#i spend a moment resisting starting to tag this

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (11) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of past experience of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts, business/property devt, and book talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; sexual content (making out - I know, finally) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 23.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii so this was quite the wait! We have come to the climax of the story and I'm both excited and terrified to share this with you. I have nothing more to say other than see you on the other side! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Whenever Jungkook creates some distance between you and him, you often understand it. It’s his default, you think, and after learning about the pain he harbors from his childhood, you’ve come to accept it. You expect it, even. 

Recently though, he hasn’t been doing much of it. He often moves closer; sometimes, he lets you do it. Tonight, it’s both - he stands near you, he holds you, and he lets you slowly close the distance until you’re just a breath away. And for a brief moment, you think that he’d eliminate it altogether. 

But you’re not in some fantasy world, so when he pulls away, you’re reminded of who you are and who he is and that sliver of hope goes up in flames. 

“I—” he mumbles. 

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

You grab your bag then rush outside, exhaling the breath you were holding in and letting the shame fill you up as fast as the elevator reaches the first floor. You want to run to rid yourself of the embarrassment, maybe be irresponsible for once and get drunk just to forget. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, you’ll find out it was all a dream - you didn’t actually want to kiss your boss, you didn’t actually think he’d kiss you back, and he didn’t actually pull away, as if it stung him to touch you, as if it hurt him to try. 

But the thought doesn’t last long.

You get on a bus and convince yourself that staying sober tonight is a better option than reporting hungover to work tomorrow. You’ll feel embarrassed either way, but might as well be more professional about it, considering that what you’d almost done - and all the things you thought about - was nothing but that. You settle for just cup noodles for dinner; you don’t deserve anything nicer than that tonight. 

Sleep doesn’t come until past one later in the evening. You spend much of your time tossing and turning, trying hard to erase the image of Jungkook so close to you. 

But nothing works. All you see are his lips. All you can hear is his breathing. All you can smell is him. 

You wake up four hours later, exhausted and incredibly anxious for the day. You want it to be over already, and you half think of calling in sick but you know that’ll be too obvious. It could set off alarm bells to Jungkook and he might call and ask how you are, and that’s something you can’t deal with either. So you power through and nap in the car, not wanting to converse with Mr. Ri because you might tell him everything should he ask the right questions.

Your plan of action is to engage with Jungkook as little as you can, in any way that’s possible. You play around with things in his kitchen and make sure you have your back turned when he exits from his gym. The energy drink and glass of water are on the counter and you sense him lingering before he finally walks to his bedroom. You let some time pass before going to his closet to prepare his accessories for the day, then head back out, cooking his omelet as slowly as you can.

The clearing of his throat lets you know he’s done, and you glance at him before placing the dishes on the table. 

This isn’t the routine. You always fix his necktie once he shows up. It’s reflex for you, and you know that’s what he’s come to expect as well. 

But you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. It’s basically like re-enacting what happened last night and you can’t promise yourself that you won’t want to kiss him again when he’s that close. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t take in his scent, you can’t hear his breathing without remembering how he felt like. You know you can’t have it again, so you won’t even torture yourself even more than you already are.

His tie is slightly off and it disturbs you. He doesn’t move but he doesn’t ask you to fix it. 

You sigh to yourself. He’ll live. 

You eat quickly and it’s a contrast to him picking on his food. You’re tempted to ask if the dish isn’t to his liking, but you told yourself not to start conversations or engage in anything outside of work matters, and you’ll stick to that for as long as possible. 

“___.”

“Mr. Jeon, I’ve prepared your notes for today’s meetings,” you state before he could say anything more. “And I’m meeting with the marketing team about the additional promotional materials you wanted. Is there anything else you wish to add to the ones we talked about?”

“None for now. They can go ahead with my initial request,” he responds, his voice too soft than what you’re used to, but you don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

You ask a few more questions and he responds accordingly. The silence is deafening and though you miss the playful banter that has become part of your mornings, you know you can’t get into that right now. Somehow, this is when you can’t act like everything’s normal. Your stupid mistake and foolish assumption is where you draw the line. You just hope the day ends quickly enough before you give in. 

Both of you head down to the car. Before going inside, you hear Jungkook ask Mr. Ri how he looks and if his tie is fixed, and you internally smack your head for being so petty about this. You didn’t think that something seemingly trivial about your daily routine with him would affect you this much, as if it somehow threw things off-balance just because you were so afraid to be close. You realize now that you would look forward to those few seconds because that was the only time you had a reason to touch him. 

But he’s everything you can’t desire and given that you almost crossed a line, you know you’re gonna have to slowly pull back. Not just with regards to your feelings but in everything, as you take a peek of your personal phone and see an email notification about an upcoming book launch from Rkive Publishing. You subscribed to their mailing list right after you met their director, and you’ve been sitting on his email address and the application letter you have yet to submit. 

Since that encounter, you’ve been occasionally looking at other job opportunities in different fields. You realize that nothing much excites you. There’s not much you think is worth slaving your way for in this corporate jungle, and that while you’re currently part of that machine, the only thing that got you going these past eight years was the debt you had to pay. 

You had your reasons to stay but being at this point when you’re ready to let that go, you’re realizing that there wasn’t much else about the job that got you truly excited. Sure, it was also the people, but they’re why you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until the planning for the Arts Center that you felt you could truly be invested in a project and have impact on it, too; it just so happens that the man behind it is the reason why you have to step away. You know it’s the only way you could finally choose yourself and pursue what you want. At 31, you owe it to yourself to do that. 

Your thoughts are disrupted when the familiar building comes into view, and you exit the car and head to your floor, trailing Jungkook this time instead of walking by his side as what you’ve come to do. You can tell that he notices the distance but you don’t want to address it. Being terrible at any form of confrontation, you don’t really want to acknowledge anything that happened. You’ll deal with him if he brings it up, and for all the times that you screwed up, you wish to the heavens that Jungkook lets this one go. 

You head to your desk while he heads to his. You make him his coffee then ask him to sign some documents. You focus on his hands as he flips through the pages, preferring to look at those instead of his face. But it’s those fingers that pressed against you last night, and you shake your head at the memory, even if all you want is to feel them again.

You retrieve the papers, your heart stopping when he doesn’t let them go right away. Your eyes widen and you still don’t look at him, even as you anticipate him to say something.

“___.”

“Mr. Min asked to meet with you after lunch,” you cut him off again before he could say more.

“I know. That email was sent to you and me.”

“Yes, sir. I was just making sure.”

He lets go of the papers now and you bow before quickly heading out. You just know he had his eyebrows scrunched at you. He’s probably trying to make sense of how jittery you seem and though he may know why, you’re not sure if he knows why.

You get through the morning in one piece. You attend your meeting while Jungkook attends his own with his father. You grab a quick lunch with Do-hyun, whose narration of her love life takes up the whole half hour, then you return to your tasks once you finish.

Hyper-focused on the file you’re reviewing, Yoongi’s usually unenthusiastic greeting catches you off guard, causing your lips to miss the hot tea that you’re about to drink. You jerk, spilling all of it on you. You subsequently hit the saucer that’s on the edge of the table; it falls on the floor and breaks.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, as you feel the drink pool on your skirt.

“Shit, is it burning?” Yoongi asks worriedly. 

He immediately rushes to your side and grabs some paper towels from the cabinet, placing them on your lap and on the floor.

“Don’t move so you don’t spread the broken pieces,” he instructs. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just uncomfortable,” you groan, with your knees awkwardly touching each other and your thighs squeezed to keep the liquid from spreading. 

You’re at least in a black skirt but you know the stain will still be visible. That’s the least of your problems though, as Jungkook arrives from his meeting and heads to you with a folder, only to find Yoongi kneeling on the floor next to you. Jungkook’s eyes widen, seemingly scandalized at what this looks like, and they flit from you to his friend, whose calm face quickly turns into one of panic. 

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi explains, raising the soiled paper towels as evidence. He tells you to move back so he can place them over the shards while Jungkook looks on intently. “Are you good? Do you have spare clothes?” Yoongi asks you.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” you manage to say, hating how frozen you seem to be. With the tea having been absorbed, you grab your bag from your cabinet, the one you’ve started to keep and bring with you during trips in case you get stranded again, then throw the towels in the trash bin. “I’ll just go get changed.”

You scurry towards the washroom and leave the men alone, knowing that Yoongi will hold the fort for both of you. 

Back inside, Jungkook eyes Yoongi as he calls for maintenance to clean up the mess.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi says again. “She couldn’t move and I just cleaned up.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jungkook states.

“Just making sure, so your mind doesn’t think of whatever it thinks about,” Yoongi shrugs. “But is she okay? She seems a bit out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook looks away. “Don’t you usually know those things?”

“Well, I assume that since you’ve gotten closer, you would know. Unless it’s about you… Were you mean to her again?”

Yoongi’s unusual scowl is one that Jungkook is secretly terrified of but he acts unaffected, merely shaking his head in response and to dismiss the assumption. He’ll admit that his friend’s statement is quite bittersweet, though. Yes, you and Jungkook have both gotten closer and there hasn’t been an incident in months where you could’ve had a reason to be down because of him. 

Unless last night counts, which is something he’s still wrapping his head around. 

He thinks back to that moment right by your desk. You were so close. And he was so close to doing something more than just holding onto your waist. He saw you eye his lips and he did the same but the realization of where you both were - in a semi-open space in the office - reminded him of his limits. Sure, it was after-hours and no one would have any reason to be on the floor at that time, but it still felt too exposed and he didn’t want either of you to be put in such a compromising position, even if every part of his body was aching to kiss you. 

He wouldn’t have known you were talking about him if it weren’t for the way you held him close and that unfamiliar look of yearning in your eyes. At that moment, he let himself hope that he’s who you wanted, even if he’s also the same man you believed wouldn’t cross his boundaries for you.

Even then, you had been so bold, so honest. He wished he was as brave and as capable to express his desires as you were. He never thought you’d feel anything for him - him, the one who made your life miserable for weeks, the one who treated you unfairly because you made him feel - and want - things he couldn’t understand and control. Your calm and warm nature made him think he wasn’t anyone special. He dismissed whatever part of him that thought otherwise because he couldn’t hope for something he couldn’t have.

But last night, the way you looked at him also made him feel like all he desired was within reach, like you were within his grasp. Your lips were everything he wanted all over him. Your soft breaths were what he wanted to take in. You were all he wanted to taste and touch and hear, and he’d been so, so close to crossing a line that he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid it would push you away and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He was overwhelmed but he was just as scared, believing that there’s no turning back if something had happened. He almost stepped over the line but pulled back just as quickly, and now it seems that that’s what’s keeping you at a distance. Because as you return to your desk, you merely bow at him then go through the folder of documents he’d given you.

“Yoongi and I will just meet for an hour,” he says. “Please be ready with the Arts Center opening event budget that I’ll go through with Hoseok later.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

Jungkook sighs in disappointment as you don’t spare him a glance. He just wants to see those eyes again, the ones that yearned for him last night, the ones that asked him - almost challenged him - to get closer. But he’d been the coward who let you go, and now he doesn’t know how to turn back from this.

He enters his room then turns around to face Yoongi.

“I feel so much and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” his friend hums, feeling relieved that Jungkook can now acknowledge something he’d known for a while now. But Yoongi also knows that it’s not that simple, and while he knows of the possibility that you feel the same, reciprocated feelings don’t always mean happy endings. “Just don’t… just don’t hurt her,” he adds.

