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olderwomenenthusiast · 5 months ago

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southern accent (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: spencer is fascinated, maybe more than by your southern accent CAUTION: swearing, the usual smut, a flustered spencer WORD COUNT: 4.6k AUTHOR'S NOTE: proof read? obviously not x

You were frustrated. More than frustrated, actually. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk in the BAU bullpen, knuckles turning white as you glared at your computer screen. The case report you had painstakingly typed up had just disappeared into the void of your glitchy system. And then, to top it off, the printer jammed when you tried to get a hard copy of what little had been saved.

Spencer had been watching you for a while. He always did, though he’d never admit it. But this time, he noticed something different - something fascinating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, voice sharper than usual.

He tilted his head slightly. There was something about your voice… a shift he couldn’t quite place at first. Then you exhaled harshly and muttered again, this time with an unmistakable drawl, “Lord help me, I swear this stupid thing is ‘bout to get thrown across the room.”

Spencer’s breath hitched. That was not how you usually sounded.

He blinked, taken aback, his analytical mind scrambling for an explanation. He had known you for quite some time now, and while you had once casually mentioned growing up in the South, your accent had always been faint, almost nonexistent. But now? Now it dripped from your lips like honey, slow and warm, curling around your vowels and stretching them out in ways that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand and not the way his stomach suddenly felt like it was flipping over itself. He knew accents could resurface in moments of high emotion, but knowing that intellectually did nothing to prepare him for the way yours affected him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice slightly uneven, betraying his intrigue.

You groaned, pressing your hands to your temples. “No, Spencer, I ain’t okay. This dang system just ate my report, and now the printer’s actin’ like it was built in the Stone Age.”

There it was again. That thick, sweet twang wrapping around every syllable. Spencer felt his pulse quicken. He wasn’t sure why this was affecting him so much, but he couldn’t ignore it. He found himself leaning in slightly, completely absorbed.

“I—uh—I can help,” he offered quickly, clearing his throat. He hoped you didn’t notice the faint pink rising to his cheeks.

You sighed, frustration ebbing slightly as you finally turned to look at him. “You sure, sugar? ‘Cause at this point, I’m ‘bout ready to throw in the towel.”

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath. Sugar. You had never called him that before. He suddenly felt like his brain had short-circuited.

“I—uh—yeah. Yes. I’m sure,” he stammered, quickly reaching for the keyboard to avoid making eye contact.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, but Derek, who had been passing by, certainly did. Morgan shot Spencer a knowing smirk, arching a brow before strolling off without a word.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He was going to fix your computer. He was going to focus. He was definitely not going to think about how much he suddenly wanted to hear you frustrated more often.

Or worse, what else that accent would sound like in different circumstances.

Later, in the breakroom, Spencer found himself cornered by Morgan, who was leaning casually against the counter with an all-too-knowing grin.

"So, pretty boy," Morgan started, crossing his arms. "You got a thing for accents, or just hers?"

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee. "W-what? I don't..I mean, it's just. It's fascinating how regional dialects can resurface under stress. It's purely academic."

Morgan snorted. "Right. Purely academic. That's why you looked like you'd been hit with a freight train back there." He smirked, watching Spencer squirm. "Be honest, man. You like it when she gets all riled up, don't you?"

Spencer opened his mouth to protest but, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'd like to hear it in my bed."

The room went silent. Spencer’s eyes widened in horror as Morgan's grin stretched impossibly wider.

"Oh-ho, Reid," Morgan laughed, shaking his head. "Now that is something I did not expect."

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is going to haunt me forever, isn't it?"

Morgan laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, pretty boy, you have no idea. This one's getting filed under 'Reid's Greatest Hits' - right at the top."

Morgan, of course, didn’t keep it to himself. Over the next few hours, he made sure to drop little hints whenever you were around.

“You know, sweetheart,” he said casually when you grabbed a file from his desk, “it’s real funny how some people find accents so… intoxicating.”

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And what’s that got to do with me?”

Morgan smirked. “Oh, nothin’. Just an observation.”

Later, when you reached for your coffee, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “I bet that drawl sounds even better behind closed doors.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “What the hell, Morgan?”

He just laughed and walked off, leaving you thoroughly confused - and curious.

By the time you finally cornered Spencer, you had a strong suspicion that whatever Morgan had been hinting at involved the good doctor himself.

“Okay, what the hell is goin’ on with you?” you finally demanded, catching him in the hallway when he thought he was in the clear. Your accent was softer now, but still present, and Spencer cursed the way it made his stomach twist.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his satchel, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your gaze. “You’ve been actin’ weird all day. Avoidin’ me like I got the plague. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were runnin’ from me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, knowing he was caught. His brain was screaming at him to say something, anything that wasn’t the truth. But instead, his mouth betrayed him. Again.

“I, um… I just—I didn’t mean to say that earlier.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

Spencer turned red. “What I said to Morgan. About… your accent. And my—uh—bed.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Spencer wished the ground would swallow him whole. But then - then you smiled. It wasn’t mocking, nor cruel. No, it was slow and teasing, a wicked glint in your eye.

“Well now, Dr. Reid,” you drawled, voice dipping into that honeyed Southern lilt. “That’s quite the confession.”

Spencer’s brain short-circuited. Again. He opened and closed his mouth, his thoughts scrambling like papers caught in a windstorm. He had no idea how to recover from this. How did one backpedal from such a blatant admission?

“You—uh—weren’t supposed to hear that,” he finally managed, cringing internally because he basically just told you that himself – aloud. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, gripping the strap of his satchel like it was a lifeline.

You took a slow step forward, and Spencer, for all his intelligence, had nowhere to run. He was effectively trapped, his back against the wall, your voice curling around him like a warm, velvety ribbon.

“So… you like my accent, huh?” You let the words roll off your tongue lazily, like you had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

Spencer’s breath hitched. “I...it’s—um—linguistically speaking...”

“Oh, bless your heart,” you teased, reaching out to lightly tug at his tie. It was barely a touch, but Spencer felt it like an electric shock. “You can dress it up however you like, sugar, but the way you reacted earlier tells me all I need to know.”

Spencer swore his heart was trying to escape his chest. “I—uh—”

You leaned in, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear. “And just so you know… I don’t mind one bit.”

His brain completely flatlined.

You pulled back, giving him one last lingering glance before turning on your heel and sauntering away, hips swaying just enough to be intentional.

Spencer stood there, stunned into silence, pulse racing, mouth slightly parted.

“Oh-ho, pretty boy,” came Morgan’s unmistakable voice from behind him. “You are so screwed.”

Spencer groaned, pressing his forehead against the wall.

He was so in trouble.

The bullpen was eerily quiet now, empty save for the two of you. Everyone else had left ages ago, even Morgan, though not without throwing Spencer one last knowing smirk before heading out.

Spencer had tried, like really tried to shake the feeling that had been simmering in his chest ever since your little exchange in the hallway. But it was impossible when you were still here, moving around like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

He stole a glance at you as you gathered your things, your soft hum filling the silence, that accent of yours still lingering in his mind like an unsolved puzzle he desperately wanted to figure out.

He was so screwed.

“Y’ready, sugar?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Uh yeah. Yes. Ready.”

You smirked, clearly amused by how frazzled he still was, and led the way toward the elevator. The ride down was quiet, but not awkward. The air was thick with something unspoken, something Spencer wasn’t quite sure how to navigate.

When you stepped outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. You started toward your car, and Spencer, ever the gentleman, fell into step beside you.

It was a short walk, but with each step, Spencer felt his nerves coil tighter. He knew he should say something, should at least attempt to recover from his earlier humiliation, but his words failed him.

Finally, as you reached your car, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Well, uh… goodnight,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

You raised a brow, lips quirking as you leaned back against the car door. “That’s it?”

Spencer frowned. “What do you mean?”

You tilted your head, studying him, clearly enjoying the way he fidgeted under your gaze. Then, before he could register what was happening, your fingers hooked around his tie, giving it a gentle tug.

Spencer barely had time to gasp before your lips crashed into his.

A soft, muffled sound of surprise escaped him, but he didn’t pull away. No, he melted into you, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your waist, fingers twitching against the fabric of your blouse.

Your lips moved slowly, deliberately, and Spencer - despite his usual awkwardness - was a quick learner. He responded in kind, his breath hitching when you deepened the kiss just slightly, your body pressing against his.

It was intoxicating.

Everything about you, the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers tightened around his tie, that damn accent still lingering in the air, had him utterly undone.

When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s lips were parted, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown wide.

You smirked. “Goodnight, sugar.”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. You had kissed him. You had kissed him. And it had been… electrifying.

He swallowed thickly, adjusting his tie like it would somehow fix the fact that his entire body was burning from the inside out. His lips tingled, still carrying the warmth of yours, but he forced himself to take a step back.

“Uh - goodnight,” he said again, voice weak, shaky.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he turned and started walking away.

You watched him go, amusement flickering in your eyes as you leaned against your car. Bless his heart, you thought, shaking your head.

But Spencer only made it a few steps before something inside him snapped.

No.

No, he couldn’t just walk away from that.

Without another thought, he spun on his heel and strode back toward you, determination flashing in his eyes.

Before you could even register what was happening, Spencer’s hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks with a newfound confidence.

Then he kissed you.

Not hesitant, not unsure - this time, it was fierce.

Your back hit the car as he pressed against you, his fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just the way he wanted. His lips moved against yours with a hunger you hadn’t expected from him, but damn, you weren’t about to complain.

A soft noise escaped you, and that sound, that sound, sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. His grip tightened slightly, one hand slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It was overwhelming, the way he kissed you now. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. Like he needed to make up for the mistake of walking away in the first place.

And God, he was good at it.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“That,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, “was the actual goodnight.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips still tingling. Then, with a slow, wicked smile, you whispered, “Well, sugar… if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer.”

Spencer’s breath was still uneven, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your words echoed in his head - if that’s how you say goodnight, I might need you to stay a little longer - and something inside him snapped.

He kissed you again, harder this time, as if the act itself might ground him, might make you more real in this fleeting moment. His body pressed against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, and you let out a soft moan against his lips, the sound like a spark to dry tinder.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice hoarse, desperate, like he was fighting a battle with himself.

You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer, your heart racing with both anticipation and something deeper, more vulnerable. “Don’t you dare stop, sugar.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low growl, Spencer’s hands moved quickly, his fingers fumbling with the car handle before it gave way with a soft click. His urgency had you breathless as he guided you inside, never breaking contact, never letting you slip away from him. The car was cramped, but neither of you cared.

The moment you pulled Spencer into the backseat with you, any hesitation he might have had melted away. His body pressed flush against yours, his lips moving hungrily over your own as the car door slammed shut behind him.

It was rushed, desperate, like the two of you had been holding back for far too long, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping the flood.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere - trailing down your sides, gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. He groaned against your mouth when your nails raked lightly over his scalp, tugging at his curls just enough to make his hips jerk against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shaky as he rested his forehead against yours. “You.. this..God, I want you so bad.”

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you rolled your hips against him again, grinning when you felt just how hard he was through his slacks.

“I can feel that, sugar,” you teased, your accent dripping, knowing damn well what it did to him.

Spencer let out a strangled moan, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, but there was no frustration in his voice - only pure need.

“Mm, not before I make it worth your while,” you whispered, slipping your fingers down between your bodies to work at his belt.

His breath hitched, his entire body tensing as you made quick work of the buckle, then the button, then the zipper. The second your hand slipped beneath the fabric, wrapping around his cock, Spencer whimpered.

“Jesus Christ --”

His head dropped to your shoulder, his hips jerking into your touch as you stroked him slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he trembled beneath your fingers.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you mused, kissing the shell of his ear.

Spencer groaned, his teeth grazing over your neck before he retaliated, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, slipping between your folds.

“Shit --” Your back arched, a gasp tearing from your lips as he teased your entrance, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured in awe, sliding one long finger inside of you, then another, curling them just right. “Is this all for me?”

You moaned, rocking against his hand, your grip tightening around him. “All for you, baby. Just you.”

Spencer groaned at your words, capturing your lips in another desperate kiss as he worked you open, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

The car windows were completely fogged now, the space thick with the sound of your heavy breaths, your moans, the slick slide of skin against skin.

And then, just as you were teetering on the edge, he pulled away. His hands suddenly gripping your hips as he pushed you back against the seat, his eyes dark with hunger.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasped.

You didn’t hesitate.

You lifted your hips, shoving your jeans down just enough, and Spencer did the same, his movements frantic, desperate.

And then - God, then - he was there, his tip pressing against you, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You cupped his face, brushing your lips over his. “I need this, Spencer.”

That was all it took.

The second Spencer thrust inside you, a ragged groan tore from his lips, his forehead dropping against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers gripping your hips, nails digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. “You’re so - Jesus, you’re tight.”

Your body clenched around him at the filth in his voice, at the way his words were completely wrecked, breathless. He was already losing it, and you’d barely even started.

“You like that, baby?” you murmured, voice thick with your accent, teasing as you rolled your hips up against him. “Like how good I feel wrapped around you?”

Spencer groaned, his hands flexing against your skin. “Yes—I can’t—God, I can’t even think.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him whimper. “Just fuck me, sugar.”

And he did.

He pulled back and slammed into you, deep and hard, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, Spencer --”

The words barely left your lips before he set a brutal pace, thrusting into you again and again, deep enough that you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you to the point of pure blissful pain.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough and shaking as his hips snapped against yours. " I need to feel more.”

His hands roamed your body, greedy, desperate, palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you cried out.

“Spence --”

He swallowed your moan with a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucked into you harder, faster, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he needed to own you completely.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he panted against your lips, his voice thick with lust. “You like this, don’t you? You like letting me take you like this?”

“Yesyes, baby, don’t stop..”

He growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

His fingers found your clit, circling it just right, making you arch against him, nails clawing at his back.

“That’s it,” he groaned, watching you unravel beneath him, his pace turning even more frantic. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, I wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Your whole body tightened at his words, the filth of them pushing you even closer to the edge.

His thrusts turned brutal, deep, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you, over and over, dragging you closer and closer to pure bliss.

“Spencer, oh my God..”

“Cum for me, baby,” he groaned, his fingers pressing against your clit just right, his cock hitting deep, his breath hot against your skin. “I wanna feel it, I need to feel you fall apart for me.”

And you did.

Your whole body clenched, your back arching as you screamed his name, pleasure crashing through you in wave after wave.

Spencer cursed, his hips stuttering, his grip on you bruising as he followed, a wrecked moan leaving his lips as he buried himself deep inside you. His whole body shaking as he came hard, spilling into you with a groan that was damn near filthy.

For a long moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside.

Spencer’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm. Then he let out a breathless, wrecked laugh, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin.

“Well,” he murmured, still catching his breath, “that was… insane.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “That was just the first round, sugar.”

Spencer groaned, already hardening again inside you.

“Oh, fuck.”

Spencer’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as he pressed his forehead against yours, barely able to keep his hands still as he traced patterns down your back. But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

Without warning, you flipped yourself around, swift and confident. Spencer's eyes widened as he realized what you were doing, and before he could process it, you had already positioned yourself over him, your knees on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist, his fingers digging into your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice raw, desperate. He could barely take his eyes off your body as you lowered yourself slowly onto his still-hardening cock, the slow stretch sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

You could feel every inch of him filling you, stretching you out and the tightness in your chest twisted with desire as you began to ride him slowly at first. The feeling of control was intoxicating, and you moved deliberately, savoring every moment.

Spencer’s hands couldn’t stay still again. One hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple, making you gasp in pleasure. The other hand trailed down, gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, helping you move faster, deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” Spencer moaned, his eyes glued to your body as you rocked against him, your breath coming in shaky gasps. “You’re gonna make me lose it again…”

You responded by grinding harder, faster, desperate for the release that was building between you. Spencer’s hand tightened around your breast, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipples, drawing out soft moans from you. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your body trembling as the pressure in your core built.

“Spencer, I - oh God - I’m close,” you breathed, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased that release, that perfect feeling of completion.

“Me too,” he rasped, his voice so strained with lust that it made your whole body ache. “I want to feel you come all over me. Do it, baby. Let go…”

You did.

With one final, desperate movement, your body exploded in pleasure, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. You gasped his name, gripping onto him as the waves of ecstasy swept through you. Spencer wasn’t far behind, thrusting up into you as his own release finally overtook him. His hands were gripping your hips so tightly it left marks, pulling you down against him, ensuring every inch of him stayed buried deep inside as he came with a groan.

You both collapsed against each other, sweaty and breathless, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. The only sound in the car was the rhythm of your heavy breathing. Slowly, you lifted yourself off him, a satisfied moan slipping from your lips as his softened cock slid out of you.

You both just stared at each other for a moment, the air between you thick with tension and satisfaction. A small trickle of his cum dripped from you, slowly running down his cock as you both took in the aftermath. Spencer’s hands were still on your body, unable to let go, even now.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his lips still swollen from your kisses.

You grinned down at him, wiping away a bit of the mess from your thighs with a teasing finger. “Yeah. That was perfect.”

Spencer’s grin grew, though his eyes still burned with want. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said softly.

After everything, the both of you sat there for a moment, catching your breath, the cool night air gently brushing against your skin. Spencer’s hand was still resting on your thigh, his fingertips lightly tracing over the sensitive skin, the aftermath of what had just happened still hanging heavily in the air between you.

With a deep sigh, you slowly pulled yourself off of him, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your release. Spencer watched you, his eyes dark and full of desire, as you reached for your clothes, grabbing your top off the floor. He followed suit, his motions slow but deliberate, as if he were savoring every second of this.

He didn’t break eye contact as he began buttoning his shirt back up, his fingers working with practiced ease, but you noticed the faint tremor in his hands, the evidence of how much you had completely undone him.

You did the same, pulling on your jeans with a quiet hum, your movements deliberate as you slowly dressed, taking your time. There was something undeniably intimate about the way you both silently communicated with every motion, the connection between you thick and palpable.

Once you were both dressed, Spencer ran a hand through his tousled hair, sighing as he leaned against the car. “I—uh, I’m really not ready for this night to end,” he said softly, his voice still low with the remnants of desire.

You stepped closer, your body brushing against his as you reached up to adjust his collar, your fingers lingering on his skin. “Then it doesn’t have to,” you whispered, lips close to his, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

His gaze softened, his lips barely a whisper from yours as he cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching yours with something deeper than just lust. “Next time, we’ll go out—dinner, drinks, something nice. I’ll take you on a real date. I promise.”

Your lips quirked upward into a teasing smile as you reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft, lingering, as if the promise of what could come next hung in the air between you both.

“You better keep that promise, Reid,” you murmured against his lips. “Or next time, I’ll make you regret it.”

He grinned, eyes still glimmering with desire as he kissed you once more, deeper this time, a soft growl rising in his chest. “I’m counting on it,” he whispered back before pulling away slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to walk away or pull you back in for more, before he finally let out a breath. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice almost a plea for just a little more, a touch more.

You heard his plea in his voice and smiled softly, moving closer to him again. "Come home with me?"

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

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Hold Me Closer | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. brother Jimin)

Genre/Tags: brother’s best friends au; slight angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption; kitchen emergency; eldest child feels, adulting; explicit sexual content (making out, oral m & f receiving, unprotected sex but be safe please!); Seven JK (18+)

Word count: 19.2k

Read Part 1: Hold Me Close

Summary: When you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up... Not if your brother can help it, though.

Listen to 🎵: Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional

Playlist 🎶: High School Playlist

A/N 1: I know I said I’d be on a break but I reread Hold Me Close and found comfort in this Jungkook 🥹 so I went ahead and wrote this little piece! Whipped and comforting boyfriend JK is what I needed so I hope you enjoy this 💕

Six - the number of work calls you’ve already taken in the last hour, with each one of them lasting one whole song. Jungkook calculates that you’ve spent half of the entire drive since leaving Seoul talking with your boss about some report that he somehow can’t complete without you, which sucks because Jungkook was really looking forward to this road trip with you and his best friend.

You groan after you hang up and the clackity clack of the keyboard continues. He was hoping to hold your hand while he drove and maybe sing with you some of your favorite songs that he put on but it doesn’t seem like those will happen anytime soon. You’re immersed in your work but he guesses you have to be; the sooner this ends, the sooner your focus will be on him and this present moment.

He finds the positive side of it at least. He gets to listen to you explain things - why the numbers are what they are, what targets you reached, and what risks you managed. It’s quite silly but it’s kind of a turn on, hearing you talk about something you know like the back of your hand, pretty much proving to your crap of a boss how good you are at your job and why you’re an asset to the company. You know your shit, and you have a classy way of making sure they know that you do.

Six calls, and Jungkook already knows half of your project report. And perhaps he’ll know more, as the seventh one comes.

You let it ring for one, two, three times, as you hold your phone in one hand while you continue to type away with the other.

“I swear to god, ___. If you don’t pick that up, I’m gonna throw your phone out of this car,” Jimin, who’s comfortably seated in the backseat, growls.

The dramatics is understandable because one, it’s Jimin and two, the constant ringing is a little bit much.

“___, I’m not fucking kiddi—”

“Hello, sir,” you finally answer, then proceed to discuss this month’s analytics and projections for the succeeding quarter.

Jungkook predicts it’s gonna take you another whole song to finish, so he instead focuses on the road and appreciates the clear skies and familiar scenery of the drive to Busan. His thoughts go to how these next several days are gonna go. There’s visiting your favorite spots growing up, going to a resort, staying in to eat and play video games, and of course, cuddling with you in your room, as you and Jimin will have your parents’ house to yourselves once they leave for their anniversary trip in two days.

His musings are disrupted though, when he looks at the rear view mirror and sees Jimin’s annoyed face blocking his view. Jungkook can’t help but laugh, especially when he hears his best friend grumbling complaints just behind him.

“Leave her be, she’ll be done soon,” Jungkook dismisses him. “They sound like important stuff.”

“She’s talking so loudly!” Jimin groans. “I just want to reminisce and sing along to our teenage emo music, Kook.”

Jungkook turns the music off.

“There, I paused it. You can sing along once she’s done speaking on the phone,” he says.

Jimin pouts in response. “You always take her side. You weren’t like this when we were kids.”

“Well, if it means anything, I always took her side. I just never told you,” Jungkook laughs.

“Traitor.”

“I’m literally your most loyal friend.”

It’s a statement that Jimin can’t counter. Jungkook is his most loyal friend. And the most supportive. And the most dependable. And definitely the one who’s never left his side.

When Jimin casually told their group that he likes girls and boys, Jungkook was the only one who didn’t need time to “warm up to the idea.” Jungkook was also the only one who never disappeared whenever he had a girlfriend. He was also the one who never missed a single one of Jimin’s dance showcases in college and professional shows.

And of course, Jungkook was the one friend who took up his offer to drink that Friday afternoon, resulting in that infamous gutter incident - as you like to call it - and his subsequent unemployment and homelessness. While you, his beloved sister, were there to pick up the pieces, so was Jungkook, the way he promised he would after they became friends at 10 years old.

Those months when Jimin was heartbroken and unsure of what he was going to do with his life, his best friend was there to make sure that he wasn’t going to lose his drive and love for dancing. His best friend is also the one constantly cheering him up about this long-distance relationship that he decided to have with Taehyung while others continue to be a skeptic.

Jungkook is that friend, and Jimin supposes he can forgive the other man every time he sides with you.

Jimin is about to complain again when you put the phone down and make one of your restrained cries. He pities you, but it doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you wouldn’t be doing your work stuff while you’re on a trip of what’s supposed to be a mini-break.

“I don’t get why you don’t pick up after the first ring,” he huffs.

“It’s so Mr. Soo knows that I’m not easily available,” you say.

“But you are. You answer it anyway,” Jimin rolls his eyes.

“Exactly, I’m gonna answer it anyway. Might as well make him wait for it because he needs me,” you point out. “It’s bad enough that he’s calling while I’m taking the leave he approved, so I’m just pissing him off. He doesn’t know I changed the prompt to leave me a voice message to an annoying song so he’ll have to sit through it to get to me. I already know it’s getting on his nerves.”

“Ooh, petty. I like that,” Jimin hums.

“I know. I got that from you,” you proudly smile.

“But why are you even working?” He whines, your brother’s tone more of pity than annoyance. “It totally defeats the purpose of a leave. And you shouldn’t be indulging him!”

