"1,2,3" you said, leaving him confused. He forgot that this was supposed to be a training exercise. "I win." You said, smiling and propping yourself up, leaving him still sprawled on the ground, blushing like crazy.

Jayce

He grabbed both of you something to drink before arriving at your pre-established location to talk about the newest problems in piltover.

He greeted you, sat down opposite you and handed you your food. You thanked him and started eating.

After a while of discussing what he came here to talk about, you noticed some crumbs on his chin. You grabbed a napkin and gently tapped his lower face to make sure he was clean of any crumbs. As you did so, he felt heat creeping up his face from your hands delicately cradling his face. He knew getting you food was going to be a great idea.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I know these aren't exactly hcs sorry but i hope you like them! As always, constructive criticism is welcomed

#arcane #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #vander x reader #vander arcane #jayce x reader #ekko x reader #steb arcane #steb x reader #steb my love #silco x reader #ekko arcane #arcane silco

227 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 9 months ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 10

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Feeling the tension rise, Greg nervously tried to leave, but you stepped in. “Don’t!”

“Yes…?” Greg’s voice wavered.

“Don’t tell them I’m pregnant. Because I’m not. I can’t lie about that.” You rubbed your temples, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in on you, even though it was still early in the morning.

You shot a glance at Greg. “Schedule a press conference. Both of us will speak.”

Greg nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes, that’s great.” He scurried out of the apartment without a second thought.

Bucky muttered under his breath, “I paid millions for this campaign team, and this is what I get.”

You snapped back at him. “No! Don’t change the subject!” Your voice was sharp, frustration burning in your eyes. “All of this is your idea.”

Bucky didn’t flinch, his calm demeanor frustrating you further. “My idea, yes. But it’s your choice now,” he replied, as if everything was calculated in his favor.

“Me? Lying about being pregnant? Have some humility, Bucky!” You threw your hands up in disbelief.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, calculating smile. “I’m proud of you for making that decision,” he said smoothly, as if this was some twisted game he’d already won. His calmness was unnerving, like he already knew the outcome.

You sighed deeply, your breath heavy with exasperation. Bucky casually walked over to the coffee machine and offered you a cup. You took it, reluctant but exhausted. When you sipped, the familiar taste made you pause. It was perfect—exactly how you liked it. He still remembered.

But even the perfect coffee couldn’t wash away the bitterness and exhaustion hanging over you like a dark cloud.

You set the cup down and looked up at him, your eyes narrowing. “What’s the deal you made with Steve?” The question hung in the air, sharp and deliberate, like a card you were waiting to play.

Bucky leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “The deal?” He sipped his own coffee, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—calculation, maybe? “Let’s just say... Steve’s skeletons are a lot messier than mine. I was always just the distraction.”

There was something chilling in the way he spoke, like he was always one step ahead. You realized then—you were in deeper than you thought.

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee before setting it down on the table. His gaze stayed sharp, his voice deliberate. “The reason he chose me is simple. I’m the gatekeeper. Let’s be real, picking me as the youngest candidate? That’s a huge risk.”

The opponent was formidable—strong, relentless, and hungry for any opportunity to exploit weakness. So, what other option was there?

Bucky was the safest choice, not just because of his background, but because he held Steve’s deepest secrets—truths that couldn’t be silenced with money or threats. Bucky came from wealth, from power, from a lineage that made him untouchable. Steve knew that. He also knew something else: Bucky’s weakness was you.

Despite the disagreements within the party, Steve silenced the dissenters. He’d calculated every move. Choosing Bucky was risky, but Steve needed someone he could control, someone who could take the fall if necessary.

Bucky knew why he was chosen. He understood the game—Steve, the elder statesman, needed a younger face to shield him from the inevitable attacks. Bucky was to be his defense, the gatekeeper, the distraction.

The rumors about you and Bucky were intentional, designed to take the heat off Steve. Let the world believe Bucky was struggling in his personal life. Let them focus on his public spectacle while Steve worked in the shadows, untouchable.

Edgar and Brock—the opponents—would see the headlines and think Steve had been weakened by Bucky’s scandal. But they were wrong. This was the plan all along.

Bucky would take the blame. He would absorb the media’s attention, while Steve quietly solidified his path to the presidency.