“Why do I feel like whatever I do, it’s what I’ll end up doing anyway?”

“She’ll know when you mean it and when you don’t. And you know what helps?”

“What?”

“Letting her know that hurting her isn’t what you want to do. You’ve got a lot to say, Jungkook, I know it,” Yoongi remarks. “Just be brave enough to say them.”

Yoongi’s words linger in Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the day, especially during the times that he peeks through the window to get a glimpse of you. You seem determined not to look his way, as you don’t even attempt to look at his direction all afternoon. There is a lot he’s got to say, he just doesn’t know what they are or how to say them. It’s always been that way when it comes to you - he feels so much, but he's unable to let you know.

Despite your avoidance all day, he feels your absence even more when you leave at 6PM, on the dot, without sparing him a glance. He could run after you and ask to talk. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation though, but if it would bring you to finally look at him or say his name, then it would be enough. 

He just wants to know what last night meant for you. And if it means what he hopes it does, then maybe it isn’t about turning back but moving forward. He knows it will be complicated, but he wants to figure it out with you. He’ll choose the path where he gets to be around you, close to you. Always.

Jungkook pulls out the bottle of whiskey he keeps in his drawer to momentarily drown out these thoughts. For some, liquor gives them courage. For him, he drinks it because he’s afraid to be brave.

As he replays the way you looked at him last night, he wonders to himself what he’s more scared of - never having you close enough, or losing you completely. 

The three films you watch in the cinema that Saturday afternoon are a good distraction to all the thoughts in your head. You occasionally do this because watching other people’s lives play out in film gives you something to ponder about. Sometimes, you let it inspire you to live differently. Other times, it allows you a peek into a life much more exciting than the one you have. In some instances, it gives you a sense of relief that yours is uneventful, lacking in drama and intrigue.

At this moment, you’re not quite sure what you want out of it other than to forget. What exactly, you’re not sure. Is it the way you felt when Jungkook held you? Is it the way he seemed to want more and then nothing at all? Or is it the hope you had that you’d found someone you were willing to give a bit of yourself to, only for the glass to shatter because that’s not what you do - you don’t desire for things not meant for you; you don’t open yourself to heartbreak like that. 

Jungkook has always made you feel a lot of things. This time is no different. But this time it also means more. You could lose him completely or have something with him that could be beautiful. One would hurt right away and the other could hurt you down the road. You don’t know which one you’re willing to suffer through. 

Suddenly you wish you didn’t get to this point at all. You could’ve left when you had the chance. You could’ve let him not mean to you this much. 

You continue to wallow in the sadness. You eat dinner at a ramen place before going home and settling in bed with your best friends on video call. You tell them about the past two days and narrate your moments with Jungkook during the team building that you left out when you spoke to them about it. Looking at them through the screen, you see a mix of understanding and frustration on their faces. 

“Why are you avoiding him, hun?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and comforting.

“Because I’m so embarrassed,” you groan, burying your face on the pillow. “I was so… shameless. I don’t even know what got into me. He just looked at me and I… lost all sense. Who was I to assume that moment would end well? That he’d reciprocate that honesty?”

“And you think not talking about it will rid you of that embarrassment?” She wonders.

“No. But it’s at least better than facing it,” you frown. “I’m not good with words nor feelings. And I’m sure that neither is he. I’m just trying to be professional now because I obviously wasn’t.”

You leave out your fears about meeting his eyes and hearing what he has to say. Even if he returns whatever you feel, there’s so much burden tied to that and you don’t think you’re ready for it. You don’t think you’re ready for any of this.

“It doesn’t seem sustainable though,” Soomin points out. “You’re together all the time. You’ve created a routine and a dynamic that you’ve gotten so used to. It takes more effort to avoid the whole thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess but… we’re all busy with the Arts Center opening. And I plan on tending my resignation right after,” you explain. “There’s no time to talk about feelings. I’ll just let it die down. It’s stupid to have them in the first place.” 

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn towards her. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

“I just don’t think it’s stupid to be feeling what you’re feeling,” Soomin replies. “You spend so much time together. You’re bound to form some attachment and develop affection for him, regardless of how things started. I mean, through all the late-nights and early mornings and stresses and comfort in between, there’s something only two of you share and understand. That’s not stupid. That’s how connections are formed, hun.”

Attachment. Connection. They terrify you but they’re things that you desire as well. You don’t know how deep they are when it comes to Jungkook and you don’t know if they’re something he feels towards you, too.

“Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that it isn’t that serious,” she adds. “Maybe it’s because you know that it is, and you don’t know if it’s worth pursuing, if it’s worth finding out if he returns it and if being with him is something that can happen.”

You look away, knowing the truth in her words. You turn to Jimin, who’s been unusually quiet all evening.

“What do you think Jimin?” You ask him. “I mean, it’s one thing to feel something and another to act on it and risk everything for it, right?”

“There’s always something you risk once you acknowledge what you feel for another person,” he says after pondering about it. “For me, acting on it just depends on two things. Is it good for me, and is it good for them? In your case, it’s something to really think about. You’re you and he’s him. And you know what I mean. You’ve been wanting to walk away from this company for years, ___. You wanna be something outside of it. How does being with your boss help with that?”

Jimin’s words remind you of something else you’ve been yearning for - that search for who you are outside of your work, outside of all the years you spent working for this family that have become a core part of who you are. For people like you who have to work extra hard for the things you have, it becomes natural for your job to define you as a means of survival. It doesn’t give you power nor influence; it just gives you a means to get to the next day and to give back to the one person who sacrificed everything for you. 

As the years went by, it became more difficult to pull away. This family trusts you, and your confidence has only ever increased as an employee of this company, but not as a professional. You’ve been wanting to learn who you are without the burdens you carry, without the need to constantly prove yourself to the people who helped make you, and Jungkook ties you to all this. Whether it’s pursuing him or working for him, you’re afraid you’ll never be brave enough to do things on your own.

You weren’t supposed to be this attached. You weren’t supposed to be this invested. You weren’t supposed to want to be wanted back. 

But Jungkook made you care. He made you feel. He made you be brave. And he’s now the one you have to pull away from.

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Maybe in a way, I needed this to happen. I needed this… moment to remind me that I have to leave and I can’t let him be another reason for me to stay, not when I feel what I feel, and not when I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“What if he does, though?” Soomin asks. “And what if he asks you to stay?”

“Thinking about it now, I hope he doesn’t,” you say. “It’d be much easier for me if he just lets me go. I can finally walk away from all this. And I can get over what I feel.”

“Is that what you really want?” Soomin adds.

You nod in response. “At least I know I’ll be happy outside of working for the company. Who knows what having him in my life would bring me?”

The book cafe in Mapo district boasts of an elegant yet comfortable design. It has three levels that consist of a library and working spaces, but it’s on the first floor that you find yourself in, tucked in one of the corner tables at the back with your iced coffee and fruit tart. 

You listen in awe as the author reads excerpts from her newly released book, which she narrates with vigor and emotion. She answers questions about her purpose for writing this specific story, the inspiration for the characters, and interesting things like who she’d cast if it were to become a movie and what the playlist would sound like. It’s the first book launch you’ve ever been to, and despite not being an avid reader, you have a feeling that it won’t be your last. 

There’s something about the storytelling and the process of creating something that captivates you. There’s not much of that in your world. It’s all numbers and profits. It’s soulless, if you’re being honest. It doesn’t give you time to feel or live in the moment or actually bask in the work that you do. You’re there to support, to assist, and while that used to be something you were proud of, the past year has made you think that it’s truly time to move on from it. It’s made you desensitized to things like joy and hope and love, which prompts you to realize that those are what have been missing. Working on the Arts Center gave you a taste of it. You’ve come to the point where you want to know how those truly feel like, and the job has hindered you from fully finding it out.

All your emotions for Jungkook take a backseat the more you think about what your life could be, especially while you watch Namjoon gather what seems to be his team, as he congratulates them for a successful launch. They’re all in casual clothes, looking relaxed, relieved, and fulfilled as the event comes to a close and several people approach the author and ask her to sign their books. You can imagine the stress leading up to all this, but there’s satisfaction in putting together something this intimate and meaningful. 

“You made it,” the man with the soft smile says, the child-like innocence of his face, a contrast to his very masculine build. “I’m glad those newsletters and email invites work.”

“I think they’re the only ones I actually read,” you say, earning you a brighter smile from him. “But honestly though, it helps that a book cafe is something I wouldn’t mind being in on a Sunday morning.”

“Exactly!” Namjoon beams. “It’s easy to make it a part of your weekend. Whether it translates to immediate sales isn’t the whole point, although that’s great, don’t get me wrong. But as long as there’s foot traffic and increased interest, then it’s a success. Our launches have been gaining traction on social media. And the—shit, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he chuckles. “I doubt you came here with the intention of listening to me talk about what we do and stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you assure him. “I don’t actually go to things like this but I thought it might be a good way to have a feel of what it’s like working for your company without inconveniencing you. I mean, I haven’t applied yet but I just wanted to see if this is something I’d enjoy doing.”

“And?” He asks in anticipation.

“It kind of is,” you admit. “I don’t know. There’s just something so personal about it.”

“There really is,” Namjoon nods.

His face turns serious now, something that happens when he’s about to go on a speech about whatever it is he feels strongly about. He’s expressive and it’s quite captivating, which is refreshing in a colleague, you realize. 

Sitting across from you in your little nook in the cafe, he talks about the journey of this whole process, how he reached out to the author who turned out was trying to contact him as well. He was hoping to publish one of her manuscripts that was shared to him by a friend, but she offered this one instead, a very personal story that she trusted his company would do justice. 

“I sat the whole team down and told them what this means for her as an author and as a person, and what that in turn could mean to the readers,” he continues. “There’s so much responsibility but the return is worth more than you could imagine. Of course, it’s not always easy. We have a relatively small team for the amount of things that we have to do but it works. Communication is smooth, accountability is shared, and we build our trust and respect in each other that way. I think that makes it even more worth it in the end.”

“You’re really trying to lure me in, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles. “I just think our meetings are serendipitous. There were two people who were supposed to take on the role but they backed out last minute - on both cases, I see you the next day. The universe probably has plans.”

“It probably does,” you nod, slowly believing him. “The only reason why I haven’t applied yet is because this is all so new to me and I may not be what you’re looking for.”

“But it could be that we’re what you’re looking for,” he counters. “Even if the industry is new to you, if it’s a place you’re comfortable in and that you think will help you grow professionally, then you become what we need. It’s give and take, really. Your approach to the work impacts how you do it. Yes, it’s still a job but it also means a lot more.”

“You’re very good at this,” you say, feeling more at ease as you speak with him, a stranger who has no idea what you’re going through but is somehow saying the exact things you need to hear. “I just have a timeline I’m working around. My company has an important thing coming up in several weeks and I don’t want to leave before then. It’s also why I’ve been delaying applying.”

“Hey, if we see that we’re a good fit for each other, then we can work around your timeline,” he says. “To help with that, maybe we can chat more casually to relieve you of the pressure. I have some things to return to the office not far from here and you can tell me a bit about the work that you do. What do you think?”

It’s a suggestion you take up, so you both start walking a few streets down to a mid-rise building, a structure that sits amidst cozy cafes and small parks. 

The Rkive Publishing office is spacious. Instead of solo desks, there are large tables so there are more opportunities for collaborations, but there are small meeting rooms and private spaces as well. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves that are lined with hundreds of books, and quirky art pieces that give the place a unique yet personal touch. It’s leagues different from what you’re used to, and as you appreciate the way the sunlight makes the whole place glow, you start to think that Namjoon may be right - this might just be what you’re looking for. 