“Well, Mr. Soo approved this leave thinking that Chul would help him craft this report, which is based on the project that I proposed, only to realize that he doesn’t know shit about it because I wrote everything, and he just took the credit,” you explain. “I don’t want to be doing this, too, but I also just took the chance to show who’s driving the wheel, and it’s definitely me. Plus, I worked hard for that project. Working on the report at least gives me a chance to give myself credit for it.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right,” Jimin concedes. “Your voice is just so loud.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to match his tone,” you say. “But he’ll be in a meeting for the next hour or so and he probably won’t need me again until then. You can turn the music back on.”

“Ugh, thank god,” Jimin groans again. “I missed my favorite song.”

He leans forward and squeezes himself in the small space between you and Jungkook. The proximity causes Jimin to smack his elbow on your face, which you know is intended, considering how much of a brat he is. So you do what you always do - flick the back of his head.

He yells but gets over it once he manages to press the rewind button and plays the song he’s been wanting to hear. You haven’t been paying attention throughout the drive and hadn’t even known what they were listening to, but once the music comes on, a wave of nostalgia hits you.

You take the CD case you see in the compartment and scan the song list.

“Dashboard Confessional?” You read out. “Mayday Parade? Something Corporate?”

You go through 2 other CDs and look at both men questioningly.

“These are literally plucked out of my high school playlist that I illegally downloaded,” you state, given that music streaming sites weren’t a thing over a decade ago. “Why do you have them in CDs? And did you even know these songs back then?”

“Yes, because we listened to your playlist when you weren’t around,” Jimin confesses, earning him a flick on the arm.

“You went through my computer? You were in my room?!” You yell.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “It was a boring room, there was nothing to see. We just wanted your music because they were cool, but I’d never admit it.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head. “But it was my ex, remember? He was a new kid from the US and he got me into these emo rock bands and I thought they were cool, too. He downloaded them illegally for me and I just jammed to those songs all the time even after we broke up.”

“We know. Jungkook and I could hear it from my bedroom,” Jimin says, “which is why we used to sneak in and listen when you weren’t around.”

“Is that why you put them in a mixtape? So you could listen to them whenever you wanted?” You ask, turning to Jungkook because between the both of them, he’s definitely the one who’d know how to do this.

“Yeah, Kook. Why did you make these mixtapes when neither of us had a portable CD player… but my sister did?” Jimin presses, cocked eyebrow and smug face on display.

You’re looking at him now, and it’s a curious look that Jungkook can’t resist.

“I just thought to put your most played ones in CDs,” he shyly admits, “and uh, planned on giving them to you before you left for college. But I chickened out so I just left them in a box in my room that I brought to Seoul. I’d forgotten all about it until Jimin raided my studio and found them.”

“You… you made me mixtapes? When you were 15?” You ask.

“___, I think I’ve established enough that I had a huge crush on you when I was a teenager,” he turns to you and laughs.

It’s a little embarrassing even if he’s already dating you. It still feels surreal sometimes, as he thinks of his growing up years and how he always looked forward to sleeping over at Jimin’s place and then catching glimpses of you. There were the times when you’d watch movies with them in the living room, and then he’d help you clean up in the kitchen so he could spend more time with you.

That was over 10 years ago and so much has changed, but the admiration he felt for you never dwindled. There was always that image of you looking happy. He kept that version of you in his mind, even when you had your boyfriends. He just wanted to remember your smile, and now he gets to be the reason for it, like now.

“It’s just… it’s very sweet and thoughtful,” you say softly.

“I… Well… I took interest in the things you liked. I guess that happens when you like someone.”

“Told you he’s a romantic,” Jimin nudges you.

Between the fairy tattoo he designed and did on your shoulder, the dinner and picnic dates he takes you to despite both your busy schedules, and the way he holds you so close to him whenever and wherever he can, you can definitely say that Jungkook is a romantic.

It’s only been three months but it feels as if you’ve been dating him for longer, given the overflow of affection he’s been giving you. It’s in the way he always holds your hand and kisses you so passionately. It’s in his encouraging words and the way he spoils you with the littlest things.

It’s refreshing to be with him. He has boyish charms that have become even sexier with his slightly long hair and the lip ring that he recently got. And whatever he’s wearing, there’s just something so comfortably sexy about him that’s both warm and exciting, and you often find yourself swarmed in butterflies whenever he talks about you.

It’s only been three months but it’s a relationship you’re still slowly being open about. Your friends were definitely surprised. Hoseok fell off the couch with all his body movements; Jin spat out his drink; Yoongi gasped, then followed it up with a teasing smirk; So-Hee and Na-eun gushed over how Jungkook treats you, and took the chance to say how he’s gotten more handsome over the years.

You asked them if it was that shocking for you to be dating someone younger - and your brother’s best friend at that - and while they said it was a bit unexpected, what really got them was how different Jungkook is from your exes. He’s not some corporate man with ambitions, they pointed out. His life is less structured, too, given his freelancing career and gig at the tattoo parlor. He’s definitely a lot more laid-back and more casual than they’re used to.

They were short of remarking that Jungkook’s lifestyle isn’t as stable and secure as what you normally go for, and they wouldn’t be wrong. It’s a thought you’ve had before, and something even he brought up because he didn’t want you thinking that he can’t keep up with you. But you’d been the one to point out to your friends that stability can come in different forms. With how Jungkook has been so dependable and assuring, that’s given you more security than you ever thought.

But it’s not something that’s easy to explain. Maybe your friends could understand. They’ve made careers in different industries, after all, with short term jobs forming part of their resume. But your parents are of a different generation and mindset. Stability for them means one thing, and they raised you to want the same thing in the same way.

Which is why it’s already been three months, and you still haven’t told them about you and Jungkook.

“I started young,” he laughs, pulling you out of your thoughts as he takes your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours. “I used to just choose my moments of romance but with you, I’m romantic all the time.”

“Really? Does being a flirt count as being romantic?” You cock an eyebrow.

Because that’s what he is. He likes to tease and call you out when he affects you. He likes to charm and then edge you until you’re pleading for him to do more.

“Definitely! I mean, I’m out here living my teenage dream, you know?” He winks at you. “Not just anyone gets to say that they’re dating the person they had a crush on when they were 13.”

“Oh god, here we go again,” Jimin groans, earning him a laugh from you and Jungkook.

But even if your brother fake-gags at your not-so private displays of affection, you know deep down that he’s happy for you and his best friend. The two most important people in his life found comfort in each other, and he gets to witness and bask in that.

He also gets to brag that it all happened because of him.

You spend the next hour jamming to all your favorite emo rock songs because Jungkook wasn’t kidding - he really did include all of the ones you had on repeat from your playlist. It takes you back to over 10 years ago of playing the music so loud while you’re in your pajamas, jumping on your bed and singing your lungs out. They don’t really remind you of your ex-boyfriend. That was a short-lived relationship that only really had you appreciating the songs he shared and not much more.

Your boss doesn’t reach out to you until a half hour later. He’s taken to sending you messages instead, and when he does, you’re back to typing away on your laptop, to the displeasure of both men.

They don’t call you out this time and instead leave you be. Until, of course, it hinders you from enjoying yourself.

The car has stopped but you’re still on your laptop, double checking figures. Jimin has stepped out after telling you that he’ll throw your laptop in the ocean if you don’t stop, but Jungkook stays with you inside the car. He bops his head and hums to the music that neither of you could barely hear. He picks on his fingers and yelps at the hangnail he pulls out. He opens the window and shoos away a bug, then hangs out his head to feel the late morning sun.

“Kook, you can go out if you’re bored,” you say, your eyes still glued to your screen. “You don’t have to stay with me here.”

“But I want to,” he responds. “I’m not leaving until you do, not when you said we’re spending the week free from work and stress.”

“I just need to get this done,” you sigh, rechecking your stats for the third time and then aligning the table. “I’ll be finished soon.”

“You said that 15 minutes ago,” he points out, not wanting to sound like he’s complaining, although he might as well be.

“It’s just—”

“You’ve done your part, babe. You’ve encoded the figures and cross-checked the targets and objectives. Writing the rest of that report and formatting it isn’t your job anymore,” Jungkook says. “You weren’t even supposed to do those. You’re not on the clock. You’re on leave, and you deserve this break.”

“I hate that I have to work, too, but it’s not something I just can’t do, not when my boss is calling and expecting me to do all this,” you groan.

You see his eyebrows furrow and you get defensive.

“You know what, nevermind. You work solo, you answer to no one, you don’t have to prove yourself to corporate assholes. You won’t get it.”

You sigh once more and return to reviewing the conclusion, but the sudden silence is unnerving. You glance at Jungkook and see the look on his face - it’s not sadness but disappointment, and it’s one you don’t see very often on him.

You’re about to apologize when he speaks, his voice soft and low, as if speaking is difficult for him.

“I work with so many clients on a daily basis, with more than half of them setting deadlines that they don’t even follow and demanding so many things so yes, I get it,” he says. “But I put my foot down when I need to, because I learned a long time ago that I shouldn’t let people walk all over me. I know you’re up against a lot of things and you may feel like your hands are tied but they aren’t. A break won’t hurt you. And you know you deserve it. We deserve your attention, too.”

Your heart cracks at his words. Even more at the way he looks, as you see that all he wants is to spend time with you. He’s been busy, too. He’s spent the last few nights at his studio, buried deep in his projects because he said he wanted to focus on you this week. And you know that he’ll keep his word like he always does. Jungkook is dedicated to his work but he focuses on you when he says he will. You’re the one not loyal to what you say.

“Kook, I’m—”

“Just do what you have to do,” he interjects, his eyes downcast now. “I’ll be outside with Jimin. Come out when you’re done. You like it here, so don’t worry. We won’t leave until you’ve come down.”

Jungkook exits the car before you can say anything. You watch him walk down the stony path towards the ocean.

You hadn’t even realized you’re here.

You’re at Cheongsapo, with the pebble beach just meters away being one you all went to as kids. Jungkook’s older brother used to drive you here during summer, and you all enjoyed the calmness of the place. You used to bet on who would treat ice cream by playing rounds of stone skipping, with Jimin winning every single time. You remember how you and Jungkook taught each other how to do it, and then tag-teamed against your brother so he could finally treat you both that one time.

Whenever you’d visit Busan during your college breaks, you’d always come down here with your friends, with Jungkook and Jimin in tow. You’d visit at sunset and hold out your sparklers, then navigate the terrain at night and laugh about who tripped and slipped on the way back.

Jungkook’s right. You like this place. It holds so many memories of your youth, and you find yourself constantly reminiscing, as you try to recall his place in your life back then.

You mentally smack yourself. He didn’t deserve your dismissal. He didn’t deserve the way you spoke to him. He’s been trying to help, especially with how busy you’ve been these past several weeks. You were supposed to work from home while you housesat your parents’ house but Jimin convinced you to take your untouched leaves when Jungkook decided to come, and then they both called it a mini-break.

And maybe you need it, considering that all this preoccupation with work has caused you to snap at your boyfriend when all he wanted to do was ease your mind.

So you get out of the car and head to him.

There’s a small forest to pass through and a steep staircase to maneuver, but you manage. You look out to see Jimin already throwing stones and Jungkook standing by, reacting to every gliding pebble on the water. You spare a few seconds to admire him from the back, with his plain white shirt and light gray lounge pants, accentuating a figure that has you weak in the knees. His hands are in his pockets and his slightly long locks are in a half-bun, and he looks every bit of comfort in this place that holds so much of your years growing up.

You walk to where he is and wrap your arms around him from behind. He stills but he doesn’t say anything. You savor his natural scent and the way the tips of his hair tickle your face. You bask in the taut figure that somehow softens under your touch. Once you feel him relax a little, you tilt your head and whisper in his ear.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He remains quiet and unmoving. All you can hear are the sounds of the waves and Jimin’s cheering from some meters away.

“I just got caught up with work but I’m done with it. It wasn’t right of me to neglect you when I promised I was gonna take a break and spend time with you,” you continue.

Your voice is low and Jungkook could hear your pout. Just a little bit more and he’ll give in.

“You look so hot today and I just want to—”

“Yah!” He whines, finally returning your affection and caressing your arms that are now wrapped around him tightly. “Don’t tease me.”

“Hmm, that caught your attention, huh?” You giggle, lightly kissing his neck.

He shivers at the act, and he laughs at himself for how whipped he is for you, giving in so quickly.

“You know it would,” he huffs, turning around to face you now.

You still have that pout and he just wants to kiss it off you.

“How was walking down the steep staircase?” He asks, knowing that was your only non-favorite thing about this place.

“I tripped on a step but I’m fine,” you proudly smile now.

“You should’ve called me,” he frowns now.

“But you were upset with me!”

“So? Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t help you down the stairs and risk you tripping. You know how those steps are. And the pebbles can sometimes be slippery. You can trip here, too, and— what?”

“Nothing. You’re sexy when you’re worried about me,” you say nonchalantly.

“Ugh, come here,” he groans, pulling you in a hug, one that you fall into immediately. “I’ll always worry about you. And I’ll always help you, even if I’m upset.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry again. But I’ve laid off the report now. I told Mr. Soo I shall not be disturbed anymore for the rest of my leave.”

“Good,” Jungkook hums, pulling away to face you now. “Because I really want to know what you wanted to do.”

“Ah, many things, Jeon Jungkook,” you smirk. “But I’ll maybe settle for this first.”

You lean in and kiss him - deep enough to have him moan against your lips, and you suddenly can’t wait until you can do more.

“Oh, my eyes!” Jimin squeals, prompting you to look at him with his arm covering his face.

Jungkook only laughs but you scowl at your brother.

“You’re so dramatic,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve seen worse.”

“And I’ve erased that image of my sister and my best friend swallowing each other’s faces from my mind. Please don’t remind me again,” he groans. “But anyway, are you tolerable again?”

“Yes,” you frown. “I think,” you mutter, turning to Jungkook.

“You’re alright,” he teases, before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. “Now Jimin here wants to reassert his dominance as the stone-skipping king. You game for a match?”

“Do I have a choice?” You cock your eyebrow.

“No. So okay, same rules,” your brother announces. “Loser treats everyone to coffee and pastry. We all know it won’t be me.”

“Brat,” you say under your breath.

But he’s not wrong. He dominates and Jungkook ends up losing. The wink he makes tells you he let you win. And though you like to play fair, you won’t lie and say his teasing smirk definitely turned you on.

You spend the rest of your morning enjoying iced coffee while overlooking the beach, then you head to your favorite seafood restaurant for lunch. You go to your usual market for ingredients for the week, including tonight’s dinner that your mother will be preparing. She wanted to cook for all of you before they flew out, she said, and that got you excited.

It’s refreshing to walk through the streets and spots of your childhood and reminisce with your brother and boyfriend. The memories take on different forms this time, as Jungkook tells you things from his perspective.

You remember that one time you scolded them for sneaking out on a school night and then picking them up at an alley with Jin driving you. Jungkook says he liked how caring and understanding you were then; you said you’d cover for them after flicking their foreheads.

There’s that summer when you got your friends to buy from Jimin and Jungkook’s ice pop stand so they could buy these skateboards that neither of your parents wanted to get for them. Jungkook recalls how you complimented his recipe and told everyone he made them so that they’d praise him, too.

There’s that winter when, after your brother’s begging, you had him and Jungkook join you and your friends’ bonfire night at one of your secret beach spots. Jungkook points out that you always made sure that as the youngest ones there, they were warm and well-fed.

And then there were their sleepovers when you’d join them play video games and watch horror movies in the living room. Jungkook gushes at how pretty you looked and how you’d always prepare them popcorn and drinks. He outs you as the one who puts the blanket over him and Jimin when they fall asleep on the couch.

“I tend to forget a lot of things but I remember when they’re about you,” he mumbles as he starts the drive to your house. “It’s just always stuck with me. Please don’t be weirded out.”

You giggle but assure him that you aren’t. You understand him - there are things and people and moments that naturally stick with you, and they’re the ones you hold dear, too.

He was a kid with a crush and his attention was often on you, and you suppose that given how you’d felt comfortable around him then, it was also maybe natural that you’d feel the same way now that you’re both older. It just so happened that he ended up looking as attractive as he did, and that’s just an added bonus.

Jungkook drops you and Jimin home before he drives three blocks away to his parents’ house. He’ll greet them first before heading to your place, he says, excited for your mom’s cooking that he always enjoyed.

It’s been some time since you last saw them. They don’t always drive out to Seoul, only doing so to watch Jimin’s shows, and you haven’t had time to go home, either. Plus, you had an injured brother to take care of, and he’s also really the topic of every conversation you’ve had with them these past months.

And there are no bad feelings there. He’s had injuries and illnesses that had them worried, and you’re pretty much as unproblematic and predictable as any eldest child could get. You think you’re that monotonous or unexciting, too, and you suppose that just meant they didn’t feel the need to check on you as much as they did with Jimin.

But you express your longing once they offer you their hugs. You say how you miss your mom’s cooking and your dad’s baking, which is code for saying that you’ve missed them, too.

You get your stuff to your room and sigh in relief at the comfort it still gives you. Not much has changed between your double bed, your desk, your beanbag, and the large cork board of photos on your wall. You pin the Polaroids from earlier, deciding to keep the ones of you and Jungkook for your place back in Seoul.

You huff this time, unsure how you’ll open the discussion of you dating your younger brother’s best friend to your parents. They’ve known him since he was a kid; they watched him get into all kinds of trouble with their son, and were there for his milestones, too.

Jungkook was always Jimin’s partner-in-crime; they were two peas in a pod who went through everything together. Now it’s you and him and you don’t really know how they’ll take it.

But you brush it off for now and think it’s a conversation for later, or maybe when they come back from their trip. You intended on telling them in person, which is why they’re still in the dark. It’s just a matter of how you’ll say it.

You head downstairs and take in the scent of seafood soft tofu stew. The two boys are already at the kitchen counter, munching on the rolled omelet that they shouldn’t even be having yet. But your mom lets them, as Jimin talks about his new agency and shows videos of him doing some choreographies.

You stand next to Jungkook, who sneakily feeds you. You don’t know why you get flustered at the act, even more when he whispers in your ear.

“So, I finally get to see your room with your permission,” he cheekily smiles. “I promised Jimin a few rounds of Overwatch before going to you.”

You merely laugh and tell him that your dad’s asking him something.

“So, Jungkook. How has work been? Jimin tells us you’ve been getting more projects recently,” your old man asks.

“Ah, yes, uncle,” he responds. “I’m getting more clients and exposure now. It took a while but it’s all going well.”

“That’s good. Although I always wondered why you never thought of joining a firm. Doesn’t that mean a more consistent client base? And better for you financially, too.”

“Well, I get to choose my clients and my projects as a freelancer,” Jungkook explains. “I control my time. And it allows me to take appointments at the tattoo parlor.”

“Oh, right, your hobby,” your dad nods. “I guess having multiple sources of income is the new trend these days.”

Jungkook just hums in agreement, already used to your dad’s frame of thought when it comes to a career. So are you, because it’s often the first thing he picks up on with your boyfriends. Each of your partners just happened to be working in corporate so there was never this line of questioning followed by an awkward silence.

But Jungkook is just your brother’s best friend, as far as they know. You wonder how they’d react once you finally tell them the truth.

You don’t completely fault your dad, though. It’s less about judgment and more about practicality. He and your mom came from the generation that believed survival and security mattered more than passion. They always thought the latter could come later on in life, which is why they opened their own cafe not long ago, at a time when they were already pretty secure. You suppose it’s his way of looking out for you, which is why he’s always been concerned about your partner’s occupation.

The conversation changes, as the focus now turns to your parents and what they’ve been up to. You assist your mom in the kitchen while the men hang around, helping when they’re called upon. Jungkook stands near you, asking if you need him and attempting to feed you with a dumpling this time, but you manage to feed yourself and he merely looks at you in understanding.

Dinner is finally ready and you all head to the dining table. You take the seat next to your mom, across from Jungkook, and he looks at you curiously but you offer him an apologetic smile. You only told him that you’ll tell your parents about your relationship in person, which you planned on doing.

That is, until your parents bring up your friends.

“Sweetie, Jin’s son is so adorable,” your mom chirps. “I saw the pictures on Facebook and the little one took after his father so much. I can imagine how happy he and his wife are.”

The topic of your dear friend and his family injects energy into you. You say how Jin’s been bragging about his mini-me but that the nursery you helped put together looks so beautiful. You were all there when his wife gave birth a few weeks ago and though you’re still unsure about having kids, you won’t deny how much it warmed your heart when Seo-yoon’s tiny fingers wrapped around your thumb. It’s not something you say though, as your mom eventually mentions Na-eun and her fiancé.

“I read that he’s been promoted as Director of their company,” she says.

Your dad pipes in that So-Hee’s new boyfriend is apparently the son of one of his former colleagues, and you’re quite frankly over the conversations about your friends’ partners. The insinuations aren’t lost on you.

“How do you even know these things?” You groan.

“Facebook,” your mom replies. “Of course I’m friends with all your friends. And it’s nice to know how well they’re doing since we don’t get to see them much anymore. You’ve reached that age of settling down, after all.”

“I guess,” you hum, no longer interested in the conversation. Jimin’s roll of his eyes tells you he feels the same. “Lots of good things are happening for them.”

You don’t mean to sound bitter and you aren’t. You adore your friends and genuinely love that things are looking out for them. You’re not the same person from months ago who felt lost and falling behind amongst them. Sure, things could be better career-wise, but you haven’t felt this much security in yourself and your relationship until Jungkook. Explaining why is a different thing altogether.

“What about you?” Your dad asks. “I know we’ve been calling every week to ask about your brother but we haven’t been checking in on you. I’m sorry, dear,” he continues, his eyes softening. “Is there anything new in your life?”

If the earlier conversations hadn’t happened, perhaps you’d willingly hint on the newest thing in your life, which is the relationship you have with the man currently looking at you with his doe-eyes in anticipation.

But they did, and you know mentioning your friends’ partners was their way of subtly pressuring you about being with someone of similar stature. And you’re not really in the mood for that right now.

So you end up doing the stupidest thing you possibly could, and that’s to lie.

“Not really,” you say, hating the prolonged silence that follows.

And as you look at Jungkook across from you, you see his face fall, and you hate even more that it’s because of you.

Your lack of a follow-up prompts your parents to move on. They know that when you’re in the mood to talk, you will and when you’re quite passive, it means you aren’t.

Your mom turns to Jungkook instead and asks him what else he’s up to other than his various jobs and looking after Jimin. He looks at you before his gaze shifts towards them.

“Not much else, auntie,” he replies.

The crack of your heart knows you completely messed up, because if it stings like this, then you know it hurt him even more.

“Oh, is there no one special in your life?” She asks, as she often does. Given that she treats Jungkook as part of the family, she’s lost all filter when it comes to him, too. “I recently met with my friend and her daughter. She’s such a lovely young woman, Kook, she’s brilliant and oh so charming. She’s in Busan for the week, too. Do you want to—”

“Is it time for dessert?” Jimin butts in, not wanting this conversation to continue.

He knows Jungkook wouldn’t know how to turn your mother down, and if he even slightly entertains the idea to appease her, you’d be the one upset, even if you technically put this upon yourself. Jimin already sees you a bit uncomfortable, and if there’s anything he can do to not make this worse for you and his best friend, it’s to be a brat.

“Oh, yes. Your father made an apple pie and some ice cream,” she says. “Let me—”

“I’ll get it,” you offer, standing up from your seat now.

You don’t want to know what your mom’s other propositions would be. You’re sure she’ll find some person’s son to match you with, given that she’s done that a few times after your breakup with Namjoon. You’re also not ready for Jungkook to agree with her about meeting someone, even if you know he won’t mean it.

Which is really stupid because if you’d just told them the truth, then you’ll be having a completely different conversation, although you’re unsure if you’re ready for that one, too. But at least Jungkook wouldn’t look as upset as he does right now, as he’s resorted to picking on his food instead of finishing it, which tells you that he’s lost his appetite and that’s never a good thing.

You go to the kitchen to slice the pie and scoop the ice cream. You do it so slowly to lengthen the time before you’re back there, only because you don’t want to know what else they’re talking about.

You’re in the middle of cursing yourself when you feel the sting of a tiny pinch on your arm, and you yelp in pain and smack your brother’s chest in reflex.

“Ow!” You yell, frowning at the man before you and ignoring your mother’s order to “behave,” even if they’re used to you two quarreling.

“You deserve that,” Jimin scowls at you. “Because what the fuck was that?!”