For Bucky, it was more than a political maneuver. Accepting Steve's offer wasn’t just about power—it was his chance to break free from the chains his mother had shackled him with. And it was his chance to get you back.

He knew Steve had calculated his every move, and yet, Bucky had his own agenda. In the end, he wasn’t just a pawn in Steve’s game; he was playing his own, too.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your temples. “This is why I never wanted to cover elections. Everything is rigged.”

Bucky chuckled softly, a knowing look in his eyes. “That’s politics for you, sweetheart. It’s not about being clean—it’s about playing the game better than everyone else.”

You shifted, suddenly feeling the urge to get answers. “What about Steve’s skeletons?” you asked, your voice edged with curiosity.

Bucky had just picked up a chocolate muffin, but he stopped mid-bite. Setting it down, he met your gaze, dead serious. “I’m the only one who knows,” he said quietly. “I can’t tell you. I’ll carry those secrets to my grave.”

His loyalty to Steve was unsettling, a bond you could see ran deep.

“And don’t even think about digging for information,” Bucky warned, his voice firm, eyes hardening. “You’ll put both of us in danger if you try.”

The finality in his tone hit you like a wall. He was serious, and it was clear that stepping into that territory wasn’t just risky—it was deadly.

“Bucky,” you said softly, your voice filled with exhaustion.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his phone, his attention split.

“If I can’t do this anymore... I want to leave.”

The silence that followed was thick. Bucky didn’t respond immediately, didn’t even look up at you. Instead, he remained still, his fingers lightly tapping against his phone. Finally, he spoke, his tone low and measured. “Get ready for the press.”

You sighed heavily, frustration and defeat settling into your chest like a heavy weight. Leave? Could you even escape at this point?

The thought circled in your mind, but Bucky had already made it clear—he wasn’t letting you go that easily. His control, his manipulation—it had all tightened around you like a noose.

And despite everything, despite the lies, the secrets, the betrayal... you could see it in his eyes. He didn’t plan to lose you again.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Soon, you stood next to him in front of a swarm of cameras, bright lights burning into your skin.

Bucky adjusted his suit jacket, offering a polite smile to the flashing lights. He stepped up to the podium, and as soon as he began speaking, it was as if a switch had flipped. The man beside you was no longer just your husband—he had become the perfect politician.

“I want to thank you all for coming here today,” Bucky began, his voice smooth, confident. His gaze swept across the audience, calculated and calm. “Marriage is never easy. It's a journey filled with highs and lows, and like any relationship, it can face... turmoil.”

The word hung in the air, a subtle indication of the cracks beneath the surface.

“Over the last few years, my wife and I have faced our share of challenges. We chose to take separate paths for a time, not because the love was lost, but because we believed it was what we needed. We both needed space to grow as individuals,” he said, pausing to glance at you.

You stood there, silent, watching him weave this narrative so effortlessly. Seeing him like this—so fluent, so convincing—it was almost sickening. He was lying, and yet every word that came from his mouth seemed to be wrapped in a veneer of truth.

“But sometimes,” he continued, “fate brings people back together. We crossed paths again, and in doing so, we rekindled that old romance we once shared. This has not been an easy journey, but we both realized that our love—despite everything—was worth fighting for.”

You forced yourself to stay composed, even as your mind raced. How had he become this person? So skilled in deception, so willing to put on a performance for the world. This wasn’t the man you had married.

This was a man molded by ambition, by politics. He had learned to manipulate truth, to twist it to his advantage. And now, he was using that skill to reshape the story of your marriage.

He went on, his tone softening just enough to appeal to the emotions of the audience. “I know many young couples out there experience similar struggles—times when things seem too difficult to overcome. But I stand here today to tell you that it’s possible. Love is complicated, but it’s also worth the fight.”

The live chat on the screen buzzed with comments, many of them expressing support, calling your relationship ‘inspiring,’ applauding your ‘courage.’ They were buying it. Every single word.

Bucky turned to you, offering a practiced smile. To them, it was a look of adoration. To you, it was a silent warning. Stay in line. Play your part.

As Bucky wrapped up his speech, the room filled with the sound of reporters typing, cameras flashing, and the quiet hum of people whispering. His words had been perfectly delivered—calm, composed, and persuasive. But it was the next moment that truly sealed the deal.