You disclose who you work for then tell him your functions, narrate how a usual day looks like, and mention the types of people you usually engage with. But you share how you’ve felt lost in the chaos of everything and that you’ve been trying to find purpose in it but have been unable to. 

Namjoon purses his lips, attempting to hide a smile, but you call him out on it.

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” he reasons, giving in and chuckling now. “We need organization, a sense of urgency, a kind of professionalism that someone of your caliber could bring. I don’t want to get my hopes up and yes, there’s a process, but I hope you give us a chance.”

It’s easy to think that this man has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s been talking about going with his gut feeling all morning - he’s said as much that following his heart and doing what feels right for him allowed him to turn the company into what it is right now. Maybe meeting the first time was just a coincidence, but the pull of the universe - of you to this environment and him to you - is just too strong that you can’t help but think that maybe this is the next step for you. For all the challenges you went through all these years, maybe you deserve something a little more smooth sailing this time. 

You don’t make any promises but you do assure him that you’ll send him an email. There are obviously other pressing matters that you have to deal with but this has been a good distraction, one that you allow to preoccupy you for the rest of the day. 

After saying goodbye, you walk around the neighborhood and spend the afternoon by the river where you wonder about the people surrounding you. 

What dilemmas are they facing? What heartbreaks are they trying to move on from? What new adventure are they preparing for? Or maybe, who are they trying to forget? Who’s waiting at home for them? Are they watching the sunset because they know it’s beautiful or because they’ve forgotten that it is? 

You let out a breath once the sun has dipped and the sky has turned a dark shade of blue. You feel a mix of awe at its beauty and disappointment because the day has come to an end. You once more have to face the person you’ve been trying not to think about all weekend.

Giving yourself a pep talk, you go to bed that night with the plan of continuing what you did last Friday, which is avoiding any moments and any chances of talking about what happened. If Jungkook brings it up, then you’ll just have to face it and ask him to forget about that night and then deal with the consequences after. But there’s no way that you’ll say anything first; you’ll ride this out for as long as you can.

Avoiding talking to Jungkook about non-work matters - which is really what you only intended to do - is much more difficult when you have to pretend you don’t care about him. 

That Monday morning, you stop yourself from asking how he’s doing after spotting the empty whiskey bottle and beer cans in his kitchen bin. While you give him the usual hangover remedy, you stop short of suggesting that he get some rest or buying him his favorite lunch dish. 

During the meeting that you accompany him to in the afternoon, you watch him helplessly as his father hounds him with questions about the other projects, adding even more pressure than what he’s currently under, and you look away when he tries to meet your eyes. You used to send him encouragement through your gentle nods and soft smiles but you’re scared you’ll fall into your feelings once again if you do them, knowing that any sign of him needing you is all it would take for you to give in and talk to him, maybe comfort him. 

You’ve become so weak for him, you realize that now. His detachment used to put you off and frustrate you, but knowing him the way you do, it’s what makes you want to be there for him; it’s what makes you want to assure him that you’re just there. 

But you aren’t, because you’re pushing him away. You’re making him go through his confusion and stress and exhaustion all on his own because you’re a coward, too. You’re scared of your own feelings. You’re scared of them being rejected and you’re scared of them being returned. You didn’t realize just how much you are because you never actually felt something this deeply for anyone, and that terrifies you even more. 

Watching him from your desk as he pores through documents on his laptop is hard, too. You’re done for the day but he’s said earlier that he’ll be staying late to finish a few things because there are many distractions at his place. You want to tell him they can wait, that he’ll need to rest and regain his energy for the week ahead, or that some fresh air could help clear his mind. 

But you don’t. Instead, you pack your things and head out, knowing that much as it’s your decision to force this distance between both of you, it’s still something you wish you didn’t have to do. You don’t know how long you can sustain it, but somehow you know that once he gives in, so will you, and so all this might as well just be useless or even worse for you. 

Mr. Ri picks up on the change the next morning, as he asks if you and Jungkook had an argument on the way to his penthouse. 

“There was no argument, ” you answer. “There’s just a lot on my mind and he’s a big part of that. I just… I just don't know how to deal with things, you know?”

“Things like what?” Mr. Ri asks. 

“Feelings,” you sigh. “I mean, you said they can’t be helped. And you’re right, I can’t. That’s my big problem right now.”

“Oh, ___,” he says, softly smiling through the rear view mirror. 

You can tell he’s trying to comfort you, something he’s told you before he’s unsure how to do. You brush him off, saying you’ll figure it out, and he assures you that you could talk to him and that maybe, you need to just let it out to someone who knows what you’re battling against. You express your appreciation then inhale deeply once you arrive at Jungkook’s building. 

The clanking sound of plates surprises you when you enter the penthouse. You walk cautiously towards the kitchen and find Jungkook already dressed in his work attire, placing the basket of toasted bread in the middle of the dining table where you spot the two plates with eggs in each. You wonder if you’re late, given that he’d gone ahead and made breakfast for both of you already. 

“You’re on time,” he says after seeing you check your watch. “I was just up early. I couldn’t really sleep. I think I have too much on my mind.”

“I still could have made this for you,” you say so softly, Jungkook almost misses it.

“I didn’t mind,” he answers, wanting to say more, like that he thought it would be nice to make something for you for a change, or that he hopes you could see the effort.

But he keeps them to himself, just like the many other things that he doesn’t feel ready to verbalize. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since Thursday night, and he thinks that the distance you’re creating has made his desire even stronger, but so has the fear. 

He spent the weekend downing alcohol and then boxing for hours to get rid of the hangover. The lemon ginger tea he made didn’t really work. He placed the bandage on his beat-up knuckles incorrectly, not like how perfectly you’d done it once. And the chicken noodle soup he ordered when he wasn’t feeling well last night didn’t taste as good as yours. 

His mornings aren’t the same without the briefest touch from you from fixing his tie, or from the casual conversations during breakfast or in the car. There’s not much of your voice or your laughter that he hears, and definitely none of your smile that always encouraged him, that always assured him. This continues for the rest of the day, as he barely feels your presence unless he asks for it. And even then, it almost feels like you’re not there at all. 

He feels so lost without you, unable to focus and function properly without your guidance and your care. He doesn’t know how or when he’s allowed himself to need you this much but it all feels so new yet familiar. All he wants is to be near you again but he admits that seeing you consistently pull away hurts him more than anything. 

It’s why that Wednesday, he settles for only minimal glances at you in the car, why he conducts his morning meeting in a cafe instead, why he has the blinds on in his room all afternoon, and why he stays to work late and informs you that he’ll go straight to the Arts Center the next day so he’ll just meet you in the office.

He does all those so he’s forced to be around you less, so he doesn’t look up from his desk to find out that you don’t look his way anymore, so that it’s less difficult when you don’t do your usual routine with him. He at least won’t feel as bad when you don’t ask how he’s feeling if you don’t see him look terrible in the morning after not being able to sleep, or when you don’t fix his necktie for the fifth time this past week if he’s not around you in the first place. 

You’ve been going out of your way to avoid him and if he had a bit more courage, he’d probably be able to ask what Thursday night was about and if you’d really wanted to kiss him like he did. 

But he’s afraid of two things - that you’d ask him to forget all of it, or that you’d both have to figure out how to move forward if the feelings are indeed mutual. There are so many things that could go wrong but just as many that could go right - he’s scared to hurt you either way. And like he’s always said, he doesn’t know how to handle all of this; he doesn’t know how to talk about what he feels.

Thursday morning comes and while you’re relieved that you don’t have to tiptoe around Jungkook again in his own apartment and feel suffocated by the tension, you won’t lie and say that you deeply felt his absence. You also won’t deny that seeing him walk towards his office without sparing you a glance hurt you a little. You know him enough that he’s probably giving you the space that you’ve insisted on, but still, a part of you wonders if he’s just accepted it, too. 

And when you hand him his notes for his late afternoon meeting then when he leaves for the CEO’s office without a look of acknowledgment, you worry that he’s become impatient, that he’ll keep pulling away for as long as you are, and that you’ll be so far apart that you’ll start to wonder if you’d come close to him at all. 

But you did this, you remind yourself. You’d been the one to get close, to expect, and then to detach because you were so afraid of what would happen next, and what that would mean for you. He’s probably the last thread you’re holding onto, connecting you to this world that you’ve been planning on leaving for so long. Maybe you’re also scared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and the last thing you want is for him to be the reason why you can’t let go, and then resent him for it. 

You sigh in your seat as the various thoughts plague your mind. You decide to go to the pantry for a cup of tea, knowing you have some time before Jungkook’s meeting with his father is scheduled to end. 

The support team’s office is unnervingly quiet at 7PM with only Mr. Ri around, shaking his leg against the chair while browsing on his desktop. He greets you when you enter and then joins you to make his cup of coffee - his fourth for the day, he says - before you both head out the pantry and sit by the meeting table. 

There aren’t any words said as you both blow away the steam from your respective hot drinks, merely letting the tranquility of the evening envelop the two of you. A few minutes pass and Mr. Ri finally looks up and asks why you’re still here, to which you reply that you wanted to be around when Jungkook’s meeting finishes in case he needs you to do something.

“There’s no need to drop me home,” you tell him. “I can manage on my own.”

“You know Jungkook won’t like that,” Mr. Ri responds. “He has strict instructions to drive for you whenever you stay out late. I can’t and won’t disobey those orders.”

You know this, which is why you sit in silence with your hands on your lap as if you’re being scolded, and you nod. 

“Okay,” you say softly.  

“He’s worried, you know?” Mr. Ri says after a while. “He’s been asking me how you’re doing, as if you’re not at the point in your relationship where he can directly talk to you. But I’ve actually been worried about him this past week. He stays up late to work, then goes home to work out. He’s not himself lately, always out of it and just… sad.”

“Did he… did he say anything else? About us, specifically?”

“He didn’t tell me if anything happened but I’m guessing something did, something serious enough that you’d avoid him for days and personal enough that he won’t confront you about it.”

Your face falls, guilt painting it, something Mr. Ri picks up.

“It’s about your feelings, isn’t it?” He asks. “You like him and you can no longer deny it.”

You nod in confirmation, unable to verbalize the words that your heart has been screaming for weeks. 

“Is it so hard to admit? Is it so hard to talk about?” The older man asks. “I mean, he doesn’t tell me anything but I’ve known that man his whole life, ___. I’ll bet a lot and say that he feels the same way about you. Why are you both putting all your effort into avoiding each other instead of talking it out?”

“Because you know us, Mr. Ri. We’re the worst at these things,” you shake your head, choosing to disregard his statement that Jungkook may be reciprocating the feelings, knowing you’re not ready to think about it. “And you know this, too. It’s not just about what I feel. It’s about who he is and who I am and what those imply. It’s this complicated situation that I wouldn’t even be in if I just… if I was just strong enough to leave the first time. Or the second time.”

“Hey, you know it wasn’t about that,” he says. “You were always strong. You held on even when things were difficult—”

“Yeah, I just held on and now I’m here, caught in between liking my boss and wanting to stay away from him, from his family,” you groan in frustration. 

But you utter the thoughts that you only rarely entertain, only because they’re what held you back all those years ago.

“Am I being selfish, for wanting to leave after everything?” You ask. “They’ve been so good to me. And now that I crossed the line and fell for their son, I want to let everything go.”

“Is that really why you want to resign? Because you like Jungkook?”