“I know,” you sigh, glancing at Jungkook who’s trying his best to be interested in what your parents are saying. “I… froze. You know what they wanted to hear, Chim. All those things about my friends’ boyfriends and what they do? I just didn’t want them to compare them to what Jungkook does if I tell them.”

“Why, what’s wrong with what he does?” Your brother raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing. It’s just… you know how focused they are on career stability and shit like that,” you try to explain. “You heard what dad was telling him earlier. I just didn’t want Jungkook to hear any underhanded comments from them and then feel bad about it.”

“And you think denying that you’re dating is any better?” He chides. “That’s literally worse!”

“I—”

“Jungkook knows how our parents are. And after you got together, he already anticipated that they’d question how he’ll be able to sustain your life together once you told them about your relationship,” Jimin explains. “He was ready for it. I doubt he anticipated this…”

You stand there, the crack in your heart getting deeper and bigger as the seconds pass. You hadn’t realized that Jungkook was already confiding in Jimin about any concerns he’d have about facing your parents. You suppose he would, given that you said you’d tell them when you saw them the one time that Jungkook asked if they knew, and you didn’t raise it again after. Living in your bubble together seemed more important, and you’d forgotten to mentally prepare yourself for this conversation.

“Chim, I fucked up,” you pout.

If it were about anything else, Jimin would push it. It’s how you always were, and you’ve reached that point in your relationship where you could call each other out and know it comes from a good place. But he doesn’t want to do this today, not when you’re already sad and guilty and he doesn’t want you to feel worse. He doesn’t want to take sides, even if he’ll admit that you were in the wrong, but he doesn’t want to antagonize you either.

“Hey,” he nudges your arm. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re both gonna figure it out. I don’t know how hard he’ll take this but he’s a really soft-hearted person, so just… keep that in mind, okay?”

You nod, wanting to believe that you’ll be able to fix it.

“And don’t hate yourself too much,” your brother adds. “He’s really, really into you. I just know he won’t be able to resist you.”

You nod again but you think that just makes it worse. You doubt he expected that out of all the people to disappoint him, it would be you. Yet here you are.

You and Jimin return to the table with the plated desserts. You hand one to Jungkook but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He doesn’t meet your eyes either when it’s all you try to do. He peacefully eats his apple pie while you feign interest at your parents talking about their recent weekend at a spa.

When everyone’s done, he helps Jimin clean up. It’s how you know that Jungkook’s considered part of the family, as your parents don’t stop him from doing so, unlike when it comes to other guests or your friends.

You watch helplessly as he washes the dishes, turning down your offer to help. You take the rest of the plates and walk towards him instead, standing close so you could place them in the sink. He just moves his arms to give you space then returns to his task, not sparing you a glance.

You stay with your parents in the dining area to talk about their trip. They leave you with important documents and give you instructions should anything bad happen to them while they’re away, as they always do whenever they go on a trip. Everything is your responsibility as the eldest, they remind you.

They finally go to their room to continue packing and you sit on the corner of the couch where Jimin and Jungkook have just finished watching some video of a guy reacting to other videos. You constantly glance at your boyfriend but he seems to be intent on not giving you attention because he’s not like this - he always wants to be close to you, needing his hand to be touching your arm or your thigh or even your hair, and his pretty eyes locked on you. But not tonight.

You recall how months ago, you avoided him because of what you started to feel. And perhaps this is how he felt then - helpless, unsure, and desperate for you to be next to him again.

You find the tiniest bit of courage and call out his name, hoping he’d at least turn to you this time.

“Kook, I’m—”

“Hey, we should probably play now so we finish early,” Jungkook nudges Jimin’s knee. “It’s been a long day; I don’t really want to stay up late.”

Your brother looks at you in apology as he responds to the man on his left in agreement. They both head up, leaving you rooted in your seat, wishing that Jungkook would turn around to tell you that he doesn’t mean creating this distance, but he doesn’t.

And you wouldn’t blame him. You’d stay away from you, too.

You end up watching Aliens on your own, crouched on your corner of the couch with the large blanket over you. You give up after an hour, once the movie starts getting intense and scary though. There’s no Jungkook to hold you during the jumpscares, or to tease you about your screaming, or to assure you that he’ll protect you from all types of monsters.

There’s no Jungkook next to you but you want him there, and it’s another half hour later when you decide that you’re not going to bed without speaking to him.

You hate sleeping sad and upset. You don’t like ending the day not being on good terms with him. There are so many things you want to tell him but more than anything, you just want to hold him close. He always said he liked that, because even during the times when there’s so much to say or feel, falling into each other’s arms is the easiest thing to do. It says enough. It shows enough. And you’ve both survived misunderstandings and stressful moments by holding each other, and then holding each other closer.

Walking up the stairs and towards Jimin’s room, the nerves kick in. Jungkook has been ignoring you the whole evening and you’re unsure if he’s willing to hear you out.

But you try, as you knock on the door, your heart beating fast when it slowly opens. Your brother’s downcast eyes meet you and you don’t need to say anything else.

He opens the door wider then turns to the man lying on a mattress on the floor.

“Kook, my sister’s looking for you.”

You glance at him, dressed in that black tank top that always made you breathless, but once again, he avoids your gaze. But he does stand up after a nudge on the foot from your brother and walks over to you.

“Can we, uh…” you gesture towards the room just across the hallway.

He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t shut you out, which is a good thing. You take it as your cue to start walking and you hear his footsteps right behind you.

You let him in then close the door behind him. There’s so much you want to say, like you’re sorry and that you were stupid, that you didn’t mean to deny him but that you didn’t know how to tell your parents, or what you were even nervous about. You want to say that you just want to spend tonight wrapped up in his arms and apologizing in all the ways that you can.

But instead of uttering the words, your throat dries up. Seeing him standing there with that upset and disinterested look on his face breaks you a little. So you reach out, your hands pressing gently on his chest to try to feel him, to be close to him, hopefully to hold him and make your mistake go away.

“Kook, I…” you tremble, trying so hard to find the words.

Jungkook looks back at you, your face nervous and unsure, unlike his that’s probably still painted with disappointment.

He still doesn’t know what to make of your denial. He’s been trying to see things from your point of view all evening, but doing so only in his head because verbalizing them, especially to his best friend, makes it sting a bit more. Maybe Jimin can explain on your behalf but that would just confirm to Jungkook one of two things - that you don’t really intend on telling your parents about both of you for whatever reason he can’t comprehend, or you don’t think he measures up to their expectations and for that, you might just think he’s not good enough for you.

He doesn’t think he’s ready for that, so he shuts Jimin down when he asks. They watched videos earlier to have something to laugh about but he was faking it. He suggested playing a game just so he wouldn’t respond to you calling him earlier but all they’ve done since going to the room is lie in silence.

Jungkook doesn’t want to talk about it with his best friend. And he certainly doesn’t want to talk about it with you. He doesn’t want an explanation right now. It’s not what he wants to hear.

And it seems as if it’s something you’re even struggling to give him, as you stand there quivering, your hands slowly trying to pull him closer to you.

It’s what you usually do when you can’t find the words to express something - when you’re stressed and frustrated, when you want to patch things up after a small misunderstanding, when you want his comfort. And he always loved it when you did. He always willingly gave you that hug and that kiss and those whispers of “it’s okay” and “we’re okay” and “I’m just here.”

But not tonight, not when there’s this unnamed thing that’s eating him inside, and not even you can fix it.

“I don’t… I don’t really wanna do this right now,” he mutters, taking your hands to slowly slide them off him.

The look of hurt in your eyes is one that’ll probably haunt him for a while, but he’ll learn to deal with that. It’s better than talking with you about something that you don’t even know how to express.

This isn’t like him. It’s not like him to be upset at you like this, to not want to comfort you, to not want to be around you. This messes him up, too, and all he can do is step away and walk out.

He doesn’t really wanna be here, he thinks to himself as he enters the room just across, to the surprise of Jimin who half expected both of you to have made up. Jungkook would go home if he only brought his keys and it wasn’t too late to ask his parents to open the door for him.

But his best friend’s floor mattress will do for now. And so Jungkook puts on his earpods and plays whatever music is loud enough to shut out the thought of you until he falls asleep.

In the other room, you lay in your bed in complete silence. You don’t want to cry, only because he’s not there to wipe your tears away. And you don’t ever want to know what that’s like, so you don’t. You keep the tears at bay and force yourself to drift away.

You jerk awake the next morning to your mother knocking on your door. You promised to do errands with her today, so you get off the bed and yell out that you’ll just fix up.

“No rush, dear. I’m still having breakfast with your father. You can join us when you’re ready.”

You head down and eat the pastries that they brought from the cafe. You don’t have much appetite and these will suffice, but your mind goes to Jungkook and how he was craving kimchi fried rice and spam yesterday.

So that’s what you make for him and Jimin. You even prepare iced coffee the way they like it. You’re about to set the dish aside for them to heat up when you hear rushed footsteps down the stairs and you know they’ve woken up.

“Wahhh, it smells so good,” Jimin exclaims as he walks over to the counter while his best friend sits on the table. “Did you make something, dad?”

“Oh, your sister cooked for you and Jungkook,” your father hums. “It’s making me hungry now.”

“There’s still some in here if you want,” you call out, with him responding that he’ll get some later.

You serve the dish in two bowls. You hand one to Jimin and then place the other in front of Jungkook without sparing him a glance.

“Iced coffee is in the refrigerator,” you tell them.

You hear Jimin’s little squeal before he gets them. “Where you off to?” He asks.

“I’m running errands with mom.”

“Make sure you two make it in time for dinner, okay?” Your father says.

“Of course. I can’t miss your steak, dad,” you give him a small smile.

“Good. I prepared meat good enough for five Actually, six. I count Jungkook as two people,” he laughs.

The thought of this comfort and familiarity hurts you because you’re the one who made Jungkook think otherwise. You see him smile at your father’s remark but you turn away when he looks your way. You know he’s still upset and you don’t want to force it if he’s not yet ready to speak with you. You also haven’t gotten over the way he pulled away from you last night, and so looking at him today is a little difficult.

“You’re still joining us at the party, right?” Jimin asks.

Their friend, Hari, whom you know briefly dated Jungkook in high school, is celebrating her birthday tonight. Their group always looked to you as the cool sister so you’re always invited to whatever they’ve got going, and while the three of you talked about attending later, after what you did, you doubt Jungkook would want you to spoil his evening. You’re also not exactly in the partying mood for obvious reasons.

“I’ll pass, Chim,” you respond. “You guys should have a best friend night.”

You go back to your room to fix up before joining your mother to head out.

Back in the dining room, Jimin nudges Jungkook’s knee.

“She’s still playing favorites,” he playfully rolls his eyes as he gestures to the generous amount of spam in his best friend’s bowl compared to his decent serving.

Jungkook just hums, guilt forming that he didn’t even thank you for this because he really has been craving it. Before any of them could say anything more, your father speaks up.

“Your sister okay, son?”

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t she be?” Jimin nervously answers.

“She just doesn’t seem like herself, that’s all,” your old man replies.

“Maybe it’s work. It’s been tough lately,” your brother reasons.

“But she’s more tired and frustrated when it comes to work but that’s not what she is. Maybe it’s a guy.”

At this, Jungkook chokes on his food, and he’s glad your father doesn’t react.

“What makes you think so?” Jimin asks, his eyes flitting to his best friend.

“Hmm, it just seems different,” your father insists. “Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my end. She hasn’t introduced anyone since Namjoon. And I wish she would, just so we know she’s moved on, you know? And that the breakup isn’t still hurting her.”

“She has, and it doesn’t affect her anymore,” Jimin confirms, certain of at least that bit.

“Then why hasn’t she introduced anyone yet?”

“Maybe it’s because you really liked Namjoon, and he seems to be your standard so ___ is just probably just taking her time.”

“Well it’s because he’s smart and stable and very self-assured and—”

“Also very much married. And a soon-to-be father,” Jimin interjects, already being protective of you.

He wonders now if this is how your parents talk about him to you, and that you’ve always just protected him from all of it.

“Oh,” your father sighs. “It could’ve been her.”

“But it isn’t and that’s totally fine,” Jimin exclaims. “She’s young and she’s got time. And who knows, maybe that’s not the life she wants, or at least not yet? If you could accept my version of happiness, you should be able to accept hers, too. And what does ‘stable’ even mean?”

“Someone with ambition, with a direction,” your old man explains. “Someone who’s secure and financially capable of sustaining this good life that your mom and I gave you both.”

“Those are all the things she is, too, you know?” Jimin frowns. “And also, I love you, dad, but you’re old. By that I mean your thinking is old. It’s outdated. You think stability is about prestige and money and I get that but… that’s not everything. There are other things that matter to her and if you lessened the pressure a bit, you’d see that. She’s your daughter, don’t you want her to be happy? To be loved?”

“Of course I do,” your father sighs.

“Well then don’t let your version of what a good partner is dictate her life,” Jimin advises. “She’s a grown up, she knows what she wants and how to get it. But she’s also your daughter who doesn’t want to worry or disappoint you. What if she’s found someone who makes her happy and treats her right but she’s nervous of what you’d think because of all these expectations you have of her?”

Jimin’s eyes flit to his best friend again who’s quietly munching on his food but is clearly taking in this exchange. While Jimin still thinks you were wrong to deny your relationship, he at least hopes that Jungkook could understand what was going through your mind and it was all this.

“Well if she has then I’d want to meet him,” your father insists.

“And maybe you will, once she stops feeling the pressure of what she’s supposed to be for you and who she’s supposed to date,” Jimin explains.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, dad,” Jimin groans. “I lived with her for months and she just… she worries about a lot of things. It would be nice if she doesn’t worry about this. So please, stop with all the projections and underhanded remarks, okay? She sees right through you. Just let her live her life.”

A smile forms on your father’s face. It was never his intention to put all that pressure on you but he supposes you just accepted that it comes with the territory. But he realizes it shouldn’t be. His son’s right - he’s old. He and your mother worked hard so that you and your brother could have a life where you didn’t have to worry about anything, but he supposes the intention got muddled along the way. At least you and Jimin have each other.

“I know you and your sister don’t like to admit it but it’s really touching to see how similar you both are,” your father says.

“Excuse me, I’m cooler and funnier and definitely more talented,” Jimin pouts.

“Maybe,” your old man laughs. “But she’s sat on that same chair, lecturing me and your mom about letting you live your life and now you’re doing the same. She’s your biggest advocate and your biggest protector. It’s just nice to see how you’re the same for her.”

Running errands with your mother has always been your responsibility, but it’s once you’ve hit your late-twenties mark that you’ve come to appreciate it.

You learn a lot about the practical stuff like insurance and emergency funds and inheritance when you accompany her to the bank. You’re also reminded that sometimes you have to spend more to make things last when she drops off her clothes at the laundry service and picks up the bag and shoes she had professionally cleaned. You also remember the important things like buying flowers and leaving them on your grandparents’ graves.

You’ve just left the shopping center after she bought your father an anniversary gift, and her excitement over the satchel and perfume she got him has you smiling. You wonder how differently she feels for him 30 years later, and if this life they have together is everything she imagined it to be.

“Was it hard at the beginning? Being married to dad?” You ask.

“Of course, dear,” she answers. “Because it’s how marriages typically go. Your father and I were together for two years before we got married and it was a big change. You just… learn to consider another person, and you get used to someone always being around you.”

“It’s a good thing you can stand each other then,” you chuckle.

“That’s true,” she laughs back. “You’d be surprised to know how many married couples can’t. But we just always managed. And we had to be on each other’s side, you know? It’s the reason why we’ve lasted as long as we have.”

She looks quite emotional as she says the words and it’s probably because of what they’ll be celebrating soon but she turns to you with a smile.

“Your father’s parents wanted me to become a housewife, a stay-at-home mom who just ran the household,” she continues. “But I wanted to work so I could help my parents, and your father stood by my decision. He saw how working gave him financial freedom and he wanted that for me, too. And we just… worked hard. We fought a lot at the start because we were building our careers and raising a family but we knew it would all be worth it, as long as we stood by each other.”

“Then I suppose that’s what’s important in a partner, isn’t it?” You say. “Being dependable, being supportive, not… not what kind of career they have.”

“Well, a stable career helps,” she points out. “I mean, it’s how your father and I got to afford sending you and your brother to good schools. It’s how we could afford trips as a family and how your father and I can be secure at this age without needing much help from our children.”

“But that’s also because you worked hard, plain and simple. And you and dad had each other and overcame whatever challenges you faced together. You can’t say the same for all married couples,” you push.

“That’s true. I mean, it wasn’t like this during our parents’ time. I guess people had less options then. The world’s changed so much, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” you hum. “Not everyone cares much about their partner’s upward mobility and stuff like that. They want to savor the good life their parents gave them. And because they work hard, too, they just want someone to enjoy it with them. You know, like me.”

There’s a beat of silence as your mother processes your words.

“Is that why it didn’t work out with Namjoon?” She asks, reminding you that you’d only given them a general reason as to why things ended.

“We spent too much time planning for our future that we kinda lost our way,” you explain. “I guess that’s when I realized that I wanted someone to enjoy the moments with, regardless of what they do for a living. And we’ll never know what life will throw our way and I need someone who’ll stand by me, the way I’ll stand by them. You know, cheesy things like that.”

You smile to yourself as you think about Jungkook and his shameless affection that he shows in so many ways. You enjoy the cheesiness but you’ll deny it first before admitting it. But then again, he probably knows already. He pays attention to you after all.

“Well, I suppose that’s why we wanted to give you and your brother a good and secure life, so that you can enjoy it,” your mother hums.

“Exactly. You raised us well, mom. We’re not gonna throw our lives away, however we choose to live it, and with whom,” you assure her.

She gives you a warm smile. She takes your hand at the stoplight and caresses it. Perhaps it’s the assurance you need, too.

You return home to your father preparing the meat for tonight’s dinner. There’s a platter of steak, vegetables, and sausages that he’s seasoning to grill, and you can imagine how happy this is gonna make Jungkook. He always liked it when your dad prepared dishes like this paired with your mom’s spicy chicken soup, and you wish you could enjoy it together.

But you’re giving him space to feel what he feels and you’re doing the same, even if all you want to do is apologize. You haven’t had an issue quite like this, so things are a little unfamiliar to you. You tried to talk to him last night but he wasn’t ready, and you’re unsure when he will be.

You head towards the counter and cut up the vegetables for the soup before slicing the fruits. You’re focused on your task, knowing how sharp the knives are, but it’s at the same time that your brother and Jungkook arrive. Seeing your boyfriend look as good as he does in that denim jacket-over tank top fit is so sinful; it’s a crime you’re not talking that it distracts you, and it’s what causes you to slice through your finger and yelp in pain.

“Did you hurt yourself, dear?” Your mom asks as she stirs the pot.

“Yeah,” you say, placing your hand under running water.

You’re about to ask Jimin to get the First Aid kit from the drawer but Jungkook gets to it first, knowing where it is.

He knows that your brother, who’s terrified of blood, won’t help you, and despite your situation, Jungkook can’t stand not helping. So he lathers an antiseptic once the bleeding has stopped, then he wraps a band-aid around it. Just like him, you focus your gaze on your finger. Or maybe you’re stuck on the way he tends to you. Or the fact that this is the most physical touch you’ve done this past day when you normally can’t take your hands off each other.

He sighs to himself. If he wasn’t so hung up on his hurt feelings, he’d be able to tend to you better. This might not even have happened if he’d just spoken to you last night.

But he shakes the thought away. He’s still upset. But he’ll always want to take care of you; that’s the one thing that won’t ever change.

“Thank you,” you mumble, still not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll do this,” he says, waiting for you to step aside before he takes your place.

“Jungkook dear, do you mind helping me with the glazed potatoes after you finish that?” She asks.

“Sure thing, auntie,” he replies.

You watch him work around the kitchen the way he’s done so many times before, and your heart stings at the sight because you want to be doing this with him, with your parents, in your family kitchen. But it’s not like you could talk to him right now, not when you don’t know how to say what you want to say. So you head outside to where your dad is grilling the meat and help him instead.

It’s not long after when dinner is ready, and you’re seated across Jungkook again. It’s a little tense when you look at him when he looks away, but Jimin thankfully finds a way to keep the conversation light and focused on him.

Your parents insist that both men don’t need to help clean up, and Jimin asks you if you’re really not going.

“Yeah I’ll just… stay home, make sure mom and dad are packed well and just get everything in order for tomorrow,” you say, half lying.

“Gee, you make me look like a useless child,” Jimin pouts.

“You’re alright,” you hum. “You can drive them to the airport tomorrow.”

“But mom asked Jungkook to do that.”

“Well then you could just… make them a card or something,” you shrug.

Your brother sticks his tongue at you and you do the same.

“Fine, we’ll head out,” he announces.

“You guys have fun,” you say softly, glancing at Jungkook before walking towards the sink to do your duty.

You turn to your brother. “Call me if you need me to pick you up. No driving drunk, okay?”

He salutes you in response then heads out after Jungkook.

It’s uneventful after that. You help your parents with last minute packing then have a long shower. You lie on your bed and mindlessly watch some movie on your laptop hoping that you’ll fall asleep soon, and that when you wake up, you’ll find the strength to go to Jungkook and tell him that you’re sorry and that you don’t want to go another day without him.

“Hey, Jungkook. Dance with me.”

Jungkook looks up to find Hari and gives the same answer he’s given the last two times.

“Sorry, I’m injured,” he says.

She raises her eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe him and he can’t blame her; he doesn’t exactly know how to act like it.

“Oh, Jimin. There you are,” she chirps as the said man approaches the table. “Dance with me.”

“Sorry, I'm injured.”

“Great. It’s my birthday and I spot two hot guys in this party without girls around them and they’re fake injured,” she scowls. “What’s up with you two?”

“I’m not in the mood,” Jungkook shrugs.

“I’m babysitting,” Jimin says, gesturing at his friend. “But Mingyu and Eunwoo are right there. Go tell them to dance with you.”

“Fine. I’ll get in line then,” she rolls her eyes then walks away.

“How come no one believes me when I say I’m injured?” Jungkook asks as he munches on the fried chicken wings his best friend got.

“Because you’re a terrible actor. People believe me because I’m believable,” Jimin hums.

“They believe you because you posted all over social media that you hurt your ankle,” Jungkook corrects.

“Yeah but that was like, half a year ago.”

“Why are you even pretending you’re injured? You don’t have to stay with me, you know? Go to the dance floor and have fun. That’s your thing.”

“Well, maybe I’m also not in the mood because my best friend’s sulking,” Jimin frowns.

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“You know my sister’s sorry, right?”

“She’s ashamed, that’s what she is. And I’m just supposed to live with that.”

Jimin sighs as he watches his best friend mindlessly stare out onto the dance floor. Jungkook’s probably trying to rid himself of the image of both of you dancing and kissing and having fun if you were here. He could be making sense of what he feels, or his mind could also just be completely blank right now.

But what Jimin knows is that another glass of whiskey is something that Jungkook shouldn’t be having, so he stops his best friend from ordering another one.

“You might get drunk and then you’ll call or go see her and then you’ll say things you’ll regret and then you’ll hurt her and you’ll get even more hurt and you’ll have a harder time fixing things and then it just won’t stop and you’ll feel stupid because you’re not talking over something you could easily fix,” Jimin heaves.

It’s a lot to process but Jungkook knows that Jimin’s right. He’ll just get too emotional and won’t be able to control himself and despite what he feels, hurting you is the last thing he wants.

So he orders water instead, finishes it, then heads for the door.

“I don’t wanna be here anymore,” he says. “I need to get some air.”

They end up at a park, the one that you used to hang at with your friends in high school. Jungkook knows because he always accompanied Jimin there when you’d tell him where to meet you. It’s peaceful at this time of night and much more beautiful, too. It’s no surprise he keeps thinking that you’re right next to him, with your head on his chest and laughing at his jokes.

“Why is this affecting me so much?” He wonders out loud. “Why am I so hurt and so stubborn?”

“Because she said something she shouldn’t have. But also because you put her on a pedestal,” Jimin answers. “She made a mistake, and you’re free to fault her for it. I mean, anytime someone we care about hurts us, it sucks like hell. But you also have to think that maybe it’s affecting you as much as it does because she’s always been faultless in your eyes and she isn’t.”

The reality is a slap on the face, but one that Jungkook thinks he needs to have. You were everything he ever wanted and these past three months have been a bliss. But now that reality hits and you have to face the pressure that’s part of your life, your humanness is showing. And that’s what he’s always liked about you, isn’t it? The imperfections and the flaws? Now that those are affecting him, it’s affecting him hard, and he’s having a hard time getting over it.