He turned toward you, and for a brief second, his eyes met yours. You could see the flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or exhaustion. But before you could fully process it, he stepped closer. The cameras zoomed in, the world seemed to hold its breath, and Bucky pulled you into a tight embrace.

His hands rested on your waist, steady, as though he were trying to ground himself. You stiffened at first, the tension between you impossible to ignore, but the weight of the press watching forced you to respond. Slowly, you lifted your arms and hugged him back, trying to make it look as natural as possible.

Then, without warning, his lips brushed against yours. A kiss, soft but purposeful, meant to sell the image of a couple rekindling their love. The cameras went wild, and you could feel every flash burning the moment into eternity. But beneath the act, you could sense the hollowness of it all.

"Still think we’re good at pretending?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Maybe it’s not all pretending."

You stayed locked in his arms for a moment longer, both of you playing your roles. To everyone watching, you were the perfect couple, finding your way back to each other. But to you, it felt like a performance—one more layer of the deception you both had to endure.

And yet, for all the pretending, there was an undeniable truth beneath it. The way Bucky held you tighter, as if he needed that connection to steady himself, made it clear. He wasn’t just showing the world something—they both needed this.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Once the press conference ended, you felt drained—emotionally and physically. As you walked off the stage, Bucky’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately.

“Steve,” he greeted, his voice low. You stood beside him, listening quietly.

“Didn’t expect it to go this well,” Steve’s voice crackled through the line. “Good job. I was hoping you could drag this out for a few more days, though.”

Bucky leaned against the table, his tone casual but firm. “I couldn’t do that. My wife’s already pissed about this. I’m not pushing her any further.” His eyes flicked to you as he spoke, his face unreadable.

There was a pause on the other end. Then Steve’s voice came again, smoother this time. “Still, you handled it well. Let’s hope the media stays focused on you two and not... anything else.”

Bucky smirked, the expression barely reaching his eyes. “They will. This whole mess? It’s just a distraction, Steve. You know that.”

Steve chuckled lightly. “I’m counting on it.”

Bucky ended the call without another word, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He turned to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “See? Everything’s under control.” He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your arm, but you pulled away.

Control. That’s what it was always about with him. And for now, he had it. But for how long?

You noticed something you hadn’t before—Bucky’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense, and his grip on the phone was tighter than usual. His usual confident façade seemed to falter, even if just for a moment. He looked... uneasy.

You had never seen him like this, not even during the press conference. Something about that call with Steve had rattled him. The way his eyes darkened, how his fingers twitched slightly as if restraining himself from saying more—it was a side of him you rarely witnessed.

And in that fleeting moment, you understood. It wasn’t just you who felt trapped in this web of lies and manipulation. It was Bucky, too. For all his calm demeanor, all his calculated moves, he was just as cornered.

He wasn’t in control like he wanted you to believe.

For the first time, you realized that Bucky wasn’t just pulling the strings—he was tangled in them. Just as trapped as you, if not more so. The weight of Steve’s power over him, the pressure of the campaign, the expectations, the secrets—it was all bearing down on him, too.

And in a strange, twisted way, it made him seem... vulnerable.

Join the tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@krissydclayton93

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lassie-bird

@bighappypiels

@buckitostan

@barnesxstan

@bada-lee-ily

@mrsstuckyboo

@florie1

@cjand10

@sidraaaaaaaaa

@aritoocute

@crazyunsexycool

@mcira

@touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

@pattiemac1

@elizalexwil

@gingersnap-2

@whitexwolfxx310

@marvel-wifey-86

@kumointhesky

@hnnhbananananana

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@nouis-bum

@thebuckybarnesvault

@unaxv

@hzdhrtss

@blackbirdwitch22

@darsynia

@lokislady82

@bonkybarnes106

@kandis-mom

@imrandomstuffsblog

@chimchoom

@wintrsoldrluvr

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@sebastians-love

@kythefangirl25

@mrsnikstan

@identity2212

@justsebstan

@clairoscharm

@billyseye

@g1g1l

@sxnshinebxcky

360 notes · View notes

paulyenvol6 · 9 days ago

Text

Made To Take It

Part three of my mini series, I just love their dynamic so much, so there will definitely be more. Enjoy :) (Part one and two)

Contains: mentions of smut, Joel being sort of in love with reader, Tommy being disrespectful, fat age gap (24 & 50s), Joel & Tommy fighting, Joel having regrets about having sex with reader

Wordcount: 4,414

Masterlist

"Tommy?" Joel shouted, groaning as he rubbed over his eyes.