“No… it isn’t just about that,” you sigh. “Or it is. A big part of it, but also not. I… you know I’ve been thinking about this since the whole thing with Mrs. Byun happened, and that was six years ago. But then CEO Jeon asked me to help Hoseok and I stayed. And it was even more important for him that I be there for Jungkook. And I am but now what? How can I continue knowing that I like him? And how can I find myself and learn who I am outside of this when I’m here, when this is all I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever given myself to? They’ll always be good to me. I feel selfish by staying, but I also feel that way if I leave.”

“None of that makes you selfish, ___. You always had a reason to leave and you could have, but there was also always gonna be a reason for you to stay,” he says. “But they were their reasons, not yours. Whether you stay despite what you feel for Jungkook or leave to find yourself and seek the happiness you deserve, you’re not being selfish.”

You look at the man whom you’ve known for years and he sees in your eyes a woman who’s just asking for any kind of comfort, of any kind of assurance because no else is around to do that.

“We do what we can at every moment, and we can live with our choices if we know they’re the best one we can make at that time,” he continues. “Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you do it for you. You’re the only person you have to look out for.”

Right outside the door, Jungkook remains unmoving as he processes everything he’d heard, while you continue to talk inside, completely oblivious to how you’ve rendered him paralyzed. 

Jungkook’s meeting with his father ended much sooner than he expected. They merely discussed some happenings with the Board and the lunch that they’ll be hosting on Saturday to welcome some of their family’s long-time friends who are flying in from Europe. 

He headed to the support office immediately to tell Mr. Ri that he plans to go home soon but hadn’t known you were there as well. But then again, you and their trusted aide - who’s been his father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and personal assistant for decades - spend a lot of time together, so it didn’t feel off to Jungkook that you’d both be talking. He’s asked the older man to look out for you, too, especially with regards to things that he feels isn’t really his place. 

Jungkook didn’t hear much at first, initially deciding to just walk back to his office and call, but once he heard Mr. Ri asking you about resigning, he stopped in his tracks. He felt foolish to be listening in on a conversation he’s not a part of, especially since it’s also because of him.

It should’ve delighted him to hear you say that you like him. Jungkook could’ve only dreamt up that reality and it still feels surreal. You didn’t have a reason to lie and the fact that he isn’t the only one seemingly overwhelmed by his own feelings should be a good thing. 

But that also seems to be your reason for wanting to leave, and the thought breaks his heart in ways he can’t explain. You’ve apparently been planning on leaving for years but never got around to do so. If you stayed when his father asked you to, would you do the same if he asked? And he believes that up until last week, your relationship had become the most comfortable it’s ever been. You seem happy here, but why did it also seem like you just wanted to get away? 

The thoughts make his head hurt, and while a part of him wishes he hadn’t heard anything, he at least knows you plan on leaving. And that’s something he absolutely cannot bear.

The sounds of the chairs being fixed disrupt his thoughts. When he hears Mr. Ri suggest that you should start packing up, Jungkook quietly walks back to his office and nonchalantly calls the older man to inform him that he plans on staying up late and that he should drop you home already. If Mr. Ri notices the odd tone of his voice, he doesn’t say anything. He merely expresses his confirmation and not long after, Jungkook hears some shuffling outside his closed door.

“Is there anything you need from me before I leave, Mr. Jeon?” You call out, the walls in between both of you feeling higher and thicker than ever before.

He knows that you know that he no longer asks you to do anything at this hour, and he comforts himself by thinking that it’s your way of letting him know that you’re still there. But the thought is short-lived, as he once again plays the conversation he’d overheard in his mind.

“There’s none,” he says pointedly. “You may leave.”

It takes a while but he eventually hears you walk out. Jungkook feels himself breathe for the first time in the last 15 minutes, before he feels suffocated once again. 

Maybe pulling away last week when he’d been so close gave you the idea that he didn’t want you at all, and maybe that had affected you more than he expected. Maybe him, creating more distance that you’d initiated, made you think that that’s what he wanted after all that. Perhaps his being a coward in facing his own feelings had pushed you away, too, and if you’re scared of what you feel for him, maybe letting you know that he feels the same way is what will make you stay. He could be the happiness you’re searching for, Jungkook convinces himself. He could be what you want and need.

And he already knows that you’re all that for him. Whatever rules he created for himself and the limits he imposed are all pointless if he doesn’t have you around at the end of it. If his life after all this doesn’t have you in it, there’s no happiness for him. A new job for you could take you anywhere, maybe far away from where he is; it could lead you to someone, someone who isn’t him.

He hates that an overheard conversation about you resigning is what will take for him to finally be honest about what he feels for you. And that potentially losing you by his side is the push he needs to let you know that he wants you, that he wants everything with you, and that he hopes you want the same. 

It’s 9:30 PM by the time he enters the car, his head hazy from the two glasses of whiskey he had. Mr. Ri calls him out on another night of him drinking in the office and orders him to get straight to bed like he’d done a few times before when Jungkook had been too stressed and too stubborn to rest. He merely nods though but he follows through, skipping dinner then mindlessly taking a shower before falling asleep in bed after finishing a bottle of beer.

The ringing of the alarm causes Jungkook to grunt and turn off his phone for the peace and quiet that he needs, given the throbbing of his head. But in the silence, he hears the soft knocks on his door, so consistent that he decides to just open it and ask the person on the other side to stop.

But of course, it’s you, and the way you quickly turn your head away reminds him that he’s got nothing but his sweatpants on and he’s too sleepy for anything else to register.

“It’s 7AM, Mr. Jeon. You have an executive meeting at 8,” you tell him, voice so soft and so far away. 

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his temples to massage the pain away. “I’ll just take a shower. Don’t make breakfast anymore. We leave in 20 minutes.”

“Noted, sir,” you say, then walk back towards the kitchen.

It’s 15 minutes later when his bedroom door opens and he nervously walks over to you. Unable to still remove the image of his half-naked form in your mind, you focus your gaze elsewhere, but he forces it on him when he asks you to fix his necktie, the first time he’d ever done so.

“I was rushing,” he explains. 

You nod and head to him, hating how your hands slightly shake at feeling so close to him again. You can feel his breath as you watch the rise and fall of his chest. He probably feels as anxious as you, perhaps no longer used to this routine after you stopped it days ago. But you manage without sparing him a glance, keeping your distance and your eyes focused on anything else but him from the walk down to the car and throughout the ride to work. 

It’s difficult for you to look at him, not only because you’re ashamed but because you’re afraid of what you’ll see. Maybe his eyes will tell of his acceptance of this new dynamic. Maybe they’ll reflect anger and frustration at how you’ve disrupted his routine. Or maybe they’ll show sadness - which is what you’re most terrified of - because that’s your weakness. Any time he looks like he needs comfort or he needs you, you know you’d give in, you know you’d want to be there even if you’ve spent the past week staying as far away as possible. 

You know you don’t have much time left here. The Arts Center opens over a month from now and you’ve decided to tender your resignation soon after. You know you should be savoring whatever moments you have with him and perhaps that’s what saddens you the most because you don’t know what will come after. 

Your happiness isn’t here, and staying to find out if it’s with him isn’t worth it, not when there’s baggage you carry; not when your own past and insecurities weigh you down.

Arriving in the office, you rush to your desk then walk to his room to give him the notes he needs for the meeting. You turn towards him slowly when he calls you, your name in his voice suddenly sounding foreign.

“Can you prepare me lemon ginger tea? Please?” 

His voice is soft, as if he feels burdensome for making such a request. You want to give in so badly and ask how he’s feeling. But you stop yourself. It’s not the place nor time.

You accompany his tea with pastries, your own request for him to have breakfast, and you get your own, in response to him instructing you to do so. You see from your periphery that he’s trying to catch your attention as the meeting starts, but with this, you hold back. You don’t want to see what you now know would be sadness in his eyes.

Jungkook has entered the deepest nook of your heart, you realize. You don’t know how you let him get there, and you don’t know how to push him out. 

“Another night of drinking, huh?” Hoseok’s unusually somber voice disrupts Jungkook’s thoughts as he zones out during lunch. “The Arts Center getting you that stressed and anxious?”

Jungkook looks at his cousin questioningly.

“I know how you look when you’re tired and this isn’t it,” Hoseok responds. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs, not wanting to get into this with a man who would know when he’s lying.

“You should be, Kook. There’s a lot going on these next few weeks and we need you at your best. Your team has worked so hard for the Arts Center,” Hoseok reminds him. “So trust them. And don’t let them down.”

As always, his words hit Jungkook where they should. Whatever’s going on in his personal life - even if it involves you, his assistant - he has to be professional first, and that means making sure that everything is ready for the launch in six weeks. There’s a lot he has to meet and prepare for, and he doesn’t know how you’re able to do it. You may be distancing yourself from him but you’re still able to focus and carry out your tasks accordingly. You’ll be fine without him, he thinks. But if you’ll go on thinking that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, he knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll regret it even more if he doesn’t ask you to stay. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jungkook assures his cousin. “I’ve been out of it but I’ll get my shit together.”

“Good. I don’t have to remind you that there’s a lot riding on this. But ___ is there to help. I’m here, too. You’ve got people who believe in you, okay?” Hoseok smiles, a slice of comfort that Jungkook didn’t know he needed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jungkook nods and heads back to his office after a full morning has passed, tricking himself into thinking that things will indeed be okay. He just needs to find the courage to face you, finally talk to you, ask you about that night, and tell you what he feels.

But even getting you alone proves to be difficult, as you have your own lunch plans that he didn’t want to interfere with, and your own deadlines that he set that he knows you’ll make sure to meet.

Jungkook gets caught up in the afternoon in another meeting with some of the Board members who came to visit. Biting his lip in frustration, he manages to not lose his mind as he sits through it, merely hoping to the heavens that you haven’t left yet despite the late hour. 

He speed walks down the hallway once he gets to his floor and almost panics when he sees your work space empty. But he spots your unfinished cup of coffee and he knows you won’t leave without cleaning up. He briefly sighs in relief when he hears shuffling from inside his room, walking closer to find you standing by his desk, with your back facing the door. You place a folder on his tray for signatures and a bound manual for review, then turn around and jerk in surprise when you see him standing there.

“I didn’t know your meeting had ended, sir,” you say, the formality grating his ears. All he wants is to hear you speak to him casually again, for you to call him by his name once more.

“It just did,” he hums. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I wanted to see you before you could leave.”

His words catch you off-guard but you try to look unaffected. 

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” You ask, knowing that he’s past giving you work at this hour on a Friday, but you’re too nervous to think of what else he needs you for.

“No. I…” he stutters. “You, uh, you’ve been avoiding me,” he manages to say, his eyes pleading for you to look at him. 

But still, you don’t.

“I’m with you everyday, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your tone cold. “I can’t possibly be avoiding you.”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

As if in reflex, you glance at him, then shift your eyes on the couch to your left.

“That doesn’t count,” he says, his voice oozing in desperation for you to just spare him some time, something you’ve never heard before.

So you give in, as you slowly meet his eyes, and you’re reminded why you didn’t want to do it in the first place. They’re so sullen. Tired, it seems, but just lacking in light. They were always so expressive, even when they’re angry, and even more when they’re sad. 

“I just…” you start, knowing that with all that’s happened and with all the stress and pressure he has to endure, you can’t be another one in his list to have to try to figure out. You at least owe it to him to be honest.

You look at the door, suddenly conscious of who might wander in your area, and Jungkook takes your cue, closing it once you nod. 