“Maybe once you accept that she’s human and not just the dream you’ve had since forever, then you’ll realize that things like that happen but she never means to hurt you,” Jimin adds. “You can’t think that she does. You learn to work it out by facing it, Kook. You have to talk about it. You have to tell her it hurts and you have to listen to what she says, and then you forgive. That’s kind of how grownup relationships go.”

“Guess I’ve never had one before, huh?”

“Maybe they just didn’t mean enough to hurt you.”

“This means everything, then,” Jungkook sighs, as things get clearer in his mind. “Because I think what hurts more now is not being next to her.”

“Great! Then can both of you patch things up now?” Jimin beams, feeling hopeful. “I hate seeing both of you sad and so stupid. Plus, my parents are leaving tomorrow and you won’t have a buffer anymore. So please just talk.”

Jungkook admits feeling touched. He knows at the end of the day, Jimin cares about him and you more than anyone, and he probably misses being around both of you at the same time. Jungkook does, too, but he misses you the most and it’s only been a day.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “I don’t know what to tell her and it’s late. She might be asleep and—”

“Now you’re just making excuses,” Jimin crosses his arms.

“Well, what if I expect her to be the one to talk to me?”

“She tried but you didn’t want to, remember?”

“That was last night. The wound was still fresh,” Jungkook pouts.

“Oh god. I feel like I’m dealing with children,” Jimin groans.

“Imagine how we felt taking care of you,” Jungkook answers back.

“At least I was just one person,” Jimin rolls his eyes.

“Your dramatics were equivalent to two people though.”

Both men bicker as they walk back to the car. It started to drizzle so they decided to go back to their respective homes. Jungkook could stay over at your place and maybe talk to you if he really wants to but he’s seriously just chickening out over it.

He’s never had to make up with you because none of your previous arguments ever led to you not talking to each other, or him pushing you away. He’s never had to spend a day ignoring you. And now, there’s so much to say and so much to feel but he doesn’t know how to approach it. He’ll need tonight to sort himself out and then he’ll speak to you, maybe after he drives your parents to the airport. Or maybe on the way back.

He drops Jimin off; 30 seconds later, he’s home, too. You’re so close but so far away just like you used to be. But at least this time he knows that when the next day comes, he’ll have a chance to just pull you close and tell you he doesn’t want to be like this ever again.

There’s an incessant knocking on your door, and as you’re about to yell out that you’re asleep, you realize it might be Jungkook. You sit up on your bed and when the door opens and you see your brother instead, your face falls.

“It’s just me, unfortunately,” he says. “Kook’s back at his place.”

“Oh,” you sigh. “Why are you home so early? It’s like, 11.”

“Because after the third girl, his fake injury excuse wore off and people just didn’t believe him. We looked like losers sitting on the table eating chicken,” Jimin chuckles. “So we left after an hour then went to a park and I knocked some sense into him and now he’s not so upset anymore. And I’m here to knock some sense into you, too.”

“I already know I made a mistake, Chim. I’m… I’m so fucking stupid. I just… don’t want him to think that I’m ashamed of him or that I don’t think he’s enough or any of that. I mean I’m—”

“Crazy about him, right?”

“I kinda am,” you smile softly.

“Good, because so is he and he’s hoping you’d go talk to him even if he says he’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t waste time anymore and—”

You’re bolting off your bed and putting on your hoodie before your brother could finish his sentence.

“If mom and dad look for me, tell them I—”

“Got attacked by a clown in the sewer.”

You look at him incredulously then realize you’re wearing yellow then you frown.

“Just make up some excuse. I’ll… hopefully be back in the morning,” you say.

“Alright. It’s drizzling though so—”

And just like that, you’re gone.

It takes all but 10 seconds for the rain to pour, and your hoodie and sweatpants are no match for it. You groan at your brother for underselling the weather but then again, you also should be thanking him for telling you what you needed to hear - that Jungkook’s not so upset anymore and that he’s hoping you’d speak to him.

Much as you think you would’ve taken any chance today to patch things up, you also would’ve frozen in front of him. You suppose you needed to know he was ready for you, and if he wouldn’t tell you, then of course, Jimin would. You just really wish he had the foresight to know it would rain this hard but you’re probably asking for too much.

But Jungkook’s place is just a few blocks from yours so you power through. When you get there, you realize that you forgot your phone, so you make the stupid decision of climbing over the short fence and then hitting your cut finger in the process.

You have no time to feel pain though, as the next order of business is getting Jungkook’s attention. But before you can execute your plan of throwing rocks on his window, the front door opens, and you telepathically thank your brother who probably called your boyfriend to alert him that you’ll be arriving at his place wet from the rain.

“___, what are you doing here?” Jungkook asks with worry painted on his face.

“I just… I needed to come and see you,” you manage to answer.

His face softens and you feel the hope bloom in your chest. He pulls you inside by the wrist and instructs you to quietly go up the stairs. You’re at least not drenched but you still got wet, so he leads you to the bathroom to wash up. He tells you to wait as he gets you something to change in, and he returns after half a minute with a towel and a large shirt.

“Cream and band-aid, for your wound,” he says, placing them on the counter. “My room’s the second door to the right, in case you forgot.”

You take him in, in his black tank top and shorts, his tongue playing with his lip ring the way he always does when he’s nervous. You manage to nod before he heads out, and you take a quick shower and then pull his oversized shirt over you.

You quietly walk to his room, knocking on the door first before opening it slowly. It’s a bit dim but seeing him is all you need. After placing your clothes on the nearby chair, you look at him again.

He looks tired and worried. He also looks like he has so much to say but he doesn’t know where to start. There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes but there’s longing, too, and you suppose he’s mirroring how you look. You feel a lot. You also want to say a lot, but you don’t know where or how to start.

So you do the one thing you know often works. You approach him then wrap your arms around his torso. You fall into his embrace as quickly as he falls into yours, as he seems to have the same idea. You hold him tighter and pull him closer. You flush your cheeks on his chest while he buries his face on your neck. You grip his top and he does the same with yours. Your heart beats fast in longing and you feel his own do the same, too.

There’s so much to feel and say but this is all you can do. And right now, it’s quite enough.

You loosen your grip, but only so you could nuzzle his neck while your arms wrap around them. He feels so warm and he smells so delicate and he’s all you need.

“You knew I was coming?” You ask, turning to him

“Jimin said you were on your way without an umbrella and your phone,” Jungkook chuckles. But his face softens as he wipes the lone tear that falls down your cheek. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a typhoon or anything.”

“I had to get to you,” you mumble.

“He also told me he wasn’t subtle in telling you to come here.”

“Well, he did say you wanted me to talk to you. And I wanted to. I just wasn’t sure if you were ready to hear me out and I was… giving you space.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know what to do with that space without you there,” he sighs, his eyes shy and absolutely adorable.

“Neither do I,” you smile. “So, uh. Will you invite me to your bed, maybe fill that space and more?”

“Of course,” he laughs, taking your hand and leading you there.

You get under the covers and once he lies next to you, you scoot closer, hugging him again until you’re laying on top of him. But he doesn’t complain. He just hugs you back tightly, pulling you closer until he’s able to bask in your scent and the warm feel of you.

But despite the relief, you know you actually have to do the talking. You pull away and lay on your side. You take in his beauty and his softness and the way they make you feel like all is right again in the world. Your fingers trace his face, from his nose to his cheek to his lips, and he does the boyfriend thing of kissing your hand - including your cut finger - before wrapping it around his waist. He looks like he’s anticipating your words, too, so you try and hope they’re enough.

“Kook, I’m so sorry,” you start. “I… I have no excuse. I was being selfish and cowardly because I didn’t know how to tell my parents. I didn’t want to deal with what they’ll say about your job, knowing how they are and what they value and I just…”

“That’s for me to deal with though,” he says. “Because I chose this. And I’ve always known how they are but I still chose you.”

“It’s for us to deal with, and I did it so terribly,” you shake your head. “I don’t want you to think that I’m ashamed of you and what you do. That freedom, the ability to create… they’re things they don’t really understand. And I thought I knew how to make them. I just ended up denying us and that was so wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“I… I get it,” he responds, caressing your cheek now. “They worked so hard to give you this life and of course they want to make sure you’re taken care of. And for them, they only know of one way that could happen. I’d be naive to think they’ll just accept that the man who’s crazy about their daughter isn’t some corporate dude with secure employment and upward mobility in his career.”

He doesn’t miss your shy smile and the way you nibble your lip and that just triggers the butterflies in his belly.

“But that’s for me to show them that I can take care of you, and not because you can’t do it yourself but because I want to,” he adds. “I… I wanna be that person who makes things better and easier for you and who makes you happy.”

And who makes you feel loved, he doesn’t say. That’s a conversation for another day, he thinks.

“You do,” you assure him. “And I feel it everyday. You’re good at that, and I don’t tell you enough.”

“I know now,” he smiles, leaning closer to kiss you softly.

You return it but pull away. “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do,” he says, falling into the kiss that he gives again.

“Okay. I don’t wanna hurt you like that ever again.”

Your pouty face tugs his heart and he wants to tell you that none of that matters now because you’re back in each other’s arms, and that’ll always be enough for him.

He just hums as he goes for another kiss that’s deeper this time. And when you let him push you to lay on your back as you moan against his lips, his heart soars even more. He’s missed you, and it’s definitely going to be a long night.

He hovers over you now, and he shivers when your fingers graze his neck and then his chest. You open your legs to meet his hips, and the feel of your clothed cunt against him has his brain short-circuiting. He gets in the rhythm of grinding against you while he kisses your lips then your jaw then your neck, his hand now sneaking under your shirt to fondle your breast.

It’s when he sucks on that sensitive part near your ear that you yelp in pleasure, and he immediately covers your mouth with his hand while he giggles.

“Gotta keep it down babe,” he whispers. “My parents are in the other room.”

But he doesn’t stop his kissing and you don’t really want him to.

“It’s not like you’re making it any easier,” you moan as he pinches your pert nipple.

“I’m not and I won’t, but you gotta try,” he smirks before his lips trail downward.

You’re unable to say anything once his tongue swirls around your buds. His hands wrap around your breasts that he praises, that he kisses and licks before slowly letting them go to hold onto your waist this time. He presses open-mouth kisses down your torso, his lips in tandem with your underwear that’s teasingly being removed off of you.

You hear him let out a breathy moan as he spreads your legs wider.

And while you know that this tender-hearted man has a cheeky streak in him, you didn’t expect for him to have his finger against his lips to shush you, knowing what he’s about to do. His smug face turns you on even more, and your breath is caught in your throat once you feel his tongue flat against your flesh, warming it up before the tip of his wet muscle swirls around your nub.

But you go along with his request, biting back your moan, even as your pussy chases his mouth for more.

And it’s what he gives, as he dives in and sucks and bites your clit while his two fingers explore your hole. The cold of his lip ring is a contrast to how hot you feel, and it’s a sensation you can never get enough of. You whimper in silence but you manage to look at him, his eyes closed as he buries his face in your cunt.

“Look at me,” you whisper and he follows, his gaze meeting yours. “Fuu-uuck, Kook. You feel so good,” your voice quivers.

His mouth’s full but yours is hanging open. You cover yours with your free hand while the other pulls on his long locks. He’s enjoying this so much, you can tell with the way he squeezes your thighs and moans against your skin. He follows a pace that has your body shaking, straining in intense pleasure until it gives in. You let out a low scream as your orgasm hits, and he’s right there, riding out your high with you.

He cleans you up with his tongue and then makes a show of licking your essence off his fingers before kissing you again.

“You did good,” he teases, as he caresses your cheek.

You’re about to say that so did he when bucks his hip against yours, and the feel of his hard cock against your still wet cunt ignites another fire in you. He repeats it, and it’s what has you moaning again.

“Fuck baby, I told you to keep it down,” he says, continuing his movements.

You know you can’t help it at this point, not when he’s back to licking your neck and kneading your breast.

“Whatever. Not like this isn’t new to your parents or anything,” you say.

It’s a guess but you doubt you’re wrong.

“What? Fucking a girl in my room?”

“Yeah?”

“But you’re the first girl I ever brought in here,” he cocks an eyebrow.

“That’s uh, that’s kinda sweet,” you reply, your breath steadying now.

“Yeah and well, who gets to say they fucked their childhod crush in their childhood bedroom?” He smirks again. “I can.”

He’s back to kissing you and much as you enjoy this, the itch to feel him in your mouth overtakes you, and you take the chance when he trails down your neck.

“So, can this childhood crush suck your dick?”

“Yes, she can,” he chuckles.

He removes himself from you and leans against his bed frame. You get on your knees and pull off his boxers, salivating at the sight before you. You get on top of him, your damp lips gliding against his hard cock and his mouth drops open, an invitation for you to do what you wish.

With your movements on his hips, you focus on his neck, licking up the smooth flesh and the protruding vein that has him biting back his moan. Then you kiss him, desperately and passionately, as you slowly remove his tank top and rest your hands on his chest.

It’s your turn to trail kisses down his torso now and you give every inch of him ample attention. But when you make it further down, there’s one part of him that deserves so much more. You tease him only a little, stroking his length and kitten-licking his slit, before swallowing him whole and swirling your tongue around and all over his cock. He’s hard and thick and everything you want inside of you.

You hold back a gag while he holds back his whimpers. You stroke him relentlessly so you could watch his mouth hang open and his strained body almost folding in pleasure as his thighs tighten in your hold.

“You like that, baby?” You hum.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good around me. Fuck,” he keens, his voice quivering now.

You let his sounds guide you on how hard and how deep to go, but he’s the one who stops you, as he leans close and captures your lips in a searing kiss. He pulls you back on top of him to slide down his cock and the stretch makes you moan in his mouth.

He’s propped up on his arms for support while you move up and down, loving how he drags inside you in an angle that has your mind going hazy. You wrap your arms around his neck while he pushes upward to meet you, and somehow doing this while trying to be quiet is making the pleasure more intense.

It gets too much for Jungkook and he wants more. He wants to hit your deepest spots. He wants to be as close to you as he possibly can. He wants to swallow your moans and touch every part of your body and pleasure you in every way that he’s able.

So he pulls you off and lays you on your side, sliding back in from behind, with your one leg raised. The angle has you keening, even more when his one hand finds your breast and the other does its work on your clit. He pushes gently then roughly, no longer caring about the odd sounds the bed is making against his wall. He wouldn’t mind making up a reason to his parents if they ask him about it. Right now, all he wants is to reach his peak with you.

Your body is shaking in pleasure and overstimulation but you urge him, wanting to feel his seed inside you as well.

You lick his mouth. “Baby please, I want to feel your cum inside me,” you beg. “I want you so bad, fuck fuck.”

He loves it when you plead to him like this. He loves hearing what he does to you. He revels in the way your body molds into his, the way it aches to be close and to be one with him. His movements continue, and with his unrhythmic pounding against your pussy, he comes. You come right after, caused by his intense fiddling of your clit, and you feel like floating, your body in the clouds of pure pleasure.

But like always, he’s there with you, making sure you safely fall into a bed of hugs and kisses and warmth. He stays inside you as he softens, but his arms wrap around you, his face in your neck as he mumbles words of praise.

“Fifteen-year-old me would never believe this,” he heaves as he turns you over to face him.

You giggle in response.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I do. It’s how I am with you. In the best way, of course,” he smiles his boyish smile, an interesting mix of innocent and cheeky.

“It’s the same with me,” you whisper, kissing his nose. “And 18-year-old me would never believe this.”

You wake up the next morning to the alarm that you set on Jungkook’s phone. Your parents are leaving early in the afternoon and they wanted to prepare breakfast for all of you, and it’s a meal with them that you’re excited and a little nervous to have.

You kiss the chest that your face is flushed against, and this elicits a groan from the man next to you.

“Good morning, babe,” you greet, shifting up to kiss his nose this time.

“G’morning,” he grunts.

“So, uh, we’re supposed to meet my parents for breakfast. And uh, I’m going to tell them about us.”

It’s what prompts him to finally open his eyes, and the softness in them makes your heart burst.

“Okay,” he smiles. “I hope it won’t ruin their trip or anything.”

“It won’t,” you assure him. “I… I tried to get through to my mom yesterday. You know, just telling her the things I value and stuff.”

“Hmm. Jimin did the same with your dad. I guess I won’t be such a disappointment now, huh?”

“Shush, you’re not even that,” you pout. “I think they’ll understand.”

He mirrors your smile and there’s a giddy feeling at finally - hopefully - seeing your parents be happy for you. So you get off the bed and sneak out of Jungkook’s bedroom to go to the bathroom.

You wash up quickly, only to make it to the hallway and find his parents standing there, wide-eyed as they look at you in surprise. You realize you’re only wearing Jungkook’s shirt that falls just above your knees and you try to cover whatever you can with your hands.

“Hi, uncle. Hi, auntie,” you shyly smile. “This, uh, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

“Well, we don’t really mind,” Jungkook’s mother smiles. “We’re just glad you’re here. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.”

“I know. I, uh, I wasn’t dating your son yet the last time I was here.”

“And that calls for a celebration, doesn’t it?” She giggles. “That boy has had a crush on you since forever. It’s funny he never believed that we knew. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” you laugh back.

You hear a door open and before you know it, large arms are wrapping around your waist and a mop of hair tickles your cheek. Jungkook grunts against your neck as he says that he’s finally awake, and you cringe at his parents’ amused faces.

“Kook, your parents are in front of us. This is so embarrassing.”

“Nah, they don’t mind. They’re cool,” he says.

“Yeah, and my parents aren’t,” you sigh.

“So, I’m guessing your parents don’t know yet?” His father asks.

Your pout prompts him to explain. “Well, the day after you got together, our lovesick son here told our family about both of you. But he said that you haven't told your parents yet so we’ve kept it from them ever since. It’s hard since we see them all the time but we managed.”

“Kook also told us about what happened,” his mother asks. “He was grumpy all day yesterday and we got him to tell us why he was so upset.”

“I’m sorry,” you pout again. “That wasn’t my finest moment.”

You feel Jungkook’s hold on you tighten, his way of telling you it’s all okay.

“It’s alright, darling,” she smiles. “We know how your parents are, and their reasons come from a good place. We tried to make this boy here understand them and you as well. Firstborns carry immense pressure to meet expectations; he just doesn’t get it because he’s the youngest. But it seems that it’s worked out with both of you, and we’re glad it did.”

“He couldn’t resist me,” you shrug, to his parents’ amusement.

“Uh, you’re the one who walked through the rain to come see me,” he reminds you, his head popping out of your neck now.

“You wanted me to.”

He tickles you in response and you’re all laughing in no time. It’s a different dynamic with his parents, as Jungkook always had a very close relationship with them. You saw it as a teenager and now, you get to be part of it, too.

They finally let you go and ask you to have dinner with them tomorrow, and that’s one meal that you’re definitely excited to have.

You push Jungkook towards the bathroom and then return to his room to dress up. It’s shortly after when you’re both walking the few blocks to your house, fingers interlocked as you give each other comfort.

You make it home and once you unlock the door, you can already hear laughter and clanking pots from the kitchen. You head there, meet Jimin’s smug face, and clear your throat to announce your presence.

“Oh, there you are. We were wondering where you were,” your mother says. “And hi, Jungkook.”

He greets your parents and from behind you, you take his hand again.

“I went for a walk… with Jungkook.”

He clears his throat and you backtrack.

“I mean, I, uh, was at his place. That’s where I slept.”

“Oh?” Your parents say at the same time, their eyes looking at you in confusion.

“He’s kinda my boyfriend.”

“Kinda? Babe, I think I’m more than ‘kinda’ your boyfriend,” he exclaims.

Your parents look shocked and next to them, Jimin is laughing in his seat.

“I mean, he is my legit, actual boyfriend,” you correct. “The new thing in my life that I denied is actually him. And the person who stands by me, who makes me enjoy the moments? That’s him, too.”

Their faces soften, and somehow that’s the comfort you need. Perhaps all the talking that you and your brother have done has gotten into them. You wouldn’t be surprised if they talked about it, too.

“Why didn’t you tell us, then?” Your mother asks.

“Because he’s not what you expected,” you sigh. “And I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Well, he is your brother’s best friend,” she points out.

“Who’s had a crush on me since he was a teenager,” you explain.

“That’s… not surprising,” your father laughs. “We could tell.”

“Oh my god, Kook. You are not subtle,” you elbow him. You turn back at them. “But I… I didn’t know how to tell you because you expect me to have a partner who’s part of your world, you know? And Jungkook likes his freedom. He likes his art and… he really likes me. And I happen to really like him, too.”

“He treats you well? Makes you happy? He’s someone you can depend on when things get tough?” Your father asks.

He smiles tenderly at you and you feel like crying.

“Yes, very much,” you nod.

“Then I think he’s everything we need him to be. A good partner, I’d say.”

You let out a sigh of relief. This is all you needed to hear.

“We’re sorry if you felt like you couldn’t be honest with us,” your mother shakes her head. “I guess we just needed some reminding of what we want for you and your brother. And well, Jungkook’s shown us his heart all these years. He’s always been a part of the family and he’ll be even more.”

They’re words that Jungkook didn’t expect would get him emotional, and he hugs you from behind just to steady himself. But it’s what makes your mother walk towards him for a hug, and your father surprisingly does the same.

“Alright, I guess it’s fitting to have this family breakfast together,” your mother says.

You all take your seats at the dining table, with yours being next to Jungkook now.

Jimin cheekily smiles. “Well, if this whole dance thing doesn’t work out, I guess I can just be a counselor or family therapist or something.”

“Just don’t call your clients ‘stupid,’” you roll your eyes.

“I won’t. That’s only reserved for you.”

And just like that, everything is as it should be.

You get through breakfast with lots of laughter, as you and Jungkook tell your own versions of the story while Jimin butts in to tell his own. It’s heartwarming to see your parents this way, especially when they tease your boyfriend about his crush on you growing up.

But even they admit that they’ve depended on him all these years, too, and that they don’t doubt his loyalty and commitment to you.

You share a tense moment with him after you all drop your parents to the airport, though. Jungkook has just unloaded all their things and as they hug you goodbye, your father teases.

“Just don’t welcome us home and tell us we're grandparents already.”

Jungkook dry laughs and so do you. That’s another topic for another day, you suppose, and while you’re still unsure of having a family, you just know it’s something you’ll both talk about.

You all get home soon after to wash up. Jungkook’s excited about how you’ll spend the day now that you’re both talking again, and you suggest hanging by the beach and then going out for dinner.

Jimin says he’ll stay home to let you two make up for the past two days and so he could have that online date with Taehyung, and you agree.

You and Jungkook end up having a really good day.

You go to a mall and walk around. He gets you a pair of stud earrings to commemorate the day you went official to your parents and you buy him a silver chain necklace for the same silly reason, but also because he looks really good in one and you want him to have more. It pairs real nicely with the shirt and joggers casual outfit he’s been sporting these past days, and the teasing look he makes after he puts it on reminds you of that one time his necklace was dangling on your face when he was pounding into you on your couch.

You get fruit drinks and snacks at the stalls you both used to buy from as teenagers, then you head to the beach where you lounge until sunset. You wade in the water, splash each other, and then make out when there’s no one around.

You feel so free and light, so young and hopeful. These are the moments you love having with him, the ones you like to enjoy and savor and have more of. And you know you’ll have them for the rest of this trip and when you get back to Seoul.

Jimin joins you for dinner at a burger place, then you all buy cup noodles and beer and head to your favorite park. It’s just like how most of your nights together go, just in the outdoors. You and your brother bicker and Jungkook referees; there’s also the occasional “you’re so cheesy” comment from you to your boyfriend and Jimin’s gagging sound.

You confirm plans for the rest of the trip. Your parents will be enjoying Hawaii for close to two weeks, and you have all that time to rest and spend time with your two favorite people. You’ll be off work. Jungkook has some projects to finalize while you do your own thing, and Jimin will be watching dance shows to get him inspired.

But there are more beaches and parks and villages to visit. There’s also that two-night stay at a resort you’ll be having. There are other sites and restaurants to go to, and you’ll be reliving your teenage years together while making new memories.

You’re now back at home, snug in Jungkook’s arms as he leans against the bed frame in your room, with you in between his legs.

“Today was a really good day,” you say, turning to him after he kisses your cheek.

“Today was amazing,” he hums.

He smiles as he replays the scenes of you shopping for each other, frolicking on the beach, and walking around your favorite spots. They’re all so simple and things you’ve done before but today felt so much more. There was a look in your eyes that held such tenderness and care for him. You held his hand as if you didn’t want to ever let go, as if you didn’t want him to.