He couldn't seriously be still asleep. It was almost 12am now and the both of them had places to be. Joel yawned, rising from his chair and briefly closing his eyes at the ache in his knees. He wasn't the youngest anymore and after a wild night like that his body made him feel every last action he had performed.

"Jesus, Tommy!" he loudly said again, but when there was no answer, Joel found that it was his brotherly duty to finally get him out of bed, so he headed to the hallway, taking the staircase up to the second floor.

Joel did his brother the courtesy of knocking on the guest room door, but he wasn't surprised when there was no response; the air was filled with dead silence. So he forcefully opened the door and turned on the lights the same moment as he growled again: "Tommy. You needa get up."

"Oh, Jesus...," a muffled sigh followed, but Joel failed to make out his brother in the tangled mess of blankets.

"What's the time?"

Joel leaned against the doorframe, running a hand through his still wet hair and raised his eyebrows in boredom.

"12."

"Oh god. Fuck me."

Joel heard the rustling of the blanket and then Tommy straightened up in the bed, grimacing as he held his head and pinching his eyes shut.

"Where's she? Did you throw 'er outta the house?"

"No. We woke up early 'n' I made 'er coffee while she took a shower and then we had breakfast and then she left."

Tommy scoffed while pushing back the blanket and planting his feet on the ground.

"Oh yeah? Like a married couple an' shit?"

That made Joel roll his eyes and he pushed himself away from the doorframe to enter the hallway.

"Fuck, Tommy, no," he shouted over his shoulder. "Unlike you, I have the fuckin' manners to offer a guest somethin' to eat 'n' drink and not stay in bed until 12am."

"Yeah an' it's especially convenient when you happen to wanna fuck the guest, huh?"

"Fuck you."

Joel clenched his fists, eyebrows drawn together while he walked down the stairs to sit back down at the table. He drank the last bit of coffee in his cup in one gulp. Then, he heard Tommy stumble down the stairs and turned his head.

"Oh and by the way, it's gonna be you who changes the bedsheets. I had to sleep in the fuckin' guest room even though this is my house."

His brother's feet heavily dragged over the floor as he made his way to the coffee machine.

"Yeah and it was me who gave a shit about 'er. You fuckin' left, Tommy. You didn't even care about her bein' satisfied as well. She was horny and – and needy and covered with your fuckin' cum and you just left. Not only did I make 'er cum, I also cleaned 'er up, cuddled 'er and brought 'er to bed."

Tommy abruptly turned around, but seemed to regret the sudden movement instantly, pressing his thumb to his temple and groaning lowly.

"What point are you tryin' to make? That you're in love with 'er?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ, no… I'm tryna tell you how to treat someone. How to treat someone after you've fucked 'em stupid. You can't just fuckin' leave 'em especially when they're as whiny and – and needy as she was yesterday."

Joel shook his head in disbelief, resting his elbows on the table and running his hands over the lower half of his face.

"You seemed pretty fuckin' content when I left the two of you alone. Might be wrong, but to me it looked like it was just what you wanted, you hypocritical idiot."

"I didn't wanna start a fight. An' I knew that you weren't in the mood to take care of 'er, so I thought I'm just gonna do it 'n' then talk to you about it the next morning. Listen, I'm not sayin' I mind it. I certainly had no problems eatin' that goddamn pussy. I just wanna teach you some fuckin' manners."

Tommy gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes, but then shrugged.

"Fine. I get your point. But with 'er I know that I shouldn't be concerned about her bein' left alone. Daddy Joel is always there to take care of 'er," he giggled and slammed his hand on the counter.

"Jesus, can you shut the fuck up? You're disgusting."

Tommy smirked to himself, but kept silent, pouring some coffee into a mug and then sitting down across from his brother.

"So?" he grinned and crossed his legs.

"What?" Joel barked, already mentally preparing himself for another straining conversation.

"What did she say? How was her mood?"

"Oh now you're carin' 'bout her well-bein'? Interesting."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his hand sprawled out across the table. He exhaled loudly.

"Sorry," he hissed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't know you were in such a bad mood today. I'm tryin' to be nice here."

"She was fine. A 'lil exhausted, but fine," Joel told, but avoided eye contact.