“So, why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again, his voice gaining a bit of life now that you’ve given him a chance to talk.

“I was just ashamed,” you admit, looking away as the scene from last week plays in your mind again. “I said things I shouldn’t have and they made you uncomfortable and—”

“How do you know that?” He interjects.

“Because you pulled away!” You say too loudly, lowering your head in embarrassment at the clear frustration you’re expressing. “I thought you wanted to… uh…”

“Kiss you,” he finishes, earning him the slightest of nods from you. 

“But you didn’t and I just felt so embarrassed,” you say, your lips quivering now at how much you’re saying, at how much you’re baring yourself to him, unsure if he’ll do the same. “That was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” he almost whispers as he slowly walks towards you. “About what I wanted to do. You seemed to want that, too, but we were out there and I… I was scared that if I’d done anything you weren’t ready for, then I’d push you away. I still did anyway. Because you’ve spent the entire week avoiding me, talking to me formally, not fixing my tie…”

You stop the giggle that you almost let out, but you can’t help your tiny smile as he whines about what you’ve been purposely doing. 

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you after that,” you explain, knowing there’s so much more to say but that you’ll start with this. “But you avoided me, too,” you suddenly pout. 

“What did you expect me to do?” He exclaims. “You did it first! You know I’m not good with these things.”

“Neither am I.”

Jungkook controls himself from kissing the frown off your face and instead, he walks closer. He gets to appreciate you now as he shamelessly eyes your form, the pastel-colored long sleeved blouse tucked inside your white skirt making his heart race. 

He spots your shy smile as you try to turn away, and he steps closer, wanting to see more. 

“You still aren’t gonna look at me?” He asks, the soft desperation in his voice prompting you to be bold again.

“I can’t. I might lose my mind,” you admit, groaning right after at your own honesty. 

“I’d quite like that,” he hums. “I… I was actually losing my mind all week. It didn’t feel right to have you feel so far away. I wanted to fix things but I didn’t know how.”

“That makes both of us,” you sigh, allowing yourself to finally gaze at him in his black suit, the classic look taking your breath away every time. “But I guess it’s the same with me. I didn’t know how badly I wanted you close until you weren’t anymore.”

You hesitatingly reach out your hand, an attempt to let him know that close is what you want him to be, but also to see for yourself if this is real, if he really is just breaths away from you, and if he could be even closer.

“I’m not pulling away this time,” he assures you, his boyish smile sending your mind in a frenzy.

Your fingers graze his chest, the way it quickly rises and falls telling you that his heart is probably racing as fast as yours. You fiddle with the neck of his tie before pulling it to bring him closer. He follows your lead, stepping forward and meeting your eyes, seeming like he doesn’t want his off of you. 

“So uh, are you losing your mind now?” He whispers teasingly. 

The way he utters the words with such yearning is a contrast to the shy look on his face. It’s a side of him you’re not ready for, but it’s one you’re thoroughly enjoying. It’s also pushing you to be even more shameless, as you nod and take his hand this time, placing it on your waist so you could feel his touch again. He’s gentle, trailing his fingers up and down your sides. 

“I am,” you manage to say, and you wish he could tell by the way you’re panting that his effect on you is way beyond your control now, and that it’s something you want to embrace. You mirror his smile, soft and warm yet full of desire.

He makes his move, placing his hand on your cheek as he eliminates whatever distance is left. And he stands there, just one breath away. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about that night, wishing I’d done things differently,” he heaves, his eyes flitting to your lips constantly, “wishing I had been brave enough to do what I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

You lick your lips in tandem with his, and once you feel him thumb your cheek, it’s all over for you. With a whisper of his name, you hold your breath, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours. 

He kisses you deeply, expressing just how much he’s been wanting to do this. You smile as you return his desire, suddenly feeling like you’re floating, as if he’s some dream that you’re able to reach, like he’s that beautiful thing that’s tangible, that you can touch, that you can taste.

You moan once his tongue gains entrance, entangling with yours and dominating you immediately until he’s all you can breathe in. He cups your face, directing it where he wants, while his one hand trails down your back to knead your ass, as if to keep himself steady as he loses himself in you. Your breathing quickens even more as the pleasure rises, and with your fingers palming his chest and gripping his collar, he pushes you against his table. 

He cages you and keeps you in place while he devours your lips, and you feel him all over you just as you wanted. You’re hypnotized by his scent, by his warm breath, and by the large hands that now grip your waist and lift you to sit on the edge of his desk. 

Your mind is hazy, high on the drug that is his kiss, lust-filled and passionate and relentless. You yearn for him even more the longer you taste him, feel him, and there’s no part of you that wants this to end. Your moans push him to kiss you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess and with a mind that's truly unable to think a single thought outside of this trance-like feeling. His arms now wrap around you, and his hands, seemingly desperate to touch every part of you that he can, trail up and down your back, as if to caress you, as if to say that he won’t stop, that he won’t let you go.

Finally needing air, he removes his lips from yours only to travel to the most sensitive parts of you - on the shell of your ear that his tongue grazes repeatedly, and on your neck that he licks and sucks vigorously. You feel the chills all over your body, and you grind against him to try to satiate that growing need of yours, as you start to feel the dampness in your underwear. His hardening length makes you want everything he can give you, rules and boundaries be damned. 

This isn’t like you but you’ve never felt this much pleasure and desire in all your life. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ecstasy that kissing and feeling him would give. You feel his desperation and desire for you, as he grunts and moans your name, aching to feel more, to do more. You want to live in this moment, and then live it everyday, just take him in and take everything and give him everything. 

But you should’ve known that some things are too good to be true. And much as you hope and imagine for things to turn out a certain way in belief that you deserve good things in this world, they don’t. Those don’t happen to people like you. There’s always something underneath it all, as the fantasy shatters like a glass ceiling breaking at his words.

“Stay, ___. Don’t leave,” he hums against you, the tip of his nose gliding against your neck as he takes in your scent. “Please don’t resign. I can’t… I—”

You feel frozen as you process what he’s said. “Wha-what?” You manage to ask, your mind slowly waking up now. 

His lips take a pause at devouring your skin and he faces you, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy and pleading as he repeats his words.

“Don’t leave, ___. Don’t resign. Stay with me. I need you next to me.” 

“Where is this coming from?” You demand, your heart racing now for a different reason, your anxiety building at how he could’ve known of your plans. You pull away to get a better look at him, with guilt now painting his eyes.

“I… I overheard you and Mr. Ri talking last night,” he admits shamefully. “I didn’t mean to. I was going to just walk away but you talked about leaving and what you feel about me and I just… I froze. I don’t want you to go anywhere, ___. I need you here.”

The silence drags on as you let his words settle, words you thought you wanted to hear. But not like this, you realize. This isn’t how you imagined he’d tell you he wants to be with you. 

He attempts to cup your cheek again but you pull yourself back, the rejection breaking him this time.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you last week,” you start, your voice shaking as the pieces fit together. “You knew yet you pulled away. You let a whole week pass with this distance, with no attempt from you to talk to me about it, or to even tell me what you feel but then you learn last night, after listening to a conversation you had no part in, that I like you. And tonight, you kiss me because suddenly you need me? Because you want me to stay next to you?”

“I—” Jungkook starts, unable to say anything as you put it the way you do. 

He’s wanted you for so long and always had reasons to keep his distance. He tried to gain the courage to talk to you this week, even as you avoided him, but he didn’t. There was just so much fear, so much worry about what he should do, about you asking him to forget about it, about possibly pushing you away even more. He didn’t intend for things to happen this way but for you to think that he’s only doing this in an attempt to keep you from resigning is all kinds of wrong, even if in hindsight, that’s exactly what it looks like. He could’ve said something earlier, he could’ve told you what he felt, and he would’ve been brave enough if he really wanted to. 

“You knew how I felt and you kissed me so I’d stay,” you repeat. “You hate change and me leaving will change everything for you and this… this is how you make sure I don’t.”

Stepping down from the desk, you realize how much you’d lost yourself in him, with your skirt bunched up and your blouse all creased. You fix yourself, suddenly ashamed, and suddenly unsure where you stand. It took so much of you to admit what you felt for him and now it seems that he hadn’t been into you the way that you thought. 

You want him with you, but he wants you here, that’s the difference. 

“I… want you,” Jungkook says, the words suddenly hard for him to say, as he gets choked up at the distance you’re creating. “I guess I always have. I just couldn’t do anything because I had to be professional and there were boundaries I couldn’t cross. But I couldn’t help it. Those don’t matter to me anymore. Only you do.” 

His pleading eyes ask you to believe him, to understand him this time. But your silence and the way you look at him in disappointment tell him it’s not something you’re able to do. 

“I never thought you’d feel the same way,” he continues. “And now I know that you do and that just means we can figure it out, right? Staying means we get to be together everyday. We… we get to have this everyday. Don’t you… don’t you want that?”

This is when you realize that much as you want to believe in his sincerity, it’s hard when he thinks of you as a necessity. You make his life easier. You’re his assistant, after all. And that makes you unsure if he only wants you because he needs you, or if they’re just the same thing to him. 

He didn’t even ask you why you wanted to leave. Maybe that should tell you enough.

“___, please. I just want to be with you.”

It’s also at this moment when you realize just how much you’ve fallen for him. You’d feared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and that means putting another person’s needs ahead of yours again, just like what you’ve done all these years. Staying would mean that you’d be unable to find yourself outside of all this, and you’ve given up too much not to choose your own happiness this time, even if it means saying goodbye to the person who also makes you happy.

Finding what little strength you have in you, you turn to him. “I don’t want to stay, Jungkook,” you say, your heart breaking as you utter the words, even more when you ask him to forget about everything that happened tonight. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Not like this. I’m so sorry.”

With your smashed heart in your hands, you do the hard thing and walk out the door, leaving in your wake a man whose broken pieces that you’ve put together all shattered once again. 

Walking down the block to get to the bus stop feels like a marathon, as the street feels so long with the heavy burden you’re carrying weighing you down too much. But you manage to get there, only to decide that you’d much rather spend the ride home on your own. You turn to a street to hail a cab then realize once you get in one that it was the spot where Jungkook had seen you, drenched under the rain with a sprained ankle. 

He healed parts of you that night, with his quiet assurance that you didn’t have to go through your struggles on your own. You’d hold on to that thought months later, though you’re unsure about now - much as things hurt at this moment, all you want is to be alone.

You get off two stops early and mindlessly walk towards the convenience store, thinking that some snacks for dinner would do. You don’t really feel like eating but your body’s needs are greater than your own desire to eat. Walking down the aisles, you decide you’re only good for some cup noodles tonight. You don’t even deserve boiled eggs that you suddenly craved, nor honey chips, and you definitely don’t deserve dessert after what you allowed to happen earlier. 

You stop your movements once you realize you’re sitting on the same spot where you and Jungkook had eaten when he drove you home that night he took you to the park. It had been a terrible evening after that incident with your ex, but Jungkook was the protective one who helped shoulder all the anger that you were too exhausted to feel. He was a reliable and comforting presence, familiar yet new with his warmth. During the occasional moments in the weekend after when your mind would go to that night, you’d think of Jungkook and how he made you feel safe.

It feels too much, so you take your noodles and finish them on the bench outside. You walk home after, letting the crisp evening air envelop you as your mind replays what happened. 