“I really like you, Kook,” you mumble, almost like a confession, as if it’s not known. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

His eyes soften, as does his smile that he’s had on pretty much the whole day. But he just looks at you, and though you know he feels the same way, you want to hear him verbalize it again.

“Hey, say it back,” you nudge him.

“I love you though,” he says after a beat of silence.

You’re now the one who looks at him, unable to say a word.

“Are you that surprised?” He looks back at you nervously, nibbling his lip ring. “I mean, I think it’s quite obvious, just like everything I feel about you is.”

“Kook, I…” you try, but you don’t exactly know how to respond.

You don’t doubt his feelings but somehow you can’t help but think that maybe right now, he loves the idea of you and not you, and there’s a difference.

“I think I always have but I guess I didn’t realize just how much until this whole thing happened,” he continues, wanting you to understand what he feels. “I asked Jimin why it was affecting me so much and he said it’s because I put you on a pedestal. You were this dream I’ve had for so long that I admired from a distance and now I get to be with you and you’re… human, not some flawless being who doesn’t make mistakes. So when you hurt me, I faltered. That’s on me, too. Because I… I expected too much. And I’m sorry.”

His focus is on his hands that are playing with yours before he turns to you again.

“I realized that I wanted so badly for you to want me, that’s why it hurt. I wanted to be that person you cared for and trusted and needed because you’re all that for me. And when I saw you at my door last night, nothing else mattered but you,” he continues.

“Whatever misunderstanding or mistake or disagreement, I learned to accept them and I just wanted you, in my arms, so I could show you that you’re all I need. I’ve dreamt of you for so long and this version of you is more than I could’ve imagined. And I just… I love you, okay? It doesn’t matter how you feel. I just need you to know that I do, and I don’t think I’ll stop.”

Your heart is about to burst, and all you could do is cup his face in your hands and kiss him, hard and deep until you run out of air. You kiss him eagerly because you’re desperate for his touch. You kiss him passionately because there are things you feel that you can’t put into words yet, and this is how you tell him.

He’s quick to follow your pace, wrapping his arms around your waist as he helps you sit on his lap. Your fingers comb through his hair and grip his top and pull him closer, all while you grind against him and moan in his mouth.

But when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and caresses your cheek, you go tender.

“I love you so much,” he whispers against your lips, and all you feel is the warmth of his touch and how it’s all the comfort and security and stability that you need.

You slowly pull away and graze your nose against his. You don’t say anything else and he doesn’t expect you to. But you kiss his cheek and hug him, and you hear him sigh in relief.

He pulls away and cheekily smiles.

“You know, there’s a song for this.”

“A—what?” You laugh.

“A song.”

He pulls away from you then stands from the bed. “Let me get it from Jimin’s room.”

You stare at him questioningly because you really didn’t think he could surprise you even more. He returns with one of his burned CDs and you ask him if he has a sex playlist or something.

“I used to daydream about you to this,” he says, as he puts it in the CD player that your parents got you for your 17th birthday. “I listened to it after that very kiss we had and, well, we’re back home rehashing so many memories and I kinda just want to fulfill another fantasy of mine.”

He plays the song and the first notes get you all giddy and excited and nostalgic and very much turned on.

“This was my favorite song,” you say, as you signal him to come closer.

“I know. You played it all the time, I could hear it from the other room.”

You giggle, and it’s a sound he wants to listen to forever.

“So, what’s this fantasy of yours?” You ask, as you take your shirt off.

He licks his lips at the breathtaking sight of you, but he softens at the fairy tattoo on your shoulder, the one he customized and that you love showing off.

“Just… make love to you while this plays in the background,” he manages to say.

Your face softens, too, and it’s a sight he also wants to see everyday of his life.

“I’m all yours, Kook. Do whatever you please.”

It’s a week later when you tell him.

You’d just gotten back from that short trip to a resort that had you relaxed and stuffed with food. You video called with your parents during their sunset cruise and your father once again teased about not being grandparents yet and just like the first time, you brushed it off.

You’re lying on Jungkook’s chest as you laugh about Jimin’s terrible bowling skills. And in the silence, he asks, “does it bother you that your parents expect you to have kids?”

You knew he’d picked up on it the first time, but it’s just now that he’s bringing it up.

“A little. I try not to think about it though,” you sigh. “It’s another one of those expectations, you know? But I guess it’s a harder thing to talk to them about, that I don’t know if I want kids.”

He just hums and combs your hair with his fingers.

“Does it bother you?” You ask, suddenly feeling nervous. You know enough this is a make-or-break for many people.

“Not really,” he says. “It’s not easy to raise a child, much less carry one, and that’s something I can’t do for you. But I guess, it doesn’t matter. We can have kids. Or not. We can have a dog or a pet tortoise or a fish, really. When I think of a future, all I see is you. The rest is just a bonus.”

He speaks of your future with such certainty. He’s always talked about enjoying the moments but the one version of a future he wants is the one where you’re with him.

“I just want you to know that whatever you’re worried about, share it with me. I don’t want you to worry about me. We do this together. We figure it out together,” he adds.

And just like that, the fears and pressure you feel slowly dissipate. He’s the only version of the future you want. Everything else is just a bonus.

You turn to him with a kiss on his cheek.

“I love you, Kook. I don’t want anyone else to love me, and I don’t want to love anybody else,” you whisper like a plea, just like a promise.

“I’m not loving anybody else,” he kisses you.

And it’s his own promise he makes.

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook series #brothers best friend au

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robolvrr · 6 months ago

Text

stars aligned. ☁️ ·̩͙✧

ultra magnus x reader drabble! warnings: nsfw. praise kink. mild bondage. slight voyeurism.

"you look stunning."

the titan near crumbles right then. you hear a noise you're certain none of the lost light, hell, galaxy even, has heard torn from his vocalizer, selfishly happy with the static edge that trembles with it.

he's a good listener, the loyal enforcer, because he doesn't even squirm no matter how loud his joints shift.

it's a divine miracle granted that rodimus didn't question your request of rooming with ultra magnus, under the premise of a work-related agreement. granted, some of the more rowdier crewmates suggested the obvious. efforts to keep your blossoming relationship under wraps were made long ago.

while there is little to pin rumors from in behavior - you'd share quiet looks across the hall, ultra magnus rarely raised his voice in your presence and never seemed to have issues with your data even with a spelling mistake (or four).. well. what good was a crew without gossip?

an unnamed engineer claims he's seen you nestled against ultra magnus's chassis. another chirps that his servos always glide along your back as if looking for something he had misplaced. whirl bets screws are loose and that you always have a limp to your gait - what else the source than the clear, animalistic fucking between you two?

no one listens to whirl. you shake the humor of accuracy before focusing back on your lover before he starts to twitch.

"say it, magnus." the mech whines. it should sound strange - it doesn't. you can tell when he resets his vocalizer, dizzy.

"i'm. i'm... i'm...!" large wrists twist, brief. you admire in silence, satin threatening to burst with his agony. this test of discipline the pair of you know he indulges, so the pristine bow stays in place - he groans under a roll of your hips, so much tinier than his, engines roaring to life.

"let it out, honey. you've been working so much lately."

magnus finally relents. "i'm. stunning." he could write pages and pages of how hypnotic your body looks, rocking against his rigid frame with expertise that'd put succubi to shame.

his faceplate is warm, biting back his shame because the lack of yours is just so nice to stare at. in fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say you were smug.

"say it again. you're stunning. you're beautiful. you're strong."

ultra takes the challenge in stride, noting his temperature inclines starting to ping him, adjusting cooling fans so as not to burn you.

he would never, never hurt you.

"i'm.. hagggh. please, my love, you're too-"

a wrong answer, for now. his pedes cannot spare the release of kicking. not when that same, titanium white silk is keeping the illusion of packaging.

"i don't want to hear anything, not even about me. tonight is all for you."

no human will ever share the strength to lift his tied servos, but he lets you anyways. gaze intense watching your lips drag to kiss the sides of them, tongue laving out to catch the ridges of a hefty digit.

"but i can't help it, darling. you squeeze me so much. you're so tight, hah. you're going to.. t-to-to.."

as much as his processors scream to undo his capture, it'd be a shame to ruin your pretty handiwork.

'pretty only because it's on you', previously moaned in his audials. before that cherry red grin goes to sipping your coffee and leaving him a joor just like this, to finish the analytic reports he had assigned you to finish.

"i'm stunning - frag. i'm stunning. i'm beautiful."

embarrassment collects thick at his core. he knows the underside of your legs must be painted pink by now. knows from the way you ride him faster that he's still being good, that you won't leave him high and dry and primus, he feels weak and -

"'m strong."

if weakness meant melting pitiful in you, under the addiction of flesh, he'll die and drift to the allspark blissful!

meanwhile, you're close to ecstasy. have been since he first introduced himself to the charming little analyst, simultaneously nervous and stiff. delighted to see even then he was trying not to wander, servos clenched.

on a first glance, annoyance. in reality? restraint.

"i love you."

ultra magnus curses. or it sounds so, a clutter of grinding gears and low vibrations you dazedly recognized as cybertronian. impish you isn't mean enough to ask for a translation.

"'m close. going to.. going to overload-"

"do so. fill me up, all of it, every drop. i want to walk with you dripping down my legs."

a laugh, sparkling and deep. "you're always so crude- ah!"

it's simply not realistic to hold all he offers. when you feel a familiar stretch and bulge your hips lift, still bucking the tip to ease him through the ferocious charge.

ultra magnus still can't believe how after the rumble of his frame ends you're still swift to tend to him. it's a nice feeling, watching you slowly undo his bondage, even rub your soft fingers along him as if they had caused any true damage.

a thick patch of fabric delicately dotes the seeping transfluid from his seams, sensitivity still gaining a groan or lilted sigh. determined as you are, he still scoops you up to glide closer to his dermas which you dutifully nip.

"stellar job as always, dear."

"mm. i will need.. a moment to recharge."

"just a moment?" a tittering laugh. "and here i thought you'd be ready for another round."

whirl eases from the habsuite hanger. if he had a jaw, or a face, or hell even a commlink that wasn't blocked by half the crew, he might have popped a circuit.

oh, he has a story to share and primus save whoever has to witness it.

robolvrr 2024

a/n: i am so helplessly in love with ultra magnus. take my offering. i feel like he needs a good roll in the bed and a bubble bath. whirl is not beating the humanfragger allegations.

#maccadam #lost light x reader #ultra magnus x reader #valveplug #mtmte x reader #/nsft #/nsfw #transformers x reader #transformers x human reader

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everrinsly · 1 month ago

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a/n; for those who ever doubted you, knock 'em dead, soldier. think i wrote this during finals week when i was in uni.

this one is very special to me because it reminds me of myself; i remember i wrote it to the song "sooner or later" by mat kearney ahh

college year vibes.

burn the whole league with suna. fluff. slight angst. sakusa and tsukishima mentioned.

more reads!

~~~~~

[Then]

He wasn't the star, not even a star. And maybe... he never will be. As sad as that sounded, it felt like the truth.

Suna had just finished a rough match. One of those games where nothing clicked, where his blocks were off, where his timing felt late by milliseconds that cost everything. His coach felt it, his teammates felt it, he felt it. And you. YOU felt it.

And it's not like his university's volleyball team was bad—no, they were real fucking good actually. Made it to Collegiate Nationals every year, which was why everything was riding on him harder. Because this loss was on him.

Now, Suna sat on the edge of the press stage, towel hanging over his shoulders, face blank, void of any and all emotions. Cameras on him and his teammates.

Until the reporter spoke.

“This question is for Suna—do you still plan to go pro? Division I?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” Simple. One word. Because that was all he could push out right now.

Another reporter leered forward, voice light but sharp. “Even with performances like tonight’s? I mean—no offense, Suna, but you’re kind of a slow-starter. Even since high school. Not exactly the kind of guy a pro team’s lining up for.”

There was an awkward pause. Even the coach shifted uncomfortably.

Then, the audacity of this man to continue—

"I mean—look. When you compare the current MVP of the Collegiate League, Sakusa, to you... it's a no-brainer who the V.League is going to choose, right? Especially for Division I."

No one spoke. He smirked and continued.

"And... even when you look at Tsukishima, who has already received an offer from the Division II Sendai Frogs—there's not a doubt in my mind that he would be a great fit for Division I. Maybe replace you—"

Suna coughed. Something fierce lingered in the shadows of his green eyes, but it was gone after a blink.

Then, in precise Suna fashion, he just muttered, “Maybe they’ll change their minds.” Sharp. Firm. Steady.

But you knew Suna. You knew Suna well. And no matter how composed and nonchalant he appeared on TV, he was not fine.

When you found him later that night, he didn’t speak.

He was at the back of the athletic building, sitting on a step in the dark, one knee up, chin on his arm. Still in his uniform.

“You were good today, Rinnie,” you said softly, offering him a blueberry-flavored chuppet. One that you hurriedly grabbed from your minifridge before rushing out of the dorm building to find him.

He gave a low laugh, accepting the chuppet and immediately munching. “I was shit.”

“No. You were trying.” You sat next to him. “They don’t know how hard you work.”

He didn’t look at you, but his voice came quieter this time. Soft. Uncertain. Not Suna-like. “What if they’re right? What if I’m not fast enough?”

You hesitated, then leaned your shoulder against his and dropped your head, resting perfectly on his shoulder blades.

"You're analytical, Rin. You take time to visualize the court and the players... before striking them down one-by-one. I think that's special."

He hummed quietly. He didn't believe you. So you continued—

"But who cares, you know? They can wait. You’re a slow burn."

You lifted a finger up to boop his nose—

"You’ll still light the whole damn League up eventually.”

That got a tiny huff of laughter from him.

“You believe that?”

You nodded, cheeks hot. “Yeah. Because it's you. And I believe in you.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned his head on yours and let the silence hold him.

And then his phone pinged with two tagged notifications on Instagram.

From Sakusa. A clipped video of the reporter grilling Suna. The caption—Suna's one of the very few who can analyze my movements and block my spikes. All in just a few minutes.

From Tsukishima. A black screen (very Tsukki-like). The caption—I actually put in a process for Division II personally. I've got other hobbies I want to pursue, and I'm not a volleyball freak. So keep my name out your mouths... and Suna's good.

You laugh at Tsukki's.

And Suna...

He looks lighter for the first time tonight.

[Now]

The crowd was deafening.

Cameras flashed. Confetti rained. Teammates tackled. And Suna stood at center court, jersey clinging to his skin, bright as a star. THE star.

Because the V.League Championship trophy was sitting right by his feet.

EJP Raijin — Champions.

The reporters swarmed him. Microphones angled toward his lips. Cameras aimed right at his face.

“Suna Rintarou—you just helped take EJP to a championship title. What does this moment mean to you?”

Suna’s eyes scanned the crowd. Calm. Confident. Older now. Sharper. Fiercer. The same to you, but more to the world.

Still your Rinnie.

“It means everything.” Simple because that was the truth.

“You’ve grown a lot,” another added. “What do you think changed? Back in college, there were questions about your speed, your drive—”

He smiled then. Slow. Dangerous. Lethal. Like he was waiting for this comment.

“Yeah,” he said into the mic. “I remember.”

The press paused.

“There was a reporter,” Suna continued, voice steady. “Said no pro team would want me because I was a slow-starter.”

Silence.

You stood up from the VIP seating area decked in EJP gold, just watching him—same way you always had. Unwavering. (With a tote bag filled with multi-flavored chuppets and some salmon onigiri, of course).

Suna turned his head toward you in the stands, gaze locking with yours for half a second.

“But I had someone who waited.”

The reporters blinked. “Waited?”

He tilted his head. “Believed in me. Even when I didn’t. That’s the difference.”

Flashbulbs exploded.

“So,” one stunned reporter asked, “do you have anything you’d say now to that college-era criticism?”

Suna raised a brow. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Another beat of silence.

“…Thanks?”

He smirked straight at the camera. The jumbotrons captured his face (fangirls squealed).

“For being wrong. Because his bald-ass proved me right.”

After all the interviews, when he finally got a moment for himself, he found you in the back hallway, out of the spotlight. You were already teary-eyed, hands stuffed in your EJP hoodie pockets.

You knew. He knew. Nothing had to be said.

But still, he leaned against the wall next to you and nudged your shoulder.

“You were right,” he murmured, a soft voice reserved just for you. “I lit it up, huh? Burned the League?"

You smiled. “Told you.”

And then—

He pulled you into a hug, arms tight around you, breath warm by your ear.

After a beat of drowning in each other, still embraced in a tight hug—

"Did you bring my chuppets?"

You giggled, reaching up to card a hand through his damp hair.

"Of course I did."

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aethercoreheart · 16 days ago

Text

earl grey

virtual radio host!rafayel x producer!reader | (ii)

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You roll your eyes at Rafayel’s theatrics. He takes the covered tumbler filled with tea and slides it to his side of the studio desk. You take your own cup, which is filled with coffee, and raise it to your lips. It’s still hot and you have to fight back a grimace as the coffee scalds your tongue.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have been enough. And next time, maybe don’t waltz in two minutes before we go on air,” you tell him, trying to sound as stern as possible. “Management will chew me out if they find out I’m this lenient on my host.”

Rafayel blows you a kiss from across the desk. “And that’s why I begged them to keep you as my producer.”

He takes a sip from his tumbler, and you watch as his face lights up. “Perfect. You really do make the best tea. I mean it, I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” he repeats.

He settles into his seat and checks the position of his materials. A small canvas is propped up on a table easel in front of him, surrounded by the tools he will need to paint for the stream that night: watercolor paints, jars of water, several brushes and a few rags. He gives you a thumbs up and you nod in return, turning your attention back to your laptop and the mixing console on your side of the desk.

You glance over at all three camera feeds: one feed showing an overhead view of Rafayel and what he will be working on, one for a close up on his face, and the last one that shows a bigger view of his side of the studio. Rafayel puts his earpiece in while you position your headphones onto your ears. You motion for him to say something to test the sound.

“Only cuties can hear this message,” he drawls. You give him a pressed smile, suppressing another eye roll. He winks at you and you count him down to the start of the stream with just your fingers. As soon as your index finger goes down, his demeanor shifts and you see him sit up straighter in his seat. He beams at the camera for his face, his eyes taking on a curious sparkle. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Hey there, my little fishies. Welcome to Rafayel’s Cove. Grab a warm drink and let’s get settled in for the night...”

—

It’s midnight by the time the stream finishes. A slow, moody R&B song is playing while you set up the queue to run automatically until the breakfast show. You shift your eyes over your laptop to sneak a glance at Rafayel. He’s finishing up his painting of the night, completely immersed in it. Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you watch him, entranced by the way he flicks the brush over the canvas, adding small, intricate details to the piece. It’s been a year since you’ve started spending every weeknight with Rafayel, watching him paint and listening to him talk to the listeners, but you’re still not tired of it. And neither is the audience. You scroll over the comments on the stream, plucking out and reporting the very few abusive or spammy comments. The overwhelming majority of them shower Rafayel with love and praise – his audience has grown steadily over the past year, and they seem to be more committed to him as well.

You look over the analytics and you nod to yourself, pleased with how the stream went tonight. You don’t read the numbers out to Rafayel. He doesn’t care about them. His only concern is making art and connecting with his audience. And that’s all you really need him to do. His previous producers, your predecessors, were hellbent on making his show as profitable as possible, cramming as many ads and sponsorships in as they possibly could, which, of course, Rafayel had detested. Management had found it a relief that Rafayel had tolerated you past your first week of working with him. Then, they were ecstatic that you had managed to negotiate between them and your host: two one-minute ads every hour, and only one sponsorship opening every three months. Rafayel wasn’t over the moon about it, but for some reason, he heard you out and actually listened to you when you said that the show needed to be funded somehow.

You take your eyes away from your screen again and go back to watching Rafayel. You study the piece: a koi fish, painted in shades of purple, red and blue watercolor. You don’t realize it, but you let out a sigh of admiration, and you see him smirk without looking up from the piece.

“Oh, stop it,” he purrs. “You’re making me blush.”

You cross your arms over your chest and scoff. “Finish up quick, Rafayel. It’s past midnight and I want to go home now.” Despite your clipped tone, you feel a warm flush spread over your own cheeks. You’re hoping that he doesn’t look up and see it.

His smirk grows into a grin, his eyes still cast downwards. “Okay, okay, my lovely producer. Almost there.”

With that, he plops the brush he’s holding into a jar of water. He holds the piece up with his faintly stained hands.

“What do you think?” he asks, turning the canvas towards you.

You nod in approval. “Beautiful, as always. Now, let’s get out of here.”

—

You grip your phone tightly, eagerly anticipating a text, a call, anything from Rafayel that would indicate that he’d be in the studio soon. You look at the studio clock, biting the inside of your cheek. The stream should have started seven minutes ago, but the show’s host is currently nowhere to be seen. The last you'd heard from him was a text thirty seconds before the stream was supposed to start.

> Gunna be late. Soz. Cover for me pls

“Dammit, Rafayel,” you mutter, hunching over your laptop. “Who even says ‘Soz’ anymore?”

You read the comments starting to come through on the chat.

> Where’s Rafa? 🙁

> what’s taking so looooong

> WE WANT RAFAYEL

> i’m logging off ugh

You grab your phone from where you had slammed it down on the desk and you briefly consider calling your creative director. You’d rather stab a pencil into your ear than let him know about the shitshow that’s currently happening. But you’re desperate. You’re even considering cancelling the stream tonight and just queuing songs for the rest of the night. Your thumb hovers over his name on the phone and you’re about to press on it when Rafayel bursts into the studio.

His face is red, all the way up to his ears, and he’s huffing and puffing so intensely that you’re afraid he might pass out. Both of you stare at each other, speechless, and you immediately set your phone down again, scared that your hand might act on its own and actually put the call through.

Rafayel’s eyes flick towards his side of the desk, then to you, then back to the desk. He starts to rush towards it, but you stop him, shaking your head at him. You reach into your bag underneath the desk and pull out a cosmetic kit. It’s not yours, but his – you have it on hand in case he ever needs a touch up in the middle of a stream. You fish a comb out of the kit, and you motion at Rafayel to bend down. He complies, and you run the comb through his lavender hair, neatening the stray hairs that had been sticking out. You then take his compact powder out, and press the puff against the places on his forehead where a sheens of sweat had started to form. You lock eyes with Rafayel for a split second and notice that his pupils have become dilated, his breath now coming out in shallow pants. You feel your mouth suddenly become dry. You snap the pact closed and nod at him. He inhales sharply and zigzags around you to sit at his side of the desk. He sets himself up with his earpiece and looks straight into the camera, putting on a smile. You check the camera feeds and turn the mic on – no time for a soundcheck.

Rafayel takes another deep breath before going into his usual spiel. “Hi there fishies! Sorry about the late start. I had to take a detour to get to the cove. Now that we’re here though, why don’t we get started?”

—

You and Rafayel are both silent as you wrap up for the night. You chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating how you’re going to bring up the disaster that was the start of the show. He beats you to it.

“I’m really sorry,” he sighs, looking up from his piece of the night. “There wasn’t even an emergency. I was just late.”

You nod, choosing your next words carefully. “Can you tell me why you were late?”

Rafayel bites his lower lip before sighing again. “I was working on a piece the whole day. I got… distracted, I guess. That happens, sometimes. Certain pieces can just… eat you up.”

He chuckles nervously. “I was in a flow state the whole day, I think. By the time I realized that the whole day had gone, I was already going to be late for the show.”

You peer at him and notice that there are faint dark circles under his eyes. The whites of his eyes are also tinged with a light pink hue. “God, Rafayel, did you even sleep after the show last night?”

He shakes his head. “I napped for maybe an hour. But I was feeling inspired, so I just went with it. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

With that last statement, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away first, his attention going back to his piece.

“If Thomas wants someone to blame, give him my name,” he tells you. “Do not take the fall for me.” He looks back up at you, a determined glint in his eyes. “And it won’t happen again. I promise.”

—

“So you’re really taking the fall for him?” Thomas asks the question, but he already knows your answer. Your creative director taps on the rim of his coffee cup absentmindedly, awaiting your reply.

You shrug, your palms facing outwards. You shift in your seat and lean forward, just inches away from his desk. You’re determined to keep your voice steady. “I’m the producer. The buck stops with me. Anything that happens on Rafayel’s Cove has my name on it.”

Thomas lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re just like him,” he says, shaking his head. “Both of you are incredibly stubborn.” He picks up his cup and sips from it.

“But we can’t lose either of you,” he murmurs, squinting at you from above the rim of the cup. He sets it down on his desk again. “Rafayel is invaluable to the network and you’re the only one he’ll work with.”

Inwardly, you’re already celebrating, but you wait for Thomas to finish his lecture.

“I’ll just tell management there was a technical issue. Servers were down for maintenance. Whatever. They won’t really care at that point.”

You slowly release the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. “Thank you Thomas,” reply, bowing your head towards him. “It won’t happen again.”

Thomas waves his hand at you, dismissing you. “Of course. Go now, don’t you have a show to prepare for?”

—

You take your time making your way to the studio. You’re making plans in your head about how you’re going to get Rafayel into the studio on time, everyday. Should you call him two hours before his scheduled time? What if you picked him up on your way in yourself?

You’re still deep in thought when you open the door to the studio. You don’t notice that the lights are already on and that someone is already in there.

You’re startled, and your shoulders tense up – you’re not expecting anyone to be in the studio. You exhale quickly when you realize that it’s just Rafayel, setting up his things for the stream. Wait. You check the time on your watch. It’s half an hour before the show starts.

You head inside and close the door behind you. “You’re early,” you remark as you head to the desk.

Rafayel looks up from what he’s doing and gives you a mirthless chuckle. “See? Didn’t I tell you? Yesterday will not happen again.”

You settle in your seat, pleasantly surprised that most of your pre-show work is already done. You could get used to this. You’re about to go on your phone and start scrolling when Rafayel pipes up from his side of the desk.

“You stuck your neck out for me, didn’t you? I told you not to.”

You shrug, the same way you had shrugged at Thomas back in his office. “I’m your producer. I’m responsible for you and the show.” You lean in towards Rafayel, closing the space between the two of you. “And you need a producer you can trust. Someone you can always turn to.” You set your hands on the table gently. “Let me be that producer for you.”

Rafayel is silent for a few moments, but he nods. His jaw clenches and unclenches before he replies in a whisper. “Yeah. Thank you.”

You spot two covered cups on the corner of the desk. One of them has a tea bag string and tag dangling outside of it. You take that one and pass it to Rafayel. He receives it from you without looking up from his work. He raises the cup to his lips to take a sip and you see him frown into the cup.

“Ugh,” he mutters, smacking his lips together. “I didn’t make it right. It doesn’t taste good.”

You giggle as you motion for him to give the cup back to you. “Here, let me take it. Since we’ve got time, I’ll make it just how you like it.”

—

You’re a few minutes into the stream when Rafayel answers his first question of the night from the audience. He’s working with pastels tonight, and he’s just finished picking out the colors he’s going to work with.

“What am I drinking?” he reads the question from the tablet in front of him, his hand reaching for his cup. “Good question. First time in the history of me doing this show that someone’s ever asked that. Any guesses?”

Your eyes leave your screen and focus on him. He raises his cup briefly for the camera before setting it back down. You drag your gaze back to the screen and notice that the chat is flooded with comments.

> definitely some tequila in there…

> i think it’s coffee?

> No wait, there’s a tag and string, it’s tea!

“Definitely no tequila,” Rafayel chuckles. “My producer would kill me.”

He turns his attention back to his piece and picks up a pastel stick. He starts sketching roughly with it, drawing bold lines. “You’re right, it’s tea,” he confirms for the audience.

> what kind!!!

> i bet he’s a green tea guy

> What if it’s matcha?

> or oolong maybe?

Rafayel looks at the tablet momentarily, then back to his piece. He continues to draw, talking while he does so. “It’s Earl Grey, actually.”

“It’s my favorite tea. My producer makes it perfectly, every single time. I can’t do a show without it.”

His hands work furiously on the canvas panel. “My tea has to be bold, strong and fragrant. Sweet, but not too sickly sweet. I like the kind of tea that makes you miss it and crave it, just a little bit.”

You raise your eyebrows at what he says, but continue to listen.

“I need my tea by my side, always. It’s what gets me coming into the studio and doing these streams every night.”

Your cheeks start to heat up as you read the comments coming through.

> wow, waxing poetic about tea. okayyyy

> Damn I think I need some of that tea

> are we still talking about tea or…?

You look up and notice that Rafayel is looking directly at you, his hand hovering over the canvas. He has started sketching out the outline of a tea cup and it’s looking amazing already. Your eyes flick to the camera, then back to Rafayel. You motion with your head for him to turn his attention back to the camera, but he continues to look at you, his expression unreadable. That feeling you had felt the night before in your stomach comes back with an increased intensity. You bite down on your lower lip, no longer able to hide the fact that you are blushing.

“My tea. My lovely Earl Grey tea,” Rafayel murmurs, his head tilting to the side as he continues to look at you. “I really don’t know what I’d do without it.”

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel fluff #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel fanfic #rafayel scenarios #rafayel imagine #rafayel imagines #lads x reader #lads fluff #lads imagines #lads imagine #lads x you #lads scenarios #lads fanfic #ae.rafayel

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arc-misadventures · 7 months ago

Note

Friends AU:

How's Jaune going to be treated by his new colleagues in the Specialist Corps? Or perhaps even the Ace-Ops if we gonna be really special about it.

I can understand Marrow will probably mispronounce Jaune's name a couple of times. Most likely he'll just be happy to no longer be the PFNG of the group.

Harriet might be the biggest road-block in a sense, but she's likely still hurting, and denying she's still hurting, after the loss of Tortuga.

Elm and Vine I can see as more laid-back and even accepting him as the new guy on the squad.

Clover will just be the happy-go-lucky personality he's always depicted as, maybe already trying to forge a sense of camaraderie.

All that would really set apart the Ace-Ops, painfully so, from Jaune's previous "friends".

Block Party Politics

Ironwood: Alright, Specialist, listen up!

WCEVMHJ: Sir!

Ironwood: News of, Jacques Schnee's death was made public six hours ago. And, as of learning the news if thus, the people of, Mantle will be holding a block party to celebrate his death.

Vine: Did they receive permission to hold this, Sir?

Ironwood: No, but I don't think we can stop them even if we tried. Even then, this 'block party' would act as a, Grimm 'repellent.' With everyone celebrating it will generate, 'positive energy' that will repel the, Grimm. Even if they are celebrating the fact someone died. And, I admit that even I find celebrating, Jacques Schnee's death is a bit morbid. But, it wasn't like I took out a bottle of fifty year old, Valian scotch, and took a celebratory drink. No, no, not at all.

WCEVMHJ: Hahahaha.

Ironwood: Now then, I want you lot to go down to, Mantle, and keep the peace there. Since people will be out, and about drinking, so just make sure people don't get too rowdy. If you want to enjoy the food, and some of the drinks, mingle with the locals, feel free to do so. But, only in moderation! I don't want my, Aces getting wasted at a party.

Clover: Understood, Sir.

Ironwood: Now then, expect people to ask you about information concerning, Jacques Schnee's death. Don't tell them anything, be it civilian, or reporter.

Marrow: We'll probably be asked this allot.

Harriet: Not as bad as, Winter will be.

Elm: Ha! You'll get swarmed for every little detail about how it happened.

Winter: I know, I'm planning to tell them several different stories to throw them off. Such as, he chocked to death eating lien cards so they couldn't be taxed.

Elm: Pfff! Hahahahaha!

Harriet: Oh, that is a good one!

Clover: Worse part is that if I didn't see how he died I would believe it to be true.

Winter: That just shows you what kind of man he was.

Ironwood: Alright then, is there any more questions before you head out?

Marrow: Yes, Sir; why is, John here?

Jaune: It's pronounced: 'Jaune,' not John, Marrow.

Marrow: 'Jaune?' Oh, sorry. But, my question still stands: Why is he here?

Ironwood: Ahh, yes. Specialist, may I present to you your newest member: Specialist Jaune Arc.

Marrow: WHAT?!

Harriet: Excuse me?!

Vine: Congratulations!

Elm: Welcome to the team!

Clover: Jaune's now on our team? Things are about to get interesting.

Winter: Indeed it will.

Ironwood: Now that, that is out of the way... Specialist!

WCVEMHJ: Sir!

Ironwood: Head to the landing pad, and start your mission. Dismissed!

WCVEMHJ: Yes, Sir!