"Did she say anythin' 'bout doin' somehin' like that again?"

"Oh my fuckin'…" Joel rubbed with his flat palm over his brow, closing his eyes not just because of the light throb behind his forehead, but first and foremost because of his brother's rudeness.

"What? If we all liked it, why not repeat it? Did you ask 'er?"

"No," Joel spitted, eyeing Tommy's defensive pout with eyes as small as slits.

"Then let's ask 'er. The fact that you're judgin' me for this right now is insane. Like honestly, insane. You are the one that's obsessed with 'er. Lookin' at 'er like she's unreal or somethin'. An' you're the one that slept cuddled up with 'er."

Joel exhaled in annoyance, but didn't reply, spinning the coffee mug in his hand and watching the inky, dark liquid that radiated a roasted, nutty smell.

"Joel, you can admit that you had a good time. Are you feelin' bad about this or what? Don't. We were three consenting adults who just had a 'lil bit of fun. You had fun, right? Of course you had. She was perfect, she was – she's sweet an' she was amazing, right? An' she's your type."

Joel laughed, but there wasn't anything happy about it.

"Tommy. She's half our fuckin' age," he said calmly.

"Oh Jesus – "

"NO. You listen to me right now. She's a young girl, a young, lively, happy 'n' sweet girl and we – we messed 'er up. She doesn't deserve that. Just be fuckin' honest with yourself for a minute, okay? We used her. We think she's pretty and she's obedient and shit – I don't know, she's messed up and liked being thrown around by us but it's not right. We can't take advantage of the fact that she's fucked up. It's wrong."

Tommy shook his head, taking an aggressive sip of his coffee and then slamming it back on the table.

"There you have it. You said it yourself. She's messed up. Fucked up. Joel, that girl ain't a saint. She ain't some pretty, fragile flower that we just ripped out of the ground and wrecked for life. She's nasty and she enjoyed this just as much as we did."

"I'm not sayin' that she didn't enjoy it," Joel growled, pulling at the roots of his hair in frustration about his brother. "I'm sayin' that we took advantage of the fact that something's fuckin' wrong in her head. We used that fact to get what we wanted although we should've just left her alone. Instead of encouragin' it."

"What do you mean with encouragin' it?" Tommy asked with a furrowed brow and leaned over the table, resting his elbows on the surface.

"Jesus… All of this degradin' shit. Insultin' her. Basically treatin' her like shit. Don't you feel bad just a tiny bit? We called a 24 year old awful stuff. We treated 'er like a goddamn object."

Joel rubbed over his tired eyes, memories of last night appearing before his eyes in short periods of time.

Of course he had enjoyed it. Goddamnit. He might be able to deny it in front of his brother – at least to some extent – but he couldn't deny it in front of himself. This had probably been the best fuck of his life and considering the fact that Tommy had been there too, it said a lot. You had been… a dream. A literal dream and although Joel wanted to die for thinking this way, he had hated to see you leave in the morning. He would have rather carried you back to bed and place your head on his chest again, listening to your steady breathing and stroking up and down your bare back where your skin was so soft and warm under his calloused palm. Hell, he would have rather tossed you onto the bed and fuck your brains out until he had you crying for him, but he definitely couldn't tell this Tommy.

"Joel. Look at me," his brother now hissed out, grabbing his wrist and blaring his teeth until he raised his tired gaze, flaring his nostrils as the brothers made eye contact.

"What."

"This girl is 24 year old. Do you honestly think she did this 'cause she thinks she has any prospects with one of us? Jesus fuckin' christ, she probably just wants to mess around and have a good time. She has all the time in the world to figure out what she wants and eventually, I don't know, settle down with some guy her age, but until that, let 'er have fun. And we wanted to have fun too so I don't get what's the fuckin' problem. She's an adult and if she feels uncomfortable she can tell us. But she didn't an' I had the feelin' that she was pretty fuckin' obsessed with you too. Let this girl have fun, goddamnit. What else are you supposed to do at 24?"

Joel thoughtfully chewed on his bottom lip, averting his gaze, but Tommy already knew that he had convinced him. He knew his brother too well and the little bow of his head, the slight shake were clear signs that he was defeated.

"You're an asshole," Joel murmured lowly, voice quiet and dangerous, but his body slumped. "You goin' to fuckin' hell and I mean it."