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to feel someone the way you wanted to feel him, but you suppose that’s why it hurts as much as it does. You wanted him to want you as much as you did, and you were perhaps foolish to think he’d have the same reasons as you. Maybe you were really just stupid for feeling anything in the first place, knowing your place in his world. You’re everything convenient and easy and familiar and despite the week of walking on eggshells around him, you gave in so quickly. He knew what to do when it came to you. 

And maybe that’s on you. You allowed yourself to feel so much for a man whose life is so intertwined with yours that it’s hard to know what’s real. Yet you know that despite all that, your desire for him is still too strong. It’s why you had to leave right away. 

Another moment of him pleading for you to not resign and you might’ve given in again. Another second of hearing him ask you to be with him and you would’ve believed him - that there was sincerity in all that, that he’d be with you regardless if you stayed in the company or not. Now you’re left with the thought that the convenience was what he wanted, that as he crossed the line, it was all or nothing for him. And that you’d be the weak one, willing to give up what else you could be outside of all this just for him. 

Perhaps you’re also asking for too much. He’s used to a life without much consequences to his actions. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, especially what you had to endure and give up to be here and what you want out of life now that you’re old enough to take control of it. Maybe for him, asking you to stay was that declaration and proof of his feelings; doing so took so much out of him already that thinking of what life would be like without being with you everyday was too hard of a reality to accept or work around. 

You’re too out of it that you don’t realize that you’ve been standing outside your door. You’re thankful for the weekend at least. You’ll spend half of it in bed, and the other half preparing yourself for how you’ll face him again, and how you’ll finally say goodbye. 

You enter and sigh at the warmth inside. Dropping your bag on the floor, you stand by your tiny dining table and take a bite off the apple you find in your fridge. You gaze at your shelf, the one filled with photos of your family and friends and a few more of different sceneries that you took using the disposable camera that Jungkook had gifted you for your birthday. It’s another reminder of how much a part of your life he’s become, how, of all the people in the world, he’d been the one to show you that capturing moments is a gift you shouldn’t take for granted. 

You often wondered what moments he liked to capture. He doesn’t have photos in his penthouse other than those of structures and buildings that are artistically taken. There are framed old blueprints and historical pieces but nothing of him and the people in his life. 

Maybe he doesn’t have good enough memories he wants to keep. For a short moment, you wished that the times he shared with you are ones he’d like to hold onto. But maybe the idea would hurt more - you’ll just be a memory like he would be to you. 

You always wanted to keep only good ones of him, but the sight of him rooted in his spot and in shock as you turned him down is far from something you want to remember. He’s something you didn’t know you wanted, but he stands between you and the life you’ve always wished for yourself - one where you get to decide, to be free, to be happy. 

He’ll let you go and forget all this, you think to yourself. You’ll be the one who walked away. And he’ll be the one who didn’t run after you.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches your retreating form. The sounds of your heels against the marble floor disappear as he remains unmoving from his spot in his room where he’d kissed you just moments earlier. You felt and tasted just like he imagined, and the moment his lips touched yours, he knew he’d want to keep kissing you over and over again. 

It was the first time in a long time that he allowed himself to be honest about how he felt, giddy emotions included. It felt freeing to be able to admit all of that to you after all these months of denying it and walking around eggshells when it came to you. He’d been sure, after last night, that you felt the same way, even more when he felt how your body reacted and how your heart raced, aching for him as much as his heart was yearning for you. 

You sounded hypnotizing, too. The way you’d moaned his name ignited something in him that none of the women he’d slept with had ever done before, and he knows it’s because he’d never felt anything genuine for them. They were good for the moment but he knew, especially the instance that he felt you close, that he wanted you for more than that. He wanted the soft touches and the gentle whispers, the longing looks and the intertwined hands. He wanted more than he thought he would, but during his most vulnerable state, he uttered the words he’d been dying to say since last night when he learned of your plans.

He asked you to stay. He told you he needs you, that he wants to be with you.

They sounded like pleas and maybe that’s what they were. From the deepest and coldest nooks of his heart, he was pleading for you to not leave. He’d finally admitted what he’d been so scared to accept, but all his words did were hurt you. 

You insisted that all he cared about was the convenience of being together everyday, that you staying meant he’d get to keep all that was familiar. And he doesn’t know what would be taken away from you if you did. 

You wanted him, too, didn’t you? Wasn’t that enough? And wasn’t being with him all that mattered? 

Sure, there’d be complications, but those are things he knows you’d both be able to face, they’re things you can navigate around and figure out together because this isn't just a one-time, spur-of-the-moment type of thing. He wants all of you, everything with you, whatever it takes. 

He hadn’t realized it until that second he held you in his arms. And then again when you pulled away, looked at him with glassy eyes, and told him you couldn’t stay. 

He’d been too hurt to run after you. He didn’t know what to say then. How would he, when you’re the one who couldn’t commit to what you felt by staying around? He felt that betrayal, of that feeling of inadequacy, of his feelings for you not being enough. He bared his emotions to you after being so scared of doing so, and then you crushed his heart just like that, with his broken pieces that you’d just put together, scattered on the floor. 

This isn’t like him. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to feel so much for another person, to care for them, to want them in a way that scares him. But you showed him a life where it was possible to open himself up again, to find out what happiness could feel like this time, and in that same breath, you took it all away.

He’s not sure where to go from here. But he decides he’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to forget. Tonight, he just wants to wallow in his sadness, erase the memory of your touch and the feel of your mouth against his, and let it all go. 

Jungkook instructs Mr. Ri to go home. He’ll drive himself, he insists. There’s just no one right now he wants to be around. 

He drinks a glass of whiskey for the road and manages to get home in one piece. He settles on the couch as he finishes another half bottle, then chugs down a few cans of beer after. The image of you gets blurry. His mouth numbs and he starts forgetting your taste on his lips, too. 

His head falls on the pillow and his hand mindlessly reaches out. There’s no heartbeat that he feels; he’s forgotten how fast yours was already. The sound of your laughter and then of your moans is replaced with a buzzing in his ear as his mind starts to fall away. 

The warmth of your body is gone but somehow he feels hot, so hot but he can’t get his clothes off. He struggles a little, his fingers aren’t doing their job so he gives up instead, curls into the corner of the couch, and for the briefest moment, he sees your smile so clearly. And then his mind drifts away completely, taking his confusion and yearning for you along with it. 

At least for now, there’s not much of you he remembers. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that’ll all change when he wakes up in the morning and searches for you, knowing you won’t be around to tell him that everything is gonna be okay.

Hoseok massages his temple as his sixth call to his cousin in the last half hour remains unanswered. 

“He’s still not picking up,” he groans, the unusual feeling of annoyance bubbling inside him at Jungkook’s irresponsibility.

It’s Saturday morning and some friends of their family flew from Europe last night for lunch at the Jeons’ estate. This gathering was scheduled in time for their grandfather’s death anniversary today, and it’s an event that Mr. Jeon was adamant that Jungkook and Hoseok attend as their respective families’ representatives and as heirs of the company. Those friends had been there when their grandfather built Jeon Corporation from the ground up, and welcoming them is a sign of respect for that friendship and for the memory of the man they’re celebrating today. 

Jungkook had informed Mr. Ri that he’ll be driving himself to the estate and promised to be there before 11 AM, as what his father had requested. It’s half past that and he’s still nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been picking up his phone and his friends claim they don’t know where he is. Knowing how important today is, Hoseok wanted to accompany Mr. Ri in going to the younger man’s apartment to pick him up and find out why he’s late. When the elder Jeon asks, which he will, Hoseok would at least have a reason to give. It just better be a good one.

They both arrive at the building and are informed that Jungkook’s cars are still in their respective slots. He’s not in any of the amenities and the guards report that they haven’t seen him since he arrived on his own last night. He may not be a fan of these types of events but Jungkook always shows up. He knows what today means for their family; if not for his father, then at least for his grandfather, a man he respected and looked up to. If, for some reason, he failed to wake up, then he must be in a bad condition, and Hoseok either has to scold his cousin, or cover for him.

With no one answering the door, Mr. Ri uses his access and enters. It’s dark and quiet inside, with the blinds all closed. When he and Hoseok find Jungkook passed out on the couch with an empty whiskey bottle and beer cans on the floor, it’s the same moment that Mr. Ri’s phone rings, and it’s your name that lights up the screen.

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you groggily say. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I had a late night and just woke up. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, as he watches Hoseok pull Jungkook from his cowering form in an attempt to get him to wake up.

“What do you mean?” You ask, standing from your bed now, suddenly awake. 

“I was calling to ask if you knew where Jungkook was. Their family gathering is today and he was supposed to be at his parents’ house 30 minutes ago but he wasn’t. He wasn’t picking up our calls either.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know where he is,” you say softly, the mention of his name reminding you of what transpired last night, the image of Jungkook’s dejected look appearing in your mind. You worry about him though, wondering what time he got home. “Have you found him? Is he okay?” 

“Hoseok and I are at his apartment and he’s passed out drunk,” Mr. Ri states, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes and mumbles some words that the older man has to walk closer to hear. “What happened last night, ___? Why is he calling your name? And why is he asking for you to come back?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Jungkook had spent last night drinking his feelings away. You know enough from your time with him that it’s what he does when he’s stressed or mad or frustrated, and then he wakes up the next morning and hits the gym to deal with his hangover. There’s none of that today, apparently, and you stop yourself from instructing Mr. Ri to prepare him some lemon ginger tea. 

“What happened last night, ___?” He repeats. “Did you fight?”

“We…” you start, knowing that if there’s anyone who has to know about last night, it’s the man on the other end of the phone. “We, uh… we kissed. And then he asked me not to resign then I pulled away.”

Walking towards the kitchen to hand Hoseok a glass of water, Mr. Ri asks if you’d told Jungkook of your plans, stating that he hadn’t told him about it.

“He overheard us talking last Thursday,” you respond. “He knew what I felt about him, kissed me, then asked me to stay. He said he didn’t want me to go, that he wanted to be with me, and that we could be together everyday. It didn’t feel right,” you continue, your voice shaking now as you recall the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to talk about it. He wasn’t supposed to use my feelings against me like that.”

“Did you tell him why you’re planning on leaving?”

“No… He just went on about needing me to be with him and I… I couldn’t bear it,” you say, feeling the tears dance around your eyes. “You told me that I could always leave but even then, I’d always have a reason to stay but it would be their reason, not mine. I finally built the courage to decide on this because you know I need this. I don’t want him to be my reason this time. Or else I’ll never be able to let all of it go.”

“I know,” Mr. Ri sighs, knowing more than anyone what you mean. 

He’ll never be brave like you, but he understands that burden, that desire to just be free; he knows what it’s like to be held back even if it’s your own decision. Because at the end of the day, you’ll always think you have a debt to be paid. He knows he does, but he’ll always believe that you don’t. Surviving was always enough.

“But I think he has to know, ___,” he continues. “He wouldn’t let himself go through this kind of suffering if you don’t mean that much to him. You have to tell him the truth. And I mean everything. You owe it to yourself, too. I know he means a lot to you but you can’t move forward in any way, with or without him, if you’ll just keep him in the dark.”

You let Mr. Ri’s words settle. You told yourself the moment you entered the company that you won’t let your past define you, including your relationship with this family. You’ll work hard and everyone else will know you for that, and not for any other reason. You also knew that you’d spend every second of being here trying to prove to yourself that you’re capable, despite the irony that you were the one defining your time here based on your past that you just somehow couldn’t run away from. 