~~~

Clover: So you joined the, Specialist, Jaune; When did that happen?

Jaune: I was sworn in a few days ago. And, a few days before that, Winter offered me the chance to join.

Marrow: Winter scouted you?

Elm: Why did you do that?

Harriet: Yeah, why did you scout him?

Winter: While we, Specialist are among the best, Atlas has to offer. We are lacking in one thing that, Jaune brings to the table: A highly strategic, and analytical mindset.

Clover: A strategist?

Marrow: We need one of those?

Vine: Apparently.

Harriet: But, is he even any good?

Clover: Yeah, no offence, Jaune...

Jaune: None taken.

Clover: But, is he any good as a specialist?

Winter: Remember that report about that, Karniviar I gave you?

Clover: Yeah, I remember that one. The report said that it was classified as a, C Class threat, but due to it's location it should have been classified as a, A Class threat concerning it's possible threat to, Atlas, and Mantle.

Vine: I read the report on how it was slain; A hard light shield being activated down it's throat, snapping it's neck instantly. A very simple, and yet a very effective plan. Wait, was that you, Jaune?

Jaune: Yes it was.

Harriet: You're serious?!

Jaune: Yeah. My name was on the report. There even is video of me doing it. In fact, Winter was with me when I killed it, so there should be at least two videos, and reports about it. Did you not show them, Winter?

Winter: I did not. I wanted to gage their opinions on how you killed the, Karniviar, without them knowing it was you, Jaune. They gave you glowing reviews at that.

Jaune: Oh, thanks...

Clover: Well, you'll have to show us that video later, Winter. In the meantime, welcome to the, Specialist, Jaune. You ready for your first mission?

Jaune: I expected a seek, and destroy to be my first mission as a, Specialist. So until then, this one doesn't count.

Elm: Ha! That's the spirit!

Clover: Indeed it is!

Marrow: We're about to land.

Winter: You heard the man... Specialist's this may not be our typical mission, but nonetheless it's important that we get this job done right! So lets get out there, and finish this!

CVEMH: OOH-RAH!