"You don't even believe in hell," Tommy chuckled and emptied his cup with a wry grin.

"Yeah but if there is, you'll be there. You'll be the first one God picks 'cause you… You're evil. You're evil from the core."

Joel examined his brother with flashing eyes, but couldn't supress the faint smile when Tommy shrugged, his lip curling into a telling smirk.

"Maybe. But at least I had fuckin' fun. C'mon, it ain't like we had it easy in our lives. We got blessed with a fuckin' virus. I think if God gave a damn about what we do he would've prevented that from happenin'. Maybe he's just as evil as I am and I'll get to heaven."

Joel laughed, a rumbling sound gushing from his chest area.

"Who gets to hell then? If God's evil?"

"I don't fuckin' know… You, 'cause you wanna stop people like me from havin' fun."

Tommy abruptly stood up and brought his empty mug to the sink.

"Get outta here now. I got things to do."

Joel rolled his eyes, sighing, but got up.

"No, thank you, little brother. Gettin' nicer with every minute…"

It was the next day when Joel saw his brother again.

"We're gonna invite 'er over," Tommy said without a word of greeting after he had rung to the doorbell and Joel had opened the door.

He passed his brother without even looking at him and carelessly threw his jacket over the backrest of a chair once he was in the kitchen. Joel, who found that he had no choice but to follow him, closed the door, shut his eyes for a brief moment and then entered the kitchen as well.

"An' you're tellin' me I'm obsessed?"

"You don't even know who I'm talkin' about," Tommy chuckled, but quickly became serious again. "Alright. Call me obsessed. You can't deny that this 'lil cunt's been a dream. And that mouth, jesus… Joel, we got 'er and we would be idiots to let 'er go. You see how the whole fuckin' town looks at 'er? All of these boys who are practically droolin' over her when she walks past 'em? It's only a matter of time until she finds a boyfriend, is all beautifully in love and obviously won't get into bed with us again 'cause she thinks she's found the love of 'er life. So we have to make sure to enjoy it as long as it lasts."

Joel didn't feel like telling his little brother that your 'lil cunt and that mouth was all that had been on his mind since two days ago. He simply couldn't stop thinking about you and no matter how often he stroked his dick with you on his mind, images of that night appeared in his head again all the time. Your beautiful eyes squeezed shut while you took his dick into your mouth, the way you had clinged to his shoulder while he had pounded your pussy and of course the smell and taste of you. The little flinches of your hips, your broken moans and the warmth and stickiness of your sweet cunt. He just couldn't help himself. Joel woke up thinking about you and he went to bed thinking about you and if he didn't get to touch you soon, he was sure he would do things he would regret.

"Okay. What's your plan?" he said as coolly as he possibly could, lazily running his eyes over the living room as though he wasn't fully there with his thoughts. Which couldn't have been further from the truth.

"We're gonna invite 'er over. To your house this time. So the two of you don't occupy my fuckin' bed when you fall asleep next to each other. So that I can go home afterwards and sleep in my own bed."

"When?"

Tommy suddenly broke into laughter, slamming his hand on his thigh and his body shaking with amusement while Joel wanted to slap himself for being so obvious.

"Tommy. Jesus, Tommy, stop. Yeah, I know, very funny…"

"You…," he started, his chest turbulently heaving and his face red. He coughed and then sighed.

"Oh god… You tryna act all indifferent and like you don't care although…" – he chuckled and lowered his head – "Although you've probably been waitin' for 'er to show up on your porch all fuckin' day. It's not that easy, you know? You're gonna have to put in a little bit of effort."

"Yes," Joel grunted and closed his eyes in irritation. "I fuckin' know. Very funny. Just – Let's just focus please."

"Of course," Tommy snickered, but actually cleared his throat, pressing his palms on his cheeks to cool the heated skin.

"Tonight. 'Cause I'm afraid you're gonna change your mind if we plan too far ahead."

"I won't," Joel immediately threw in, but his brother lifted his brows.

"Yeah I don't know about that. We're gonna do it tonight, Joel. It's perfect. Tomorrow's a Sunday so if we're gonna do it tomorrow, we're gonna have to get up early the next day. And I know that she's free tonight."

Joel frowned, blood pulsing in his veins at the fact that it might actually be real. That he might actually see you again tonight.