You weren’t supposed to feel anything for Jungkook. You could’ve gone on with your plan of resigning without feeling bad that you were leaving him behind. And even in that alternative reality where he’d ask you to stay, it would’ve been easy to say no. What makes this difficult is that you started to care. You got scared that if he asked you, you would stay. And now that he did, you have to be stronger than your desire to be with him.

Leaving would be hard, but staying would be much harder. 

You wish it was easy to make him understand. But you suppose without him knowing the truth, he wouldn’t be able to. 

So you give Mr. Ri permission. 

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say. “You would. Make him understand. Maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll still come after me. And maybe he’ll forgive me, too.”

Mr. Ri hums and drops the call. He returns to the living room where Jungkook is now seated upright on the couch, downing his second glass of water and taking medicine to deal with the hangover. The blinds are now up, causing him to squint his eyes. At least he looks alive now. 

“That was ___,” Mr. Ri says. “She was wondering how you were.”

“Did you tell her I look terrible?”Jungkook asks bitterly.

“I did. She also told me what happened.”

“What… happened?” Hoseok wonders. “Did you have a big fight?”

Knowing he has no way out of this, Jungkook tells the truth. “We, uh, we kissed,” he answers, earning him a gasp from his cousin, who clarifies that while he’s not that surprised, he’s curious as to why both of you aren’t together right now.

“___ plans on resigning. He asked her not to,” Mr. Ri answers. “But you… you have to let her go, Jungkook. She needs to learn who she is and what she can do without anything holding her back.”

“If that’s her reason, then she has to know that she can keep learning who she is and what she can do here, with me,” Jungkook insists, slowly gaining clarity, as all the words he couldn’t say last night suddenly come out so easily. “There’s so much she can do. If what we feel for each other is the issue and that means she can’t directly work for me, then there are other departments where she’d fit well in. This isn’t just about convenience for me. I want to see her everyday but having her around means I get to make sure she’s taken care of, that she’s treated well.”

“And then what? She’ll feel indebted to you because of that?” Mr. Ri counters. “This is more than just developing her skills or building her career, Jungkook. This is about being someone outside of this company. It’s about doing something without feeling like she constantly has to prove that she deserves what she has.”

“And she does. Who does she have to prove anything to? We’re beyond that. Everyone knows she’s capable.”

“She has to prove it to herself. It may be hard for you to understand but she… she won’t get to accept all that she is until she’s ridden herself of the burden she carries. For as long as she works for your family, she’ll always feel it.”

The words feel a little too personal, Jungkook thinks, as Mr. Ri talks about your insecurities as if he’d seen you live them, and perhaps he has. The older man witnessed those first few turbulent weeks, and having known you since you started working here through the CEO, perhaps Mr. Ri had seen how your spirit broke a little because of Jungkook.

But still, something about the way Mr. Ri looks sullenly at him says that there’s more to what the older man had seen, as if he himself is pleading for Jungkook to let you go this way, as if the care runs deep and the words carry so much more emotion.

“She needs this, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri continues. “She’s planned on leaving a few times before but her gratitude towards your family always pulled her back. If you really care about her, you won’t let that happen this time. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to do it without her being here. Regardless of what she feels for you, she needs this more. You can let her go without really letting her go, you have to know that.”

It all feels too much and Jungkook’s mind is filled with so many questions. What do you owe his family? How does proving yourself have anything to do with leaving the company? How does he fit into all this? What do you need time away for? And how can he be with you at the end of it? Would you still want that, given that he didn’t even ask you why?

“How are you sure that’s what she needs?” Jungkook asks, curiosity getting the best of him.  

“I’ve known her for 20 years, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I know it’s what she believes.”

Jungkook may still be dealing with a hangover, but he knows his ears didn’t betray him. Twenty years, that’s how long you’ve known the man he trusts with his life, the man his father trusts with his family’s life. 

The tale is an open secret. Ri Byung-hun was a kid who grew up in the streets. He tried to steal from Jungkook’s grandfather, whose construction business then was slowly taking off. The elder man took pity on the young teen and sent him to school, and Byung-hun showed his gratitude by working for the family, eventually becoming Jungkook’s father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and closest confidant all in one. The loyalty goes both ways, and it’s stood the test of time. 

Jungkook doesn’t know all the details but he knows enough. What he doesn’t know is who you are in Mr. Ri’s life, and why Jungkook hadn’t heard of you before. 

“How do you know ___?” Jungkook finally manages to ask. “Who is she to you?”

“I know ___ because of her mother. And over 20 years ago, Cho Hye-soo was your father’s assistant.”

“She— what?” 

Jungkook can’t hide his shock, and neither can Hoseok, who looks just as surprised about the truth as he is. His cousin would’ve been in his early teens at that time, and as it was when it came to their family’s children, training to become company heirs starts early, but they don’t get immersed until during their late teenage years. 

“I… I know Mrs. Cho,” Hoseok says. “I’ve met her several times but I… I never knew. They never said anything.”

“It wasn’t something they wanted people to know,” Mr. Ri explains. “Other than both of your parents, I’m the only other person who does. Too much time has passed for people to make the connection. It was just better that no one knew.” 

“What else did they not want people to know?” Jungkook asks. “What did ___ and her mom do? What… what do they owe our family?”

The elder man knew that at some point, Jungkook was going to have to learn the truth. He just didn’t think it would have to be under these conditions, and that he’d be the one telling the young man about how your lives are intertwined, that whatever pain you both carried growing up, those would always lead you back to each other. 

“Your father and Hye-soo were no different to how you and ___ are,” Mr. Ri starts. “He’d just been appointed President and he was under a lot of pressure - from your grandfather, the Board, the rest of your family… He was always stressed and it didn’t help that he was a perfectionist, just like you. That obviously affected your family, but it also affected those who worked for him, especially Hye-soo, who felt that she had a lot to prove.”

She didn’t have a Seoul education but she was smart and resourceful, incredibly hardworking and devoted, something you inherited from her, the elder man shares. The similarities are striking, and Jungkook braces himself, hoping that they end there. 

“She always had to work overtime, including weekends, and that took a lot of time away from being with ___. Hye-soo would leave her daughter in the library where her friend worked, and that seemed to be enough. But of course, it wasn’t easy, especially with a partner who lost his job and started drinking to cope.”

As Mr. Ri continues, Jungkook starts to fear something else, and so he asks. 

“Did… did he hurt them?”

“He yelled a lot,” Mr. Ri answers. “I’d hear it sometimes during breaks when she’s on the phone with him and it crushed me every time. Hye-soo wouldn’t say much, just that he was a good guy who just didn’t know how to deal with hardships. She never justified his actions until of course, that piece of shit started hitting her.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words, unable to imagine growing up in a household like that - feeling afraid, unsafe, and unfree. 

“Hye-soo assured me that Kang-ho never hurt ___. She was good at that, at protecting her child. One time, she was called to work on a Saturday and that didn’t go well with him, but she… she always puts her daughter first, and that meant work would always be her priority because it’s what pays the bills and what sends her to school,” Mr. Ri narrates, his eyes growing more dejected by the second as he recalls those times. 

“She was rushing and couldn’t properly conceal the bruise on her face. She was worried that’s why she took ___ with her. Hye-soo kept crying as your father asked her what happened. She apologized for being late and for bringing her daughter to work, and she asked to stay in the office for the night until she figured out where they could go. I had never seen her break down like that,” he says, his voice shaking now. “And I won’t forget how scared ___ looked. She was just 10 years old then, clinging to her mother and not wanting to let her go. We were all strangers to her but somehow, she knew that we were there to protect them.”

The silence goes on, as both men take in Mr. Ri’s words, but it’s Hoseok who asks what happened after, and eventually, what got you here. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon didn’t hesitate to help,” the older man shares. “They had Hye-soo and ___ stay at the staff house in their estate for a few nights until they got a new place to stay. I helped them get their stuff after Kang-ho figured out what was happening and ran.  The police had a warrant for his arrest but they couldn’t find him for days.” 

Turning to Jungkook, he adds, “your parents paid for all the legal and medical fees. Because Kang-ho knew they were helping, you all had to go away until he was found. Hye-soo and ___ went to Busan where he couldn’t trace them; your parents stayed in one of their houses in Gwangju while you and your brother were in Gwacheon.” Mr. Ri sighs at the memory as he recalls those days. “The reason why you were in that cabin was so they could protect you. I know you held a grudge against them for years because you thought they just left you there but they couldn’t stay with you, Jungkook. You were all in danger and they had to keep you and Jeong-sik safe.”

Jungkook looks back at that night when everything changed for him. Things already weren’t going well with his brother; the three-year gap and the way they were always compared kept them from getting along. His parents knew that, yet they still left him with Jeong-sik, who abandoned him in the woods when they played hide-and-seek. That’s where Jungkook was left alone, lost and scared under the rain, the thunder roaring as he yelled for someone to come. He’s always lived with that fear, always carried that memory of anger and blame within him that transformed into a habit of just pushing people away, of keeping them out because that was better to accept than the knowledge that people he trusted left him on his own. 

But there’s a reason, he learns now, one that his parents kept from him to protect you and your mother, too. It’s all too much, but he thinks now that maybe there’s a reason why you were so patient with him, why you didn’t judge him that night at the guest house, why you somehow understood what he was so scared of. He doesn’t know if you know that the night at the cabin had anything to do with what you and your mother went through, but regardless, maybe that’s why he always felt so strongly about you. The connection he was yearning for was always there, it’s tied to something, and he realizes it’s tied to your shared past.

“Did the police find the man?” Jungkook asks now, his headache somehow worsening from all the things he’s learning. But he just wants to know that you weren’t even more hurt, that there was a way that his parents kept you safe. 

“I did,” Mr. Ri responds. “I still had contact with people in the streets, and I left Gwacheon once I got a call that they knew where he was staying. I hunted him down and I handed him over… with a bloodied face and a few broken bones. They charged him for domestic violence and a few other crimes, including drug possession that would keep him in prison for years, long enough for Hye-soo and ___ to recover.”

“And what about you? Were you charged?” Jungkook wonders.

“No, I claimed self-defense and I—”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Jungkook counters, knowing there’s more to what Mr. Ri is saying. 

“It wasn’t,” the old man admits, turning away as he says the words. “I could’ve done more but I… I couldn’t lose myself to the anger even if it was all I felt. I knew Hye-soo wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Jungkook says, dawning on him now that everything Mr. Ri had done was so he could protect your mother and you. He realizes that all the times that the elder man looked out for you was because he was looking out for someone he truly cared about, someone who mattered the most to the person who mattered the most to him.

“I did,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I still do.”

Jungkook recalls the night during the team building and the elder man’s words, about the woman he’d loved for so long, and that moving on from her meant expending all that love to those he cares about, and now Jungkook knows that he was referring to you. 

“Did she know? And did she love you back?”

“She… she asked me to move to Busan with her and ___,” Mr. Ri answers, his eyes faraway as memories of that conversation come rushing back, how he’d wanted to just run away and build a life he never thought he could have with the woman he’d fallen so hard for, but how he had to make the hardest decision then, knowing it was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Why didn’t you?” Jungkook wonders. 

“I owe everything I have to your family, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri explains. “They gave me a second chance. Your grandfather got me off the streets, your father taught me everything I know, they… they had my records cleaned. They did it when I was a kid and they did it again when I was an adult. The only way I could ever pay them back was through my loyalty. I couldn’t leave, not after everything they’ve done for me.”

“But you loved her. She was your second chance,” Jungkook argues.