Jaune: Wait? You guys actually do that?! I thought that was just a thing in video games...?

~~~

Jaune: Well... looks like there's plenty of people who are waking up with a hell of a hangover in the morning... other than that...?!

: Oh, a Specialist? I haven't seen you before.

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, you're, Robyn... Robyn Hill of the Happy Huntress, right?

Robyn: Ahh, yes... I am the leader of the... Happy Huntresses...

Jaune: Ever thought about doing some rebranding?

Robyn: We have, but we haven't been able to come up with anything better...

Jaune: Really? Never thought about something like, The Redbreasts? Or, The Ruddocks?

Robyn: ...

Robyn: We spent two weeks coming up with a name that sounded better than, Happy Huntresses, and we couldn't come up with anything. And, you came up with two great names at the drop of a hat?! That's... that's not fair...

Jaune: Ha...

Robyn: I'll have to bring that up with the others. Thank you...? I'm sorry, but I never got your name?

Jaune: Oh, my apologies. My name is, Jaune Arc. Specialist Jaune Arc, its a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hill.

Robyn: The pleasure is all mine. And, please just call me, Robyn, Specialist Arc.

Jaune: In that case, you can call me just, Jaune.

Robyn: Very well then, Jaune. So tell me, what are, Atlas's Specialist's doing here at a simple block party?

Jaune: Keeping the peace, intermingling with the locals, hopefully not getting plastered.

Robyn: Really?

Jaune: Yes. You've seen police walking around, they're making sure no one does anything stupid. We, Specialist are doing the same thing. Why, did you think we are here for some other reason?

Robyn: Yes, I thought, Ironwood would be quite upset over losing his main, Dust supplier. And, even more so that the people are celebrating his death.

Jaune: You are correct, Robyn. General Ironwood was most upset when he heard about, Jacques death. Why he certainly didn't take out the vintage scotch in a celebratory toast at the news of his passing. No, no, no. General Ironwood never did anything like that at all.

Robyn: Really?

Jaune: Really, really.

Robyn: ...

Robyn: May I take your hand?

Jaune: Are you going to use your semblance on me?

Robyn: I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe that, Ironwood celebrated his death.

Jaune: Understandable, the man has as much emotional expression as a brick wall. But, if you'll better finding out the truth, feel free to do so.

Robyn: Thank you. So, was General Ironwood really having a toast celebrating, Jacques Schnee's death?

Jaune: Yes. Hmm? Well, that's a nice shade of green.

Robyn: So it is. And, General Ironwood did take a drink toasting, Jacques's death...

Jaune: Yes he did. You'd be surprised who else celebrated his death And, did anyone ever tell you you have trust issues, Robyn?

Robyn: Only those that gave me trust issues.

Jaune: So that's how you acquired you semblance. I'm sorry to hear that.

Robyn: You believe me? That, that's how I got my semblance.

Jaune: My... former teammate has a semblance that let's her absorb electricity, and uses it to power herself up. Apparently, her semblance was unlocked after she got hit by a lighting bolt.

Robyn: Really? Well, that must have been an electrifying experience.

Jaune: ...

Robyn: Was it bad? It was bad, wasn't it?

Jaune: I've heard worse; Much worse.

Robyn: Haaa... Well, since I don't often get many of the, General's, Specialist all to myself, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I have questions about what, General Ironwood's plans for, Mantle are. But, both he, and your fellow, Specialist refuse, or deflect any of my questions.

Jaune: Sure. Feel free to ask me anything, Robyn. But, I can't answer everything; Either because I don't know, or I can't say for reasons.

Robyn: Fair enough. Do you mind if I continue to use my, Semblance?

Jaune: Not at all. But, if it's red, do understand that there may be reasons why I am, 'lying' to you. That is if your, Semblance can tell when someone is deliberately trying to mislead you. Can it?

Robyn: I don't know, let's find out.

Jaune: Sounds fun.

Robyn: Since you're a, Specialist, you have the, General's ear; Could you recommend curtain things to him?

Jaune: What things?

Robyn: You know my main goal is to support the people of, Mantle, and give them a voice. So, Is, General Ironwood, willing to support, and help, Mantle. For example: Fixing the breach in the wall?

Jaune: Oh yes he is. The winner of that game of, Hide, and Go Seek we had a while back, donated their winnings to pay for, Mantle's defenses. Both in repairing the walls, and fortifying them.

Robyn: R-Really?

Jaune: It's green.

Robyn: You're telling the truth...

Jaune: You don't believe me?

Robyn: I do.. But, Ironwood has been such a stick in the mud when it comes to rebuilding the wall, keeping everything for his secret project. I just find it hard to believe.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Robyn, you must understand this about, General Ironwood. His greatest weakness is that he can be very tunnel visioned. He will focus on one thing, and lose sight of everything else. His entire focus is on, Atlas. So if you want the, General's help with anything, paint it in the light that best helps, Mantle, and Atlas.

Robyn: Is that how the winner of the game of, Hide, and Go Seek convinced the, General? That rebuilding the walls of, Mantle would benefit, Atlas?

Jaune: Yes: Their argument was about how if the wall was rebuilt, and fortified, he would have to spend less resources defending the city, and more on his... his other projects.

Robyn: I see, thank you for telling me this, Jaune. It should help me with my future dealings with the, General. Can you tell me what his other projects are; particularly the one all these resources are being funneled into is?

Jaune: No, I can not.

Robyn: Green. Do you know what this project is?

Jaune: I do.

Robyn: Green. Can you tell me anything about this project?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I'll just say this: It will benefit more than just, Atlas, and Mantle when it is completed.

Robyn: How so?

Jaune: I cannot say.

Robyn: Why?

Jaune: Security reasons.

Robyn: But, shouldn't the people of, Mantle, and Atlas be aware of what the, General is planning?

Jaune: Robyn... The council election will happen in just over a month. The project will take at least two to three months to finish. You are basically a shoehorn to win this. Just wait until after the election, and you will learn everything, everything about this project. And, you will understand why so much resources were used, and above all, you will know why it was kept a secret.

Robyn: ...

Robyn: And, what if I do win, but General Ironwood still refuses to tell me. What then?

Jaune: Then I will tell you what he is planning.

Robyn: Y-You will...?

Jaune: I will.

Robyn: You promise?

Jaune: I give you an, Arc's vow that I will tell you what he is planning. And a, Arc never breaks their word.

Robyn: ...

Jaune: ...

Robyn: Okay...

Jaune: You aren't going to tell me what colour it was?

Robyn: I don't need to. I can see it in your eyes... You're eyes weren't lying.

Jaune: Alright.. Is there anything else you want to ask me, Robyn?

Robyn: No... no that is all I need to know. I best get going, It was nice speaking with, Specialist Jaune Arc~!

Jaune: To you as well, Robyn Hill.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: How long were you there, Clover?

Clover: Long enough.

Jaune: Are you going to report me to the, General then?

Clover: No... You didn't tell her directly what the, General was doing. Hinted, yes. But, in a vague enough way that doesn't directly answer any of her questions.

Jaune: Ms. Hill concerns are primarily about, Mantle. Her reasoning for why is quite simple: General Ironwood, and the rest of the council members are more concerned with, Atlas than they are with, Mantle. While, Miss Hill is more concerned about the needs of, Mantle than she is with, Atlas. Because of this, Miss Hill will continue to be a thorn in the, General's side until the concerns of, Mantle are addressed. My telling her that, Mantle's walls will be fixed, and fortified will keep her off the. General's back. For a time.

Jaune: The new, CCTS project will be delayed for about a month, or more because of this. However, Robyn, and her compatriots have been spotted stopping supply convoys by the members of, Team RWBY. This was quite frankly the most stressing matter we needed to attend to.

Clover: What makes you say that?

Jaune: Miss Hill strikes me as the type who would start hijacking the supply convoys to send a message to, General Ironwood.

Clover: Hmmm... Well, since, Team RWBY has been protecting those convoys, so the, 'Happy Huntresses' shouldn't pose too much of a threat to them.

Jaune: You're mistaken, Clover. Team RWBY are the greatest threat to the convoys, and thus the, CCTS project.

Clover: Team RWBY is?! Why?

Jaune: Ruby is an altruistic; It's her nature. if Robyn Hill gave her a convincing sob story, she'd blab in an instant. Blake is the one most likely to blab to spite the, General, and Atlas. She was a former member of the more radical, White Fang after all. Yang would probably talk if, Ruby, or Blake encourage her to. She puts up a tough act because of past trauma, but she's a softy on the inside. Weiss is the only one I would expect to keep a tight lip. For how long is the question though.

Clover: I never would have expected that... I think I better inform, General Ironwood of it.

Jaune: A wise decision to make. But, with, Miss Hill knowing that the walls are being repaired, and fortified she will leave the convoys alone. And, the new, CCTS will be built, undeterred. It may take two to three months longer to build, but without, Robyn Hill, and the Happy Huntresses intervention it won't be delayed for unknown lengths of time. All in all, informing, Miss Hill about the wall being rebuilt, and fortified will be a net gain. Besides, it's not like I'm telling her any secrets; The work to repair, and fortify the walls begins in two days, she would have found out eventually anyway.

Clover: (Whistles~!)

Clover: That's impressive, did you think of all of that right on the spot?

Jaune: Some of it. While I was watching over the kids when they were heading to school, and when their mother's weren't flirting with me... They often talked about how there were happy that a huntsman was watching their kids as they went to school. And, how they, and many of their other friends were worried about more, Grimm attacks.

Jaune: General Ironwood should have ordered that the wall to be repaired the second he learned it was breached. But, he's too blind by desire to get the new, CCTS built.

Jaune: The people are scared, and that's getting the, Grimm rowdy. If the, Grimm become active, and people learn he's only focused on getting the, CCTS up, and running. We'll have a lot more things to deal with than just the, Grimm.

Clover: Wow... Okay... Winter... Winter was right on the money...

Jaune: 'Right on the money;' About what?

Clover: You have one hell of a strategic, and analytical mindset. I wouldn't have thought of any of that. Winter made the right decision asking you to join us.

Jaune: Oh, thank you, Clover. I appreciate that.

Clover: Think nothing of it. Now then, we best get back to work. We don't want to be caught lollygagging now do we?

Jaune: Oh? I thought you'd be taking the most the opportunities to be found in this day of revelry.

Clover: What are you talking about?

Jaune: First off, you have a lipstick smug on your cheek.

Clover: Oh really? One of the locals gave me a celebratory kiss, must have left a smudge.

Jaune: Yeah, a smudge of lipstick the same shade of brown I saw, Harriet apply to her lips on the ride down here.

Clover: Can't a girl look pretty?

Jaune: Yeah, but I saw, Harriet make a beeline down the street, the same way you're heading too.

Clover: So, we're both heading down the same street, what's suspicious about that?

Jaune: She was walking towards, Ever Light Hotel.

Clover: Yeah, Harriet told me about the place. Lots of five star reviews.

Jaune: It's a love hotel.

Clover: ...

Jaune: ...

Clover: Uhhhh...?

Jaune: There's a pharmacy three stores down; I recommend you get yourself some condoms, unless you want to test how your semblance defines, 'lucky.'

Clover: ...

Clover: Okay...

Jaune: Smart lad. Well, have fun you two...

Clover: D-Did anyone ever tell you that you notice way too much?

Jaune: A few.

Clover: And, that it's really scary how much you notice?

Jaune: More than a few.

Clover: Oh... okay...

Clover: You're not going to...?

Jaune: Nope.

Clover: Oh, thank you.

Jaune: Now get going, it's rude to keep a lady waiting.

Clover: Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Jaune.

Jaune: Tomorrow then.

Jaune: ...

(CRASH?!!)

: OI?! Watch watch where you're going?!

: Wha..? Y-You were in my way... Asshole!

: Why you?!

: RAH!

: AHH!!!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Haaa...

Jaune: Alright then, back to work...

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #ruby rose #winter schnne #james ironwood #jacques schnee #robyn hiil #clover ebi #marrow amin #vine zeki #harriet bree #elm ederne #clover x hariet #harriet x jaune

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

Text

A Slip of the Tongue, A Turn of the Wheel

Summary: You, a teen under the mentorship of Aventurine, accidentally call him "Dad" during a lesson. Flustered and fearing his reaction, you’re surprised to find the ever-charismatic and calculating strategist uncharacteristically thoughtful. While Aventurine brushes it off with his usual charm, a deeper connection forms between the two of you, as he quietly acknowledges your need for support in his own unconventional way.

Tags: @theofficalaventurine, Aventurine x Reader, Teen!Reader, Fluff, Found Family, Mentor/Mentee Relationship, Accidental Dad Moment, Emotional Vulnerability, Light Humor, Subtle Angst.

Warnings: Brief mention of survivor’s guilt and trauma (lightly touched upon through Aventurine’s backstory), Emotional themes, including trust and fear of vulnerability, A hint of self-doubt from the reader's perspective.

The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of Aventurine’s roulette watch as he leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the projection of the latest financial reports. You sat across from him, nervously fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. Being in the presence of one of the IPC’s infamous Ten Stonehearts was a daunting experience for anyone—let alone a teenager like yourself.

You weren’t sure how you had ended up under his wing, but he had taken an interest in your sharp instincts and analytical mind, grooming you into a junior strategist. His mentorship was unconventional, his lessons as much about survival in the cutthroat corporate world as they were about mastering numbers and charts.

“You’re staring at the wrong column,” Aventurine said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “The projection isn’t about what’s on paper—it’s about what you think they’ll do next. Always anticipate the gamble, little one.”

You nodded quickly, mentally scolding yourself for missing the obvious. You hated feeling like you were letting him down, even if he never seemed openly angry. His smile was constant, but you could feel his sharp eyes dissecting your every move.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled, looking back at the data.

“Don’t apologize,” he replied, spinning his chair slightly to face you fully. “Mistakes are part of the game. The key is not to lose your nerve when you’re in over your head. Now, what would you—”

“Got it, Dad!” you blurted, cutting him off in your eagerness to show your understanding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your face burned as you realized what you had just said. You snapped your head up to see Aventurine frozen mid-spin, his ever-present smile faltering for the briefest of moments. His eye twitched slightly, and he tilted his head as if to confirm he had heard you correctly.

“Dad, you say?” he drawled, his tone light but laced with something unspoken. He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “Now, that’s an interesting slip.”

“I—I didn’t mean that!” you stammered, waving your hands in a frantic attempt to backtrack. “It just—it came out wrong! I meant sir! Or something like that! Definitely not—”

“Relax,” Aventurine interrupted, raising a hand to stop your babbling. His lips curled into an amused smile, though his eyes held a flicker of something softer. “You’re turning redder than a roulette wheel in a losing streak. No need to spin out.”

You bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze. “Sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to say that. I know it’s… weird.”

For a moment, Aventurine said nothing. The air hung heavy between you, and you dared a glance at him, only to find his expression unreadable. His eyes studied you, a rare seriousness replacing his usual playfulness.

“It’s not weird,” he finally said, his voice quieter than usual. “Unexpected, yes, but not weird.”

Your head snapped up in surprise. He was still watching you, though his smile was gone, replaced by a contemplative look. He leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against the armrest.

“Life is a gamble, little one,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost… wistful. “You don’t always get to pick the cards you’re dealt. Sometimes, you’ve got to bluff your way through the hand with whatever you’ve got.” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting your gaze again. “If calling me that helps you feel a little less like the odds are stacked against you… I won’t hold it against you.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “R-Really?”

He smirked, the playful edge returning to his expression. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m not exactly father-of-the-year material. But,” he added, his voice softening, “if you need someone in your corner… I suppose I can play the part.”

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of relief and warmth flooding through you. You nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, uh… sir.”

Aventurine chuckled, standing up and ruffling your hair as he walked past. “Back to work, little one. We’ve got a gamble to win.”

And though his tone was as light as ever, you couldn’t help but feel a newfound sense of trust between you—one that neither of you dared to put into words, but both of you understood.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #teen!reader #fluff #found family #subtle angst #mentor/mentee relationship #accidental dad moment #emotional vulnerability #light humor

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omgbilly · 7 months ago

Text

☆ pure ☆ ii.

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: 𝒾. 𝒾𝒾. 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤: red & blue divider @sister-lucifer

𝟙𝟠+

𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕥, 𝕝𝕖𝕥'𝕤 𝕓𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝: 𝕀 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕔 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕤.

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕣, 𝕝𝕚𝕝 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟚.𝟙𝕜

It had been a whole week since he had met you, and Homelander hadn’t stopped thinking about it, about you.

At first, he tried to push it out of his mind and leave your run-in as an insignificant encounter among the millions of insignificant people in this city but it lingered, nagging and insistent. You had absolutely consumed his every thought. You should’ve been just another face in the crowd; a pretty one, but just another one nonetheless.

And yet, he was overwhelmed by the presence of you in his mind. He had continuously replayed the few minutes he had spent with you in that alley; the image of you crashing into him, the feeling of your hands brushing against his chest, the sight of you on your knees in front of him with pleading eyes on him. He could practically feel your gentle, careful touch against him. He bit his lip, letting out a soft exhale as his hand moved down to palm the tight blue fabric of his suit over his cock as it swelled at the thought of you in such a position.

You were so innocent. So pure. So unaware of the effect you had on him. The feeling of your warmth still lingered on his skin and the sound of your heart fluttering at his touch was in his ears. He leaned back against the cold, hard metal of the Tower’s elevator as it descended. People don’t touch him. No one just willingly hands him the sensation that he craves with no strings attached, with no fear.

But you did.

You left him behind in that alley without a second thought. You just turned around and walked away, despite the heat, the spark, the connection between the two of you. He should feel angry. He should be furious that someone could dismiss him so easily, but there was something deeper at play. Was it curiosity? Fascination? Obsession?

Homelander’s jaw clenched tightly as his eyes closed, desperate to conjure up more of you behind his eyelids. He imagines you under him. Your body trembling, wanting more of his touch. You’re soft and malleable in his hands, your will breaking as he forces you to submit to him—to need him. The thought stirred something dark and possessive in him.

The elevator lurched to a stop as the bell sounded softly, prompting him out of his thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as the rush of desire coursed through him, darkening his stormy blue gaze. His body thrummed with need—an almost unbearable urge to make you ache for him the way he ached for you. The intensity of the thought pulsed through him, heavy and raw. Homelander stepped out of the elevator and into the dim halls of Vought’s crime analytics department, his mind still reeling from the overwhelming pull of his craving.

It hadn’t taken long to find you. A nervous analyst had quickly run Vought’s proprietary facial recognition software, pulling your name and home address with trembling fingers. She’d fumbled through a few more clicks before pulling up your image—captured in grainy black-and-white from the security camera of the coffee shop you’d visited earlier that week. He stared at the screen, transfixed, watching the way your lips curled into that carefree, dazzling smile as you placed your order. His heart tightened at the thought of you smiling at him like that again. No more distance. Just you, looking at him like he was the only person in the room.

The analyst printed the report, turning to hand it over—but Homelander was already there. His gloved fingers closed around the paper, yanking it from her hand with unsettling precision. He turned on his heel and left, the sharp click of the door closing behind him echoing through the dark, computer-screen lit room.

Your smile, so effortless, so damn innocent, seared itself into his mind, like a brand that wouldn’t fade. The image of you grinned back at him from the dark corners of his thoughts, too bright, too human. It gnawed at him, pulling at something deep and primal.

He needed you again. Not later. Not when it was convenient.

Now.

It was early in the morning when your phone rang loudly. You shot up out of bed, scrambling out of your bed sheets to answer it, hopeful it was regarding one of your interviews.

You cleared your throat, “Hello?”

“Hi! I was just calling to follow-up on your interview! Unfortunately, we’re unable to offer you the position as we are prioritizing candidates that can start as soon as possible—” the cheerful HR representative chirped.

“B-But I can! I can start today! Please,” you interrupted, pleading desperately, your voice quieting to a mere whisper in the face of yet another rejection. “I really need this job.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ve really got to go!” she said again, painfully upbeat. “Please consider applying again in the near future!”

Click.

You slammed your phone down against your bed in frustration. You slumped against the pilling fabric of your headboard, wanting to cry. It had been months of searching for a real career; something to get you out of the lousy job you currently had and into an apartment that didn’t have leaky plumbing and a rat problem.

You found your thoughts wandering off to John. Again. You wondered what he did for a living, where he lived; if he was thinking about you as often as you were thinking about him. It had been a whole week since you had met John, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him even after your busy week of rescheduled interviews and continued job hunting despite the rejection.

You sighed, pushing the tangled sheets off your body as you move to stand. The soft hum of the city outside your window blended with the quiet, mundane routine of your morning. Your apartment was small—barely enough room for the essentials. The cool air from the open window brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as your bare feet padded lightly across the worn wooden floor.

You made your way to your cluttered bathroom, familiar in its disorder. There’s a brush on the counter, toothpaste squeezed too far, makeup strewn across the counter, a towel draped haphazardly over the edge of the shower. You splashed cold water on your face in an attempt to remove the last bit of sleepiness from your system.

John was so effortlessly perfect. He had such a small town charm to him but he was striking, easily commanding attention without even trying.

You absently moved through the motions of your routine, brushing your teeth, adjusting your hair, applying makeup—the works—before moving to your tiny closet to get dressed. You weren’t sure what you were planning on doing today, you just knew you couldn’t sit around in your lonely, isolated apartment.

You weren’t sure if you were misremembering the encounter but he seemed just as interested in you—ugh, why didn’t you just get the guy’s damn number?

You scooped up your purse from the floor, your fingers grazing the screen of your phone as you slipped it into your pocket. The coffee stain on your coat was impossible to miss—right where you’d spilled it earlier during your literal run-in with John. You sigh, debating whether your first stop should be the dry cleaners.

You grabbed your keys and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock feeling louder than usual in the quiet of the apartment.

As you descended the flights of stairs, the weight of your thoughts dragged behind you. His eyes. His voice— You shake your head, trying to push him out, but it’s no use. His presence lingers like a shadow, threading through every part of you. You chuckled a bit, trying to chalk up your newfound obsession with the stranger to the fact you just hadn’t been on a date in months.

Ugh, you are not that desperate. Relax.

You paused briefly in the building’s lobby. It’s small, old—barely enough space for the worn-out couches and the clattering mail slots. You can’t stop thinking about him: that smile, the way he’d made you feel like you were the only person in the city worth taking up his time.

You bit your lip, remembering how his finger had trailed across your chest, the way his hands had wrapped around your arms with that quiet, almost possessive force. Your pulse quickens at the thought, and you pull your coat tighter around you, trying to shake off the heat building in your chest and between your thighs.

You pushed through the lobby doors and step onto the sidewalk, the crisp air barely enough to cool your flustered thoughts. Your fingers rifled through your purse, searching for your wallet, but your mind was elsewhere. The collision came out of nowhere, sudden and sharp—a splash of hot coffee spilling across your chest. You teetered backwards, a startled gasp catching in your throat as the warmth spreads, when you felt two strong hands pull you closer, stabilizing you. You looked up to meet those familiar piercing blue eyes, locking onto yours with that same, unsettling gravity.

John.

His lips curl into that signature, predatory grin. "We really need to stop meeting like this," he teased, voice low and almost velvety, his eyes tracing the mess on your coat with the smallest flicker of amusement at his own orchestration of last week’s encounter.

You laugh—genuinely, a little breathlessly. “Well, that's one way to start the day,” you grinned, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now I know how you felt.”

Homelander’s gaze sharpened at the sound of your laugh, and for a second, you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He liked this, liked the way you reacted to him.

“Are you always distracted, or do I just have that effect on you?”

You step back, raising your hands in a mock surrender, though you can’t quite hide the gleam in your eyes. “Guess I’m just clumsy these days. You, good sir, are lucky I was already headed to the dry cleaners.” Your fingers gently tugged at your coat, light-heartedly exasperated, but the truth is—you were too busy thinking about the feeling of him pressed against you. It had been a spark, and now it’s starting to feel like a slow burn.

Homelander’s laugh is soft and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Lucky for me, then,” he murmurs, his eyes lingering on you longer than necessary. You felt a pink flush spread across your cheeks at intensity of his gaze.

Before you could respond, he raised his hand to caress your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, wiping away a droplet of coffee. You froze, heart skipping a beat at the ardor of his touch. It’s soft, almost intimate, and the way he looked at you—like he knew the effect of his actions—had you breathless. You tilted your head slightly, almost instinctively leaning into his touch, your skin tingling beneath his fingertips. His hand lingers a moment longer than you expect, and your lips part slightly as your pulse thrummed in your chest.

He pulled back only when he was sure he had left you positively flustered.

“Okay,” you giggled, ou tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, biting your lip to hide the smile. “I guess I could let you off the hook. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Again.”

His grin widened, that teasing glint never leaving his eyes as he adjusted the dark blue baseball cap on his head as if he were savoring this moment. “No harm done,” he said, dismissing your apology with a casual wave. “Besides, what’s a little mess between friends?” His gaze flickered to your lips for just a moment, sending a thrilling wave of electricity straight through you.

You cleared your throat, feeling the heated flush across your face spread as you tried to steady your voice. It came out breathier than you expected, almost too soft. “I, uh... I’m going to have to go upstairs and change now.”

You paused, just long enough to let the silence hang between you, then added with a playful lilt,“But if you’re not in a rush…I can make you another, probably better, coffee in my apartment.”

The words lingered in the air—lighthearted, but carrying something beneath the surface. Those same pleading eyes searched his face, holding his hungry gaze hostage, the unspoken message clear: This isn’t just about the coffee.

Homelander’s eyes widen in a brief flash of surprise before he took a small step forward. His smile slowed, deliberate, darkening with intent. He leaned in just enough to close the space between you once more, his voice dropping an octave, smooth as velvet.

“I think I could be persuaded.”

#the boys #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander smut #the boys fanfic #fanfics #writing #fem!reader

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months ago

Text

Matt Wuerker. Politico

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 11, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Mar 12, 2025

The stock market continued to fall today. The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell another 478 points, or 1.14%; the S&P 500 fell almost 0.8%; and the Nasdaq Composite fell almost 0.2%. The S&P 500 briefly held its own in trading today, but then Trump announced on his social media platform that he was going to double the tariffs on steel and aluminum from the new 25% rates to a 50% rate on Canada and might increase tariffs to “permanently shut down the automobile manufacturing business in Canada.”

Stocks fell again.

Unable to admit that he might be wrong, President Donald Trump is doubling down on the policies that are crashing the economy. In addition to his tariff threats, he also reiterated that “the only thing that makes sense is for Canada to become our cherished Fifty First State,” an outrageous position that he suddenly began to advance after the 2024 presidential election and which has Canadians so furious they are boycotting U.S. goods and booing the Star-Spangled Banner.

More than 100 top business leaders met with Trump today to urge him to stop destabilizing what had been a booming economy with his on-again-off-again tariffs. Mark Zandi, chief economist of Moody’s Analytics, told Jeff Stein and Isaac Arnsdorf of the Washington Post that in private, “[b]usiness leaders, CEOs and COOs are nervous, bordering on unnerved, by the policies that are being implemented, how they’re being implemented and what the fallout is. There’s overwhelming uncertainty and increasing discomfort with how policy is being implemented.”

The extreme unpredictability means that no one knows where or how to invest. Market strategist Art Hogan told CNN’s Matt Egan, “This market is just blatantly sick and tired of the back and forth on trade policy.” Yesterday, Delta Air Lines cut its forecasts for its first-quarter revenue and profits by half, a sign of weakening corporate and consumer confidence and concerns about the safety of air travel. Today, Southwest Airlines and United Airlines cut their forecasts, and American Airlines forecast a first-quarter loss.

When he talked to reporters, Trump reasserted that he intends to do what he wants regardless of the business leaders’ input. “Markets are going to go up and they’re going to go down, but you know what, we have to rebuild our country. Long-term what I’m doing is making our country strong again.” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt advised, “If people are looking for certainty, they should look at the record of this president.”

Not everyone will find that suggestion comforting.

Trump backed off on his threat to raise the tariffs on Canadian steel and aluminum to 50%, but went ahead with his threat to place 25% tariffs on all imported steel and aluminum products. Those tariffs took effect at midnight.

In the face of his own troubles, Trump’s sidekick billionaire Elon Musk is also escalating his destructive behavior. Yesterday Musk’s social media platform X underwent three separate outages that spanned more than six hours. Lily Jamali and Liv McMahon of the BBC reported that Oxford professor Ciaran Martin, former head of the United Kingdom’s National Cyber Security Center, said that the outages appear to have been an attack called a “distributed denial of service,” or DDoS, attack. This is an old technique in which hackers flood a server to prevent authentic users from reaching a website.

"I can't think of a company of the size and standing internationally of X that's fallen over to a DDoS attack for a very long time," Martin said. The outage "doesn't reflect well on their cyber security." Without any evidence, Musk blamed hackers in Ukraine for the outages, an accusation Martin called “pretty much garbage.”

Four days ago, another of Musk’s SpaceX rockets exploded after takeoff, and now SpaceX’s Starlink internet service is facing headwinds. In February, Mexican billionaire Carlos Slim canceled his collaborations with Starlink after growing tensions with Musk culminated with Musk alleging on X that Slim is tied to organized crime. The loss of that deal cost Musk about $7 billion in the short term, but more in the long term as Slim will work with European and Chinese companies in 25 Latin American countries rather than Starlink. Slim has said he would invest $22 billion in those projects over the next three years.

Also in February, after U.S. negotiators threatened to cut Ukraine’s access to the 42,000 Starlink terminals that supply information to the front lines, the European Commission began to look for either government or commercial alternatives. The European Commission is made up of a college of commissioners from each of the 27 European Union countries. It acts as the main executive branch of the European Union.

On Sunday, Musk posted: “[M]y Starlink system is the backbone of the Ukrainian army. Their entire front line would collapse if I turned it off.” Poland pays for about half the Starlink terminals in Ukraine, about $50 million a year. Poland’s minister of foreign affairs, Radosław Sikorski, responded that “if SpaceX proves to be an unreliable provider we will be forced to look for other suppliers.” “Be quiet, small man,” Musk replied. “You pay a tiny fraction of the cost. And there is no substitute for Starlink.”

After all the tariff drama with Canada, last week Ontario also cancelled a deal it had with Starlink.

But perhaps the biggest hit Musk has taken lately is over his Tesla car brand. On February 6, Musk’s younger brother Kimbal, who sits on Tesla’s board, sold more than $27 million worth of shares in the company. Tesla chair Robyn Denholm sold about $43 million worth of Tesla stock in February and recently sold another $33 million. Tesla CFO Vaibhav Taneja has sold $8 million worth over the past 90 days. Yesterday, board member James Murdoch sold just over $13 million worth of stock.

Fred Lambert of Electrek, which follows the news about electric vehicles and Tesla, noted that Tesla stock dropped 15% yesterday, “down more than 50% from its all-time high just a few months ago.” “Tesla insiders are unloading,” he concluded.

Tesla sales are dropping across the globe owing to the unpopularity of Musk’s antics, along with the cuts and data breaches from his “Department of Government Efficiency.” Protesters have been gathering at Tesla dealerships to express their dismay. While the protests have been peaceful, as Chris Isidore of CNN reports, there have also been reports of vandalism. Tesla owners are facing ridicule as protesters take out their anger toward Musk on his customers, and at least one competitor is working to lure consumers away from Musk’s brand by offering a discount to Tesla owners.

Trump has jumped to Musk’s defense, posting just after midnight this morning that “Elon Musk is ‘putting it on the line’ in order to help our Nation, and he is doing a FANTASTIC JOB! But the Radical Left Lunatics, as they often do, are trying to illegally and collusively boycott Tesla, one of the World’s great automakers, and Elon’s ‘baby,’ in order to attack and do harm to Elon, and everything he stands for. They tried to do it to me at the 2024 Presidential Ballot Box, but how did that work out? In any event, I’m going to buy a brand new Tesla tomorrow morning as a show of confidence and support for Elon Musk, a truly great American.”

Indeed, today Trump used the office of the presidency to bolster Musk’s business. Teslas were lined up at the White House, where Trump read from a Tesla sales pitch—photographer Andrew Harnik caught an image of his notes. And then the same man who gave a blanket pardon to those convicted of violent crimes related to the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol called those protesting at Tesla dealerships “domestic terrorists” and promised that the government would make sure they “go through hell.”