"How do you know that?" he asked, suspiciously glancing at his brother, who just twitched with his shoulders.

"I just know."

"Tommy."

He sighed and pursed his lips, swinging his head to the left and right a few times before finally letting out the secret.

"I overheard two of 'er little friends today when I was grocery shopping. One said that some dinner party at Hannah's is canceled. And now guess who she said she had to call to let know 'bout it."

Joel breathed in deeply, his thoughts racing, but a hot, sticky liquid bubbling in his stomach.

"Okay. Okay, you might be onto somethin'. So you just… you're gonna call 'er?"

Tommy tapped with his fingers on the surface of the table, twisting his lips while winking at his brother.

"Yeah. I have 'er number. I asked Jesse."

Joel's eyes widened.

"And Jesse didn't find it weird that you wanted her number?"

His brother's lips formed a pout like he was thinking, but then he shook his head, looking all innocent and blameless.

"Maybe. But he didn't ask. Joel, don't ya know that I'm popular here? I got the number of all sort's of people… Just 'cause you live like a fuckin' outsider, rottenin' in your shelter doesn't mean that I have to be like that too."

He showed his teeth as he laughed and then rose to his feet to grab Joel's telephone.

"Okay. Gonna call 'er right now."

Joel's heart skipped a beat, the fact that he might be about to see you again catching up on him and he felt his hands getting sweaty. This was going so fast all of a sudden. Only 20 minutes ago he had been sitting in the living room, expecting to end the day with a stroll around the city to buy some groceries and then read his book and now the plan was to spend a night with you? He should feel happy and excited – and he definitely was – but suddenly he was also a little scared. Why, he couldn't exactly say. Maybe it was the fear of getting a rejection from you? Maybe you had different plans now and Joel had to settle with imagining your face once again while touching himself. Or what if you just didn't want to hang out with them again? What if it had been a one-time thing for you and you would feel disgusted by them asking you to come over?

"Hi! It's Tommy."

Joel's head shot around, his neck immediately aching at the sudden movement and his heartrate picking up.

"Yeah, good, what 'bout you?"

"Put 'er on speakers," Joel whispered, growling to himself at Tommy's hand gesture that attempted to shut him up.

"That sounds nice… Yeah… Oh what, I didn't know you had a dog…"

Joel closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose while vindictively listening to his brother's muttering.

"Oh no… that sucks… But for me that's convenient 'cause I wanted to ask you somethin'."

Joel's heart skipped another beat, his throat dry and his toes curling in nervousness.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out at my brother's tonight. Just gonna speak for myself now, but I had fun after the party."

He chuckled lowly, his voice having that familiar, flirty and sultry tone again.

"Joel's gonna cook us dinner and maybe we could watch a movie together. What do ya think?"

The silence was unbearable and cut through his skin like twisted knives. Joel tried to read Tommy's face for any signs, searching his expression for disappointment or joy, but there was nothing. He could have strangled his brother if he hadn't been doing god's work right now. Then, finally the redemption.

"Perfect. That sounds amazing… No, no, no, you don't have to bring anythin'. Joel's an awesome cook, but don't tell anyone. He doesn't like to brag… Yes… Okay. Yeah, sure… Okay, I'll see ya later. Bye."

He hung up the phone with a triumphant grin, putting it down and then sinking down on a chair.

"There you have it. That's how you do it, man."

Joel rolled his eyes, but couldn't deny the fact that he was relieved. Fuck it, he was beyond relieved.

You were interested.

You wanted to see them again.

You wanted to spend the evening at his house. Eating his food, breathing the same fucking air as him.

"What did she say?" Joel asked, trying to hide the anticipation in his tone.

"She said that she had plans with 'er girlfriends but it got cancelled. And then I asked 'er and she said that she has to walk her dog at 6pm but after that she's free. And she said she feels bad for crashing at one of our places again without bringing anythin', but I assured 'er it's fine."

Tommy crossed his arms in front of his chest and clearly was more than satisfied with himself. Under any other circumstances, he might have found it obnoxious, but right now, Joel could only agree because he really had done incredible work. That was why Joel didn't even note the fact that Tommy would have been free to tell him that he wanted him to cook dinner for them before inviting you over with that very promise. He let it slide for tonight. The moment was simply too sweet to have it destroyed, he thought with a buzzing head and a familiar prickling in his fingertips.