“And that love caused me to commit a crime I shouldn’t have. I was going to pay for it one way or another,” Mr. Ri responds. “That’s how I chose to do it, by letting her go, knowing that I’d be able to look after her and ___ better that way. Your father would protect me, and I would protect them. That’s… that’s how things go.”

It’s a tragic love story, Jungkook thinks. Two people who feel so much having to let each other go, their own pasts pushing them towards opposite directions. Decisions were made and that pulled them apart. He supposes that reciprocated feelings aren’t always enough.

“What happened after that?” Hoseok asks now, wanting to know as well how you and your mother managed, and if there’s any more danger that you face.

“They stayed in Busan for a few years. They only returned to Daegu after they learned that Kang-ho died in prison after acquiring some respiratory disease,” Mr. Ri replies. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon helped with the move, too. They had me check on Hye-soo and ___ almost every month, just to make sure they were doing well. It was hard, of course. Hye-soo wasn’t earning the same as she was so she took another job just to keep ___ in a good school. Mr. Jeon knew that, so he kept offering to pay for her education but Hye-soo always turned him down. That continued until she got to college, and knowing that her mom won’t accept help again, ___ was the one who decided to take the offer. They paid for her tuition, and she eventually got an internship in the company. She took the job offer, too, and she’s just been working hard ever since, thinking that she has everything to prove.”

“Why does my father think he can buy people’s loyalty just like that?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “It traps people… it gives them no option.”

“I know it may seem that way but your father knows how important loyalty is, and it’s something that he gives, too. He trusts me just as much I trust him,” Mr. Ri defends. “But when it comes to Hye-soo and ___, it isn’t about loyalty but guilt. He blames himself for what happened to them. Even if it was all Kang-ho’s fault, your father always believed that if he hadn’t been so demanding, things wouldn’t have escalated. It was all the overtime, all the unfair requests that took Hye-soo’s time from her partner, from her daughter. He carries that guilt with him and how he treated her. In a way, I think that was his wake-up call. Work stopped consuming him after. He became considerate of his staff, asking about their families and how they’re doing. He tried to make it up to you and your brother but that seemed to be the hardest thing for him; he didn’t know how to get your trust back.”

“But wasnt ___ choosing to work here about loyalty? She stayed every time he asked her to. She wouldn’t have if she felt indebted to our family,” Jungkook remarks, not wanting to delve into his own relationship with his father. 

“She wanted to repay them just so her mom would stop carrying that burden,” Mr. Ri says. “They were able to get away and build a new life where they were safe because of your parents and for ___, that always meant everything. She planned to work for them, but even a part of her felt that all the opportunities she was given was out of kindness. She always felt she didn’t deserve it but your parents also think they can’t ever make it up to her and her mother enough.”

At the silence, he continues. “People are complicated that way, I guess. We all have our own burdens to carry, our own past to deal with, our own actions to make peace with and accept. We make decisions based on what we think is best and just hope we don’t regret them in the future. But we also make them as a way to take control of our own lives. Even if I regret letting Hye-soo go, I at least did it knowing that I’ll either have another chance at being with her, or that someone else will. And someone did, and I know for a fact that he loves her and ___ with all of him.”

“In that sense, maybe resigning is ___’s way of taking control of her life this time, don’t you think?” Hoseok turns to Jungkook, understanding where you’re coming from now, as he knows the feeling of not having to constantly prove yourself to others. “She finally wants to let that burden go, to live as she wishes without feeling like she doesn’t deserve what she has, even if it means not being next to you the way she wants to. If you make her stay, how do you think she can move on from all this? How can you be sure she’s happy?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, knowing it’s not enough to process everything he’s learned this morning. There’s that past he didn’t know he shared with you, there’s his relationship with his father that he doesn’t know how to mend, there’s his feelings for you, one that’s still so strong and inescapable. 

And then there’s the thought that you’d known everything all along. You’ve been patient with him, you've been kind and understanding. Was that all because you felt like you had to? Because he’s the son of the people you feel that you owe a lot to?

It’s not that Jungkook doubts your feelings for him, but he wonders if you do. Now that you’re able to make that decision to leave, what if walking away from his family also means you realize that your feelings are tied to that indebtedness, too? How real was it for you? And after you find yourself outside of all this, would you still want him?

The thoughts make his heart break, and this tells him that after knowing everything, he still can’t deny what he feels about you. He still wants you just as much. Maybe the familiarity he always felt was because you are familiar. Maybe the connection was because of a painful past you both share, of a kind of pain you both understand. Maybe the intensity of feelings is a remnant from his childhood, one that’s tied to yours in a serendipitous way. 

He’d like to think that even without knowing, you held out for him. You could’ve chosen to leave anytime before he came but you didn’t, and your paths crossed this way and he convinces himself that you were always meant to meet each other, that you were always meant to make up for how intertwined and unfortunate your lives are. You never met then but this time, when you did, it meant so much more. He could only hope that it’s something you hold onto as well, and that when you decide to finally walk away, it doesn’t mean you walk away from him completely, too. 

“Kook, I know there’s a lot to think about but you have to get going,” Hoseok disrupts his thoughts. “Your father still wants us at that lunch. I know grandfather would, too.”

“You should go ahead, Hoseok,” Mr. Ri says. “Just make an excuse to your uncle and say I’m helping Jungkook fix up. We’ll head there right away.”

“No, tell him that I know,” Jungkook insists. “If… if he’s always wanted to mend our relationship, he and I have to start being honest with each other.”

“I will,” Hoseok says as he stands up to leave. “Get your head together, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Jungkook massages his temples, knowing that he doesn’t have time to get a workout in and rid himself of this terrible hangover. But he tries, as he takes a warm shower and asks Mr. Ri to prepare him a cup of lemon ginger tea and get some ginseng jelly for the ride. 

The trip to his parents’ estate starts off quiet, but the thoughts in his head are so loud that the older man asks what else is bothering him. 

“How was her time in Busan?” Jungkook asks.

“It was good. She was a shy kid but she found good people she trusted and that meant everything,” Mr. Ri answers. “I visited them often, even when they returned to Daegu. But I stopped once ___ moved back to Seoul after college. I’d ask her about her mother every now and then. It was nice to hear how well they’re doing, and how happy they are with their new family. Min-woo’s a good man and his daughters love Hye-soo and ___ so much. It turned out well for them. When I think about that, it’s really hard not to justify the decisions I made.”

“Will you make them again? If given the chance?”

“If I still think it’s what’s best then, then I would. Sometimes we make decisions because of the other person, not exactly for ourselves. Sometimes that’s how we realize just how much we love them, you know? When their happiness trumps our own.”

Jungkook merely hums. While he doesn’t think he’s at that point with you, he cares enough to want you to have that chance to find your happiness, in whatever form that may be. And if leaving the company is what it takes, then he knows you deserve that and more. It doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you can search for it while being with him, but perhaps it’s better if you find your way back to him instead. He’ll at least know you chose him, and not because you felt like you owed it to him to stay.

They make it to his parents’ estate over an hour late. The guests have arrived and Jungkook greets them before finding his father. When their eyes meet, there’s a look of sadness in the elder man’s eyes. Perhaps it’s understanding; maybe it’s an apology.

His mother gives him a long and tight hug, one that he savors for the first time in a long while. He remained distant from his parents after he decided to pursue further studies and then work in their office abroad. It’s a relationship he’s still navigating. While his mother has always been present and affectionate, Jungkook is the one who stopped reciprocating. It just seemed easier that way, but he realizes that he’s missed her warmth after taking it for granted all these years. 

The lunch gathering lasts for a few hours. Jungkook tries to pay attention to the conversations since engaging requires too much from him, especially after the morning he’s had. But his father doesn’t reprimand him this time, and for that, he’s thankful. Hoseok keeps him on his toes though, but Jungkook’s mind constantly wanders towards you. He wonders how you got home last night, if you managed to get some rest, and if you’re spending your time being angry at him or if, by any chance, you’re missing him like he’s missing you.

It’s 5 PM by the time the last guest leaves, and with Hoseok and A-yeong needing to attend a dinner party, Jungkook is left to speak with his parents alone. 

“I heard you know the truth now,” his father says as he sits across from Jungkook in the garden. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Did you intend for me not to know and find out from someone else?” Jungkook asks. 

“___ applied to the company with the intention of contributing in a small way,” his father says. “She made it without any say from me and that’s a testament to her skills and capabilities. When we met after her first day, she asked that she not be treated any differently, and I agreed. I stayed true to my word and I kept my distance, but when I heard about how Mrs. Byun treated her, I knew I couldn’t just stand back. I encouraged her to apply for the EA position, knowing that she would be treated well. And with that, she asked me not to say who she is - not to Hoseok, and especially not to you. That’s not how she wants to be known. And I always respected her request.”

“Does it make any difference, son?” His mother asks. “Does knowing who she is to our family change the way you see her?”

“No, but it makes me wonder how she’d seen me all this time,” Jungkook says. “She put up with me despite how I treated her. She was kind even if I was distant. She… she let me open myself up and that’s… that’s why I like her. That's why I asked her to be with me.”

The surprise on his parents’ faces is immediate, but they stay calm, and it’s what prompts him to continue.

“I just hate to think that she suffered all that time because she still felt like she owed us. If you asked her to stay and help me, she wouldn’t have been able to turn you down. And what if… she’s confused her feelings for me for just… gratitude towards you?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his mother sighs, taking his hand as a form of comfort. “We are so sorry that all this has caused you to doubt her sincerity but if there’s one thing we know about ___ is that she’s genuine, and if you felt cared for by her, then she meant all that.”

“Yes, I did ask her to help you, because I knew that if there was someone who could get through to you, it would be her,” his father says this time.

“So you took advantage of her? Because you knew she’d do what you’d ask,” Jungkook huffs.

“I did that because I knew that she would care, that she would understand. Thinking about it now, perhaps I asked for too much,” the elder man shakes his head. “She’s a lot like her mother, and I’ve come to realize that you’re a lot like me. I needed someone like Hye-soo and somehow I just knew that you needed someone like ___. Both of you opening up and finding comfort in each other just happened, I suppose, and that’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I don’t know. Because now, she doubts what I feel and I’m not sure about what she feels, too,” Jungkook admits, letting his own insecurities get the better of him. He hates that he’s started to doubt you as well. 

“If it matters, I’ve seen how she is with you. She cares about you, she worries about you. And the way you respond to her just means that your heart feels her sincerity, too,” his father responds. “Don’t let anger or fear taint that for you.”

“Aren’t you mad about what happened?” Jungkook wonders. “She’s my assistant and I ended up crossing a line. I kissed her. In my office.”

“Perhaps I should be,” his father hums. “But with her planning on resigning, I suppose you’re already feeling a lot of emotions about that. I don’t want to add anymore. You’re an adult and you know that your actions have consequences. You just have to deal with them now. And don’t ever do that again.”

There’s no anger in his father’s words. In fact, there’s comfort that Jungkook has never heard before. It suspends his worries only for a short moment, as he’s reminded that you indeed plan on leaving. When that is, he doesn’t know. But he’s gonna have to start dealing with your loss just as he needs to deal with his feelings for you. It’s all too complicated; getting together despite what you both feel isn’t that simple. Your happiness comes first. He knows he cares so much that it’s what he wants you to focus on. 

“Letting her go now doesn’t mean you have to let her go for good,” his mother tells him. “She’ll choose you if that’s what her heart says. And at least then, you’ll know for sure that she still wants you after everything.”

Jungkook’s parents’ words echo in his mind for the rest of Saturday that he spends in his living room, choosing wine as his companion for the evening. There’s no intention of