Trump and Musk appear to have taken the downturn in their fortunes by becoming more aggressive. Martin Pengelly of The Guardian noted that in the middle of Monday’s stock market plunge, Trump posted or reposted more than 100 messages on his social media channel. All of them showed him in a positive light, including reminders of the 2004 first season of the television show The Apprentice, in which Trump starred: a golden moment in Trump’s past when his ratings were high and the audience seemed to believe he was a brilliant and powerful businessman.

Today, egged on by Musk, Trump pushed again to take over other countries. He told reporters: "When you take away that artificial line that looks like it was done with a ruler…and you look at that beautiful formation of Canada and the United States, there is no place anywhere in the world that looks like that…. And then if you add Greenland…that's pretty good."

The Trump administration also announced today it was cutting about half the employees in the Department of Education. The Senate confirmed Linda McMahon, who has little experience with education, to head the department on March 3 by a party-line vote. Shutting down the department "was the president's mandate—his directive to me," McMahon told Fox News Channel host Laura Ingraham. McMahon assured Ingraham that existing grants and programs would not “fall through the cracks.”

But when Ingraham asked her what IDEA stood for—the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act—she wasn’t sure, although she knew it was “the programs for disabled and needs.” Ingraham knew what the acronym meant but assured McMahon that after 30 years on the job, she still didn’t know all the acronyms. McMahon replied: “This is my fifth day on the job and I’m really trying to learn them very quickly.”

Musk lashed out at Arizona senator Mark Kelly on social media yesterday, after Kelly posted pictures of his recent trip to Ukraine and discussed the history of Russia’s invasion, concluding “it’s important we stand with Ukraine.” Musk responded: “You are a traitor.”

Kelly, who was in the Navy for 25 years and flew 39 combat missions in the Gulf War before becoming an astronaut, responded: “Traitor? Elon, if you don’t understand that defending freedom is a basic tenet of what makes America great and keeps us safe, maybe you should leave it to those of us who do.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Matt Wuerker #Politico #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Mark Kelly #veterans #IDEA #disabilities #war in Ukraine #the Economy #the Stock market #economic news #tariffs #wrong way

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yukkiji · 4 days ago

Text

almost professional

what began as just a job slowly blurred into something more—quiet glances, late nights, and words left unsaid. as his manager, you told yourself it was professional. but somewhere between the victories and the arguments, you fell for him—and deep down, it was clear you were never alone in that.

blue lock masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. isagi yoichi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, aged up!isagi, manager!reader

wc: 6.4k

author's note: this has been long overdue and finally got the chance to post so i hope you can guys enjoy it!!

you still remember the first day like a punch to the gut. the sun was cruelly bright, your shirt collar too tight, and your nerves louder than the echoes of cleats hitting concrete floors. fresh out of high school, you thought maybe—just maybe—being a personal assistant to one of the blue lock managers would be more clipboard than chaos.

you were wrong.

blue lock was chaos incarnate. testosterone-laced competition and ego filled every inch of the high-tech facility. the atmosphere was thick with ambition—sharp and hungry. you’d barely been handed your id lanyard when you saw him.

isagi yoichi.

number 11 on his uniform. blue lock’s rising star. not the loudest, not the flashiest—but there was something magnetic about him. his focus. his hunger. the quiet way he stared at the goal like it owed him something.

he wasn’t the type who made noise with his mouth—he made it with every calculated movement on the field. his presence wasn’t loud, but it echoed. he wasn’t chasing greatness. he was planning to devour it.

you were just an assistant. a glorified water-bottle carrier and clipboard keeper, assigned to help one of the assistant managers with schedules, logs, media coordination, and the occasional locker room clean-up. you thought you’d blend in, unnoticed. invisible.

but he saw you.

you dropped a stack of evaluation reports on your second day—nervous fingers slipping on the slick folder edges as a few dozen pages scattered across the corridor like fat snowflakes. players walked past, too absorbed in their rivalries to care. he was the only one who stopped mid-drill to help you.

no words, just a quiet presence kneeling beside you, passing sheets one by one. his gaze didn’t linger, his tone wasn’t soft, but you felt something settle in your chest like a small, persistent fire.

that was the beginning.

the transition from high school graduate to someone responsible for tracking the life of one of japan’s future stars was brutal. you hadn’t learned how to run on four hours of sleep yet. every day was a barrage of unread emails, misplaced gear, and dodging the media. and isagi—bless him or curse him—never made it easy.

he forgot schedules. argued with reporters. trained obsessively until his body screamed for rest. he’d sneak in extra drills behind the training staff’s backs, ignoring ice baths and nutritional plans like they were optional side quests. and when he lost a match?

he’d go silent. not out of shame, but out of hunger. he disappeared into himself, chewing through his own failures in silence, replaying them like reels behind those sharp, analytic eyes.

you learned how to tell when a loss was eating him alive. you’d hand him water in those moments and your fingers would brush, and he’d look at you like he was trying to find something to hold onto that wasn’t made of shattered expectations. neither of you ever said much.

but he never made you feel like you didn’t belong.

that was the thing.

even when he ignored the schedule you worked all night on. even when he took off running after a grueling session while you were still packing up cones. even when he made your heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with caffeine or chaos—he never once treated you like you were less.

he’d catch your eye across the field and nod, just once. not as an athlete to a staff member. but as isagi to you.

a silent acknowledgment.

a kind of understanding you couldn’t quite name yet.

you weren’t close. not really. but you orbited each other like planets too afraid to break the rules of gravity.

you told yourself it was fine. you were young. you were just starting. you had a job to do. professionalism first. you’d only known him for a few months, anyway.

but time stretched in strange ways inside blue lock. days felt like weeks. every win was a triumph. every loss a tragedy. you weren’t just growing up—you were burning alive in a forge.

and so was he.

you watched him sharpen. from the boy who knelt beside you on the floor, to the weapon who dissected the field with terrifying precision. you watched the rough edges smooth, then hone themselves into something more lethal.

and you wondered, sometimes, if he even remembered that second day—those papers, those soft moments.

because you did. every time.

every time he smiled at you like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to.

every time his gaze lingered a second too long when you laughed with another staff member.

every time he walked past you in the hallway and you swore you could feel him brush against your shoulder just to remind you he was there.

you weren’t a star. you weren’t a player. you were just someone orbiting the sun, hoping not to get burned.

and even though you told yourself not to—god, you did it anyway.

you started to fall.

you tried to resist it—buried it beneath early mornings, laminated schedules, and meticulously curated recovery routines. but how could you not fall for him?

for isagi yoichi, who burned with purpose and carried the weight of ambition on his shoulders like it was stitched into his very skin.

and then, everything changed.

it was a little over a year since you’d first stepped foot into blue lock—older, sharper, and more confident in your role. you’d stopped flinching at angry reporters and learned how to talk back to ego-driven agents with a polite, lethal smile. you’d grown, and so had he.

he was eighteen now. so were you. and after a string of phenomenal international matches, after climbing higher and higher through the blue lock rankings, isagi was officially signed to bastard münchen.

germany.

you found out through a press release.

you read it three times in your cramped dorm before the words sank in:

“yoichi isagi signs with bastard münchen.”

you were happy. you were proud. and you were… a little bit heartbroken.

you thought that was the end of it. thought the distance would finally bury those feelings that had grown too heavy to carry. you started preparing yourself to let go.

until the call came.

it was late.

you were organizing training reports in the blue lock archive room when your phone buzzed with a foreign number. you stared at it, hesitated, and picked up.

“hello?”

there was a beat of silence, followed by a voice that made your heart flip in your chest.

“it’s me,” isagi said. his voice was steadier than you remembered, deeper—like germany had already started shaping him.

you sat up straighter. “isagi? i—congrats on bastard münchen. that’s incredible.”

“thanks.” a pause. “listen… i didn’t call just to talk about the team.”

you blinked. “okay?”

“i had to submit the name of my personal manager today.”

you swallowed. “right. they usually assign someone local to the club, right?”

“i didn’t want someone local,” he said firmly. “i wanted someone i trust.”

your breath caught.

“you don’t have to answer now,” he continued. “but i told them your name. you're already on the shortlist. all that’s left is your approval.”

“i… me? why me?”

“i’ve worked with a lot of staff since blue lock started,” he said. “but only one person ever looked me in the eye like i wasn’t just a player. like i was a person. only one person stayed late making sure i didn’t destroy my body training too much. only one person handed me water and knew exactly when i needed to say nothing.”

you felt heat crawl up your neck.

“i need someone like that,” isagi said, quieter now. “someone who gets me. not just my stats or my brand. me.”

the room was too still. too small for everything you were feeling.

“i don’t know if i’m experienced enough,” you whispered.

“you will be,” he said. “we’ll grow into it. together.”

his words settled in your chest like a promise.

you looked around the room—the familiar concrete walls, the smell of synthetic turf still clinging to your hoodie. it had been your whole world. but suddenly, it felt small.

your world was already shifting, orbiting something—someone—much larger.

you exhaled. “okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling. “i’ll come with you.”

and for the first time in a long time, you could hear the smile in his voice, too.

“good,” he said. “because i don’t think i could do this without you.”

now you suddenly found yourself on a plane, seated next to him as clouds blanketed the window and the dull hum of the engine filled the silence between you.

it was surreal.

the flight to germany was long, and yet—somehow—it still didn’t feel long enough for you to fully process what had happened. you, barely out of high school, freshly promoted from an assistant to an official manager in training, were leaving your country for the first time. leaving familiarity behind. and for him.

yoichi isagi.

he had headphones slung around his neck and a german phrasebook half-open in his lap, though his eyes were closed, head tilted back against the seat. the soft light from the overhead fixture cast gentle shadows across his cheekbones—sharper than when you’d first met him. his frame had filled out too. the boy who used to eat protein bars at ungodly hours and fall asleep during video reviews had grown into someone entirely magnetic—focused, still humble, but no longer naïve.

your gaze lingered on him too long.

and as if he could feel it, his eyes cracked open.

“staring at me again?” he murmured, voice husky from sleep.

you rolled your eyes, flustered. “i was just making sure you’re alive. you haven’t moved in thirty minutes.”

he smirked, that signature lopsided grin that had charmed half the football world but still managed to hit you the hardest. “i’m conserving energy. coach noa’s training is going to murder me.”

you fiddled with your seatbelt to hide the way your heart flipped. “you knew what you signed up for.”

“so did you,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “you sure you’re okay with this?”

you blinked. “with what?”

“leaving everything. coming here. managing me.”

you looked at him then—not the press conference version of him or the highlight reel, but the boy who had always run headfirst into the impossible, dragging you with him in the quietest, most consistent ways.

“i wouldn’t be here if i wasn’t sure.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, he turned fully toward you, elbow resting on the armrest as he studied your face in that calm, intense way he always did—like reading between your silences.

“then i’m really glad,” he said softly. “because it’s always better when you’re there.”

you looked away before your face betrayed you.

“try to nap,” you muttered, pulling the thin airplane blanket over your lap. “it’s a long flight.”

he didn’t argue, but before he leaned back, his hand brushed yours.

accidentally, maybe. or maybe not.

and even though your heart thudded violently at the contact, you didn’t pull away.

you spent two years in germany—and in that time, you watched yoichi isagi evolve from a promising blue lock player into a name that echoed in bundesliga stadiums.

your days were filled with chaos and routine. waking up before the sun for training briefings. managing interviews in two languages. making sure his recovery meals didn’t clash with his ever-shifting macros. but in between the noise, there were quiet, defining moments.

late-night ramen in his apartment after exhausting matches. silences filled with trust, not tension. the way he’d knock on your door just to vent about a missed shot, knowing you’d listen without judgment. how he’d look for you after every goal, even if it was just a glance across the pitch.

there were arguments too. over his sleep schedule. over his stubborn insistence on solo drills. over that one time he played through an injury and didn’t tell you.

“you’re not invincible, yoichi,” you snapped, hands trembling as you held the ice pack against his swollen ankle.

“but i have to be,” he said, voice low, eyes meeting yours. “if i want to be the best.”

you didn’t reply. you just held the ice there longer, your hand warmer than it should’ve been.

and then, there were the moments when everything stilled.

like the time you got caught in a sudden berlin downpour after a match, both of you soaked and laughing under a bus stop with steaming paper cups of hot chocolate. he looked at you then like you were more comforting than the win he’d just scored.

or the quiet december night he bought a tiny, crooked christmas tree for your shared apartment lobby, just because “you looked homesick.”

your feelings for him grew slowly, like ivy—wrapping around your days, unnoticed until they were impossible to untangle.

and somewhere in those two years, he changed too. not just as a player. but in the way he always waited for you to catch up when the cameras pulled him forward. the way he always made sure you had a seat near the bench, even if you pretended not to care. the way he looked at you during team dinners—just a second too long.

you were falling.

and you couldn’t tell when it stopped being professional and started becoming personal.

but maybe… it had always been both.

now, two years later, you were back where it all began—but everything had changed.

you sat next to him on a plane bound for tokyo, the soft rumble of the engines beneath your feet, the skyline of berlin shrinking behind you like a memory. his duffel bag was stuffed under the seat, your shared itinerary tucked neatly into your folder. the cabin lights were dimmed for the long flight, and yet, the glow around him seemed brighter than ever.

isagi yoichi—japan’s golden boy. the face of soccer. magazine covers, sponsorship deals, fan chants that now echoed globally. his name wasn’t just on jerseys now. it was on billboards, in commercials, written into headlines.

you glanced sideways at him. his head was leaned back, headphones in, eyes half-lidded as if he could sleep. but you knew him better than that. he was thinking. planning. turning every play in his head like he always did.

the moment still felt surreal. the boy you met in that steel-and-glass crucible called blue lock, who once picked up your fallen papers, was now returning home as japan’s prodigy.

he opened one eye and caught you staring. a small smirk tugged at his lips. “you keep looking at me like i’m not real.”

you rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “just… hard to believe sometimes.”

he took one earbud out, shifting in his seat to face you more. “believe it. we’re going home.”

a pause.

“together.”

that one word carried more weight than you were prepared for.

you looked down at your hands, laced loosely in your lap. your badge now read personal manager, but it never felt like enough to define what you were to him—or what he was becoming to you.

“tokyo’s going to be insane,” you murmured.

he nodded. “the cameras, the press… the expectations. yeah. it’s going to be hell.”

you risked a glance at him again. “you ready for that?”

isagi turned fully now, resting his arm casually on the armrest between you. his voice was quiet, but his tone held that same intensity you remembered from blue lock—focused, unwavering.

“as long as you’re with me?” he held your gaze. “yeah. i’m ready for anything.”

outside the window, the stars shimmered against the dark stretch of sky. below you, tokyo waited—brighter, louder, and ready to welcome back its star.

and beside you, the boy you once admired from a clipboard’s length away was no longer just a rising athlete.

he was something else entirely.

and so were you.

you had become a constant in isagi yoichi’s life, a shadow moving with him from practice to press conferences, from early morning jogs to late-night post-match breakdowns. two years as his manager—and more—had taught you everything there was to know about him.

you knew the rhythm of his day. the exact way he liked his energy drinks stacked in the fridge. how he tied his laces a little tighter before every match. how he spaced out when he was thinking too hard, eyes locked on some invisible replay only he could see. you knew that the sharp edge in his voice didn’t always mean anger—it often meant fear. or frustration. or the unbearable weight of being expected to win every single time.

because with greatness came gravity and sometimes it pulled him under.

especially after a draw. or worse, a loss.

there was one night—after a particularly brutal draw that stuck in your memory. he hadn’t spoken much on the way back. the silence in the hotel room was deafening until he finally snapped.

“just—stop. i don’t need a manager right now, okay?” his voice had cut like a whip, sharper than usual. “i don’t need you hovering over me like i’m about to fall apart.”

you didn’t flinch. you’d learned not to.

instead, you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression cool despite the ache in your chest.

“too bad,” you’d replied, your tone dry. “because you’ve got one. and i’m the only one on the planet who knows how to deal with your melodramatic, football-obsessed ass.”

there was a beat of silence.

then he’d laughed—a low, tired sound, like the fight had drained out of him. and when he looked at you, something softened in his eyes. you’d stepped forward, not saying anything, just standing there until the storm passed.

it always passed.

that was your rhythm.

he’d stumble, you’d steady him. he’d push, you’d pull back just enough to stay close. never too far. never gone.

you knew by heart how to deal with him.

when to speak, when to wait. when to leave him alone in the quiet of a hotel room, and when to press a steaming cup of coffee into his hands without saying a word.

you knew the exact moment when his silence meant he needed space, and when it meant he needed someone to stay.

you learned to read him like a game plan—fluid, complex, always shifting. but unlike a strategy on the field, he wasn’t something to be solved. he was someone to be understood.

and you did.

god, you did.

you were the first person he called when a match didn’t go his way. the first he texted when he landed a new sponsorship. the one he looked for in a crowd even when thousands were chanting his name.

you weren’t just his manager. you were his constant.

his calm in the storm. his quiet in the noise.

more years passed, filled with the same push and pull that defined your relationship from the start. moments that lingered too long. glances that said too much. every touch that could still be excused as accidental… but wasn’t.

your feelings grew like something wild and stubborn, untamed by logic or titles.

and his actions? they never made things easier.

some days, he treated you like a best friend—late-night ramen runs, inside jokes, the quiet comfort of shared silence. other days, he’d look at you like you were the only thing grounding him to earth, and you’d forget how to breathe.

so you stayed. through wins, losses, contracts, and chaos. your heart never quite sure what category you belonged to.

manager.

friend.

confidante.

something else?

now, he was part of japan’s national team. a global star. a name that made headlines and filled stadiums.

and you? still there, right beside him. still managing his calendar, his training schedule, and—if you were honest—his moods.

one late evening after practice, as he tossed his towel over his shoulder and walked beside you down the empty corridor of the training center, you nudged him lightly with your elbow and said with a grin,

“you know, with all this success… maybe you don’t need me anymore.”

he stopped walking. turned to you.

his brows furrowed, not in anger—never in anger—but in that intense way he looked at the goal. like he was zeroing in.

and he said, without even a beat of hesitation:

“that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

you blinked.

he kept going. voice low. steady. certain.

“i’ve needed you since blue lock. i needed you in germany. i need you now. not just because you keep me organized or sane or whatever… i need you.”

and there it was. maybe not a confession.

but a crack in the wall he always kept up. something raw and real slipped through.

you were silent for a beat, maybe two.

the hallway felt too quiet all of a sudden. like the world was holding its breath just to see what you’d do next.

and in the dim lights of the corridor, you thought—no, felt—something flicker across isagi’s face. not frustration. not his usual competitive fire. but something softer and something close to pain.

it passed quickly, like it hadn’t even been there at all.

but the thought stuck in your chest like a needle— was that hurt? was that the expression of someone who’d already imagined a version of his life where you were no longer beside him?

or maybe, once again, your heart was playing tricks on you. reading too far into the way his gaze lingered. projecting your own ache into the lines of his face.

still, your voice came out quieter than you expected when you finally said, “okay, yoichi.”

he looked at you then—really looked—and something in his shoulders eased. like he’d been waiting for you to say his name that way. like hearing it in your voice meant you weren’t going anywhere.

you tried to play it off with a smirk, stepping ahead of him down the hall.

“too bad you’re stuck with me,” you tossed over your shoulder. “you might be the star, but i’m the one who keeps you from spontaneously combusting in a press conference.”

that pulled a small laugh out of him. quiet. real. the kind that made you feel like everything between you was still unwritten.

still shifting. still waiting.

and maybe, just maybe…

he’d finally stopped pretending that this—whatever it was between you two—was just professional.

then you found yourself in his apartment again one night.

the familiar quiet wrapped around you both like a worn-in blanket. you were tucked into your usual corner of his couch, fingers curled around a half-full mug that had long gone warm. the low hum of the city filtered in through the half-cracked window, mixing with the soft sound of the tv playing some late-night program neither of you were really watching.

isagi was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch near your legs, phone in hand, thumb lazily scrolling. he looked… normal. human. in a way that the rest of the world rarely got to see. hoodie slightly oversized, hair damp from a recent shower, one sock half-slipping off his foot.

just yoichi.

not the prodigy. not the national team's frontman. not japan’s football miracle.

just the boy you had known since blue lock.

and maybe it was the comfort of being here, in this strange pocket of peace the two of you always carved out no matter what country you were in, or maybe it was that ache that had been growing quietly in your chest—something you'd never quite been able to shake—but the words slipped out before you could second-guess them.

“but i’m serious, yoichi…” your voice was soft, nearly lost beneath the static of the tv. “if i quit for real… would you even let me?”

his thumb paused on the screen. but he didn’t look up.

so you kept going, trying to keep your tone light, even as your chest tightened.

“you’re with the national team now. people are lining up to work with you. you’ve got agents, brands, the whole damn country watching you like you’re the second coming. you don’t need me anymore, do you?”

the silence stretched longer than you expected.

and then he moved—slowly, deliberately. he set his phone face down on the coffee table with a soft click, and leaned his head back so he could see you. his gaze wasn’t angry. it wasn’t even confused.

it was pained.

“don’t say that.”

just three words. but they hit like a punch to the gut.

you blinked, unsure what exactly you’d triggered. but he turned then, shifting to face you completely, still seated on the floor, his knees drawn up, arms resting on them.

“do you remember germany?” he asked, voice low. “that argument we had after i lost that match? when i was being a complete asshole, and you threatened to quit if i didn’t get my shit together?”

you gave a small nod. you remembered everything about that day. the way his voice cracked in frustration. the way you’d yelled for the first time. the way your hand had trembled when you almost handed in your resignation. almost.

he looked away for a second, then back at you.

“that was the first time i realized… winning didn’t mean anything if i couldn’t share it with you.”

you sucked in a breath, but he was still going, eyes locked on yours like he needed you to hear every word.

“it wasn’t just about you being my manager anymore. it was never just that. you kept me grounded when i was lost. you called me out when no one else would. you were… you are my constant.”

he exhaled shakily, then pushed himself up from the floor.

you thought he was going to walk away. instead, he stepped in front of you. and when you didn’t move, frozen in place by the rawness in his voice, he reached down—hands bracing on either side of the couch, caging you in without touching.

your heart thudded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

his face was close now, close enough to see the tiny scar on his cheek from a match months ago. close enough to see the way his eyes softened—like everything he felt was finally being laid bare.

“every version of my future…” he said quietly, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard. “you’re in it. you’ve always been in it. and i think—” he swallowed hard, “—i think i’ve been in love with you since back then. since before i even knew what to call it.”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t.

and maybe that silence scared him. maybe it emboldened him.

but then, he moved.

his hand reached up, brushing along your jaw with a gentleness that didn’t match the fire in his chest. his thumb hovered near your cheek, then slowly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear like it was something he’d always wanted to do.

“so if you quit…” he murmured, breath warm against your lips now, “…then i lose more than a manager. i lose you.”

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t rushed or frantic. it was sure, quiet, and devastatingly full of everything he’d never said. everything he’d kept behind the wall for years. his other hand came up to rest against your back, pulling you toward him like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being even an inch too far.

you kissed him back.

because, truthfully, you’d been his long before you even realized it. and maybe he had been yours too—every late night, every argument, every quiet win and crushing loss.

the world outside could wait.

for now, there was just you and yoichi. no titles. no roles. no blurred lines.

just the truth, finally spoken between kisses that felt like promises.

he didn’t pull away.

not at first.

not when your breath hitched. not when your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie like you needed something to hold on to—maybe to ground yourself, or maybe to stop yourself from falling even deeper.

he kissed you like a secret. careful, but certain. like it was something he’d rehearsed in his head a hundred times but was only now letting himself feel for real. his hands were braced on either side of you, knuckles white against the couch as if letting go meant it wasn’t real.

and when he finally did lean back, it was barely a few inches. just enough to see your face, to let his forehead rest against yours.

“i’m sorry it took me this long,” he whispered. “i kept telling myself it was enough just having you around. that i didn’t need more. but i do.”

your chest tightened. not in a painful way—but in the way it does when something you’ve been waiting for finally, finally arrives.

“i wasn’t imagining it then,” you murmured, your voice hoarse.

he shook his head gently. “no. you never were.”

a beat passed.

you reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, tracing the stubble that hadn’t been there back in blue lock, or even in the early germany days. he had grown—on the field, off it, into himself. and somewhere in all of that, your hearts had quietly kept time.

“i don’t think i could quit even if i wanted to,” you admitted with a soft laugh, blinking away the sudden heat behind your eyes. “you’ve ruined me, isagi yoichi.”

he smiled. not the smile he gave cameras or coaches or fans—but the one that only ever seemed to appear when you were the only one looking.

“good,” he said, nudging his nose against yours, voice hushed and thick with something unspoken. “because i don’t think i’d want to be anything great if you weren’t the one watching.”

your breath caught, your hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it. his words hung in the air between you—bare, vulnerable, a truth finally freed.

for a moment, neither of you moved. the quiet of his apartment, the soft hum of the city through the windows, the golden warmth of the lamp casting gentle shadows—it all felt suspended in time.

then, carefully, yoichi guided you back, his palm warm at your lower back, coaxing you to lie against the couch cushions. his touch wasn’t rushed—it was reverent, like he was afraid if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter. he leaned over you, his body never pressing down, just surrounding, bracing one arm beside your head, the other gently cradling your jaw as he looked at you.

you searched his face.

there was no more hiding in it.

none of the usual restraint or boyish awkwardness. just yoichi, stripped of everything but the feeling he’d kept buried for far too long.

“i’ve thought about this more times than i can count,” he whispered, as if admitting it out loud still felt unreal. “told myself it wasn’t the right time. that i couldn’t… risk it. not when you were always there, always steady. i didn’t want to mess that up.”

your heart clenched, fingers reaching up to brush against the hem of his hoodie, curling there like an anchor.

“you never would’ve messed it up,” you said softly, voice nearly breaking. “not with me.”

his expression shifted—like something inside him had finally exhaled after holding its breath for years. and then he kissed you again.

but this time, it was different.

it wasn’t rushed or desperate. it wasn’t like the fleeting spark from earlier. it was slow. intentional. a quiet unfolding of everything he hadn’t known how to say before.

his lips moved against yours like he was memorizing the way you felt—savoring, grounding himself in you. you felt the careful slide of his hand as it moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. your hands found their way to his shoulders, holding onto him not because he was going anywhere, but because it finally felt safe to do so.

when he pulled back, it was only enough to rest his forehead against yours again. his breath was warm against your lips, the faintest tremble in his voice.

“after our fight, my mind kept replaying these scenarios… all these versions of life where you weren’t there. and i hated it,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t know it then, but i was already unraveling at the thought of losing you.”

you stayed quiet, because your voice wouldn’t come—not with the way your throat tightened, not with the way his words were threading straight through your chest.

“i kept picturing the space beside me being empty. after matches. after bad days. on mornings when everything just felt… too heavy.” he closed his eyes for a second, like he was bracing himself. “and no matter how i tried to imagine it, none of it ever made sense. none of it ever felt right.”

your fingers slid from his shoulder to the curve of his neck, grounding him. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“i was scared,” he admitted. “of screwing it up. of saying too much. of… not saying enough.” his eyes opened slowly, meeting yours again with raw, steady honesty. “but mostly, i was scared that if i let you see how much you meant to me, i’d never be able to hide it again. and you’d walk away.”

your heart ached—not because he’d kept it in, but because you knew that fear. you’d lived in it, too. the quiet agony of wanting something so deeply and never knowing if it was safe to reach for.

“i wouldn’t have walked,” you said gently, brushing your thumb across his jaw. “i was already falling.”

he blinked, stunned silence filling the space between you.

“you didn’t have to protect me from your feelings, yoichi. i wanted them. i wanted you.”

he exhaled shakily, like your words had loosened something knotted up inside him for years. “you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense in all of this. even when i was lost, even when i didn’t believe in myself—you always did.”

you smiled, a soft, bittersweet thing. “that’s because i saw you. the real you. not just the player. not just the dream.”

for a moment, something flickered in his expression—fragile and unguarded. a rare occurrence, like a crack in the armor of japan’s most relentless striker. the same isagi yoichi who the world saw as driven, sharp, composed under pressure… was now sitting in front of you with his heart trembling in his hands.

it was different, seeing him like this. not after a match, not in the glow of victory or the burn of ambition—but in the quiet, where there was nothing to prove. just him. just you. just this.

he gave a breathy laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah? even when i was being a complete asshole?”

“especially then,” you said, almost teasing—but your tone was laced with warmth. “that’s when you needed someone to see you the most.”

he looked at you like he couldn’t believe it. like he was seeing you clearly now for the very first time. “you always knew how to get through to me,” he murmured. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”

“you never had to deserve me,” you whispered back. “you just had to let me in.”

a quiet passed between you. gentle. tender. the kind that wrapped around your hearts like a soft blanket—worn in the corners, familiar, and real.

yoichi didn’t move at first. just stayed there, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to commit it to memory—every blink, every breath, every unspoken word lingering between you both. his thumb traced slowly along your cheekbone, grounding himself in the fact that you were still here. that you hadn’t walked away.

then, without warning, he leaned in again—not rushed, but with purpose, like his heart couldn’t hold back another second. his lips hovered just above yours, barely brushing, his voice nothing more than a whisper that trembled against your skin.

“i love you,” he said, the words breaking through him like floodwaters finally let loose. “and i’m sorry it was so late.”

the weight of it settled in the air. real. heavy. beautiful.

you blinked slowly, something in your chest pulling tight and warm all at once. because you knew—had known—but hearing it from him, finally, was something else entirely. like everything you’d poured into him had finally found its way back.

your hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers gently threading through his hair. “it wasn’t too late,” you murmured. “you said it. you’re here. that’s enough.”

his eyes closed briefly, like those words gave him permission to breathe. and then he kissed you again—this time gentler, but no less full. a kiss that said thank you, that said i need you, that said i’m not letting go.

his weight shifted slightly, his body still hovering above yours, arms braced to keep you close without crushing you—like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tightly.

the world outside faded—no games, no pressure, no unspoken expectations. just the soft brush of his breath against your cheek, the quiet thrum of two hearts learning each other again.

he stared at you for a long moment, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. then he exhaled a shaky breath, lowering himself just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“i’m not letting this go,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “not now, not ever.”

your hand found his, fingers lacing through his with a familiar ease. you didn’t need to say anything—your touch said it all. that you weren’t going anywhere. that this—whatever it would become—was worth holding onto.

he leaned in one last time, pressing a kiss to your temple, slow and steady, like a promise.

then he shifted beside you, pulling you gently into his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin. his heartbeat was a steady rhythm against your ear, his hold secure, warm.

you let yourself close your eyes. for the first time in a long time, there was no rush. no uncertainty. just the quiet truth of his love, wrapped around you like a shield.

you were here.

he was here.

and this time, you would move forward together.

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