It was three hours later now and his heartbeat thundered up Joel's throat.

"Tommy? Where is the basil?" he shouted over his head, cussing in his head when he didn't get a reply.

"Tommy! I fuckin' told you – "

There it was. A distanced clattering and then Tommy's head peeked inside the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"The basil. Where is it?" Joel snapped, turning off the heat that was sizzling under the pasta pot with one hand while his other stirred the sauce.

"Oh shit."

"Yeah, oh shit. Go. Now. Take the knife and a bowl and don't destroy anythin' in my garden."

He let go off the wooden spoon, pushed Tommy out of the kitchen, and then turned his attention back to the stove. The noodles was ready and he drained them in a strainer in his sink. The tomato sauce was still simmering on the stove smelled delicious, but it was missing the goddamn basil. If Tommy would only hurry up already.

Joel knew that it definitely wasn't his best work and frankly, his choice of dinner was a little boring, but he hadn't had the nerves and patience for something more creative. At least there couldn't go a lot wrong with a plain tomato pasta. It wouldn't be anything special, but there wasn't any risk and that was worth it. He heard steps in the living room and a second later the door sprang open again.

"Here ya go, you fuckin' bastard."

Tommy put the bowl on the counter, rolling his eyes when Joel leaned it and smelled it to figure out whether he had taken the leaves from the right plant.

"Jesus, I can distinct basil from rosemary. What's the time?" Tommy asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"6:36."

"Good. She said she'd come here after she walked 'er dog."

Joel drew his eyebrows together, deeply concentrated as he turned off the cooker.

"And how long does that usually take?"

"She said around 30 minutes," Tommy muttered, taking one of the leaves he had just picked from his brother's herb garden and shoving it into his mouth, which Joel commented with small, threatening eyes.

"30 minutes. What do you do walkin' around this town for 30 minutes? Goin' in fuckin' circles?"

"Maybe." Tommy suddenly opened the door of the fridge, his eyes running over the items inside.

"What are you doin'?" Joel hissed, attempting to close it again, but his brother was faster and pushed his hand away.

"I'm lookin' for something to eat."

"Christ, Tommy. We're about to have dinner."

Tommy growled something incomprehensible, but allowed his brother to push the door shut.

"Not if she doesn't show up soon."

Joel sharply exhaled, his head spinning from the stuffy, humid air inside the kitchen in combination with Tommy's strenuous nagging.

"You're like a child sometimes, do you know that?"

"If you knew anythin' about children, you'd know that it's not good to have 'em around when they're hungry," he complained and lightly tapped his fingers against the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, goddamn right. If you're bored, go in the living room and I don't know – "

The doorbell.

"I'm comin'!" Tommy shouted at once, pushing himself from the wall and storming out of the kitchen like he was possessed by the devil.

"Jesus fuckin'…," Joel mumbled to himself, but sighed, following his brother.

He actually wasn't as nervous as he had believed himself to be. Of course the anxiety hadn't vanished entirely, still a big lump in his throat from the fear of messing things up or scaring you away, but it was first and foremost excitement. He felt like a teenage boy who was about to get his hands on a beautiful girl for the first time, a coiling heat jiggling in his stomach and his breathing fastening whenever he thought about the things he wanted to do to you tonight. He clearly was thinking with his dick right now, but if it meant not losing his shit and trembling in nervousness whenever he was opening his mouth, he was fine with it. He was fine with his lust for you overcasting every other emotion.

His breath hitched in his throat when Joel laid eyes on you for the first time. You were standing in the hallway with the door behind you already closed, your body partially covered by Tommy's frame. When Joel entered walked through the kitchen door you were just laughing at something his brother had said, but then your eyes jumped to him and his heart stopped.

Jesus. Jesus fucking christ, someone had to put a bullet between his eyes.

Your black, straight mini skirt that beautifully showed off your legs clung to your hips and showed off a strip of skin between the waistband and the hem of your shirt. It was a white neckholder top with vertical blue stripes, tied together around your neck and leaving your back bare. Thus far, Joel could only imagine what it would look like from behind though, but his imaginations certainly weren't stingy.

God, you knew what you were doing and it worked perfectly on him.

He felt like an animal examining his prey, a lion locking his eyes onto an antelope for the first time.

And now the chase would begin.

102 notes · View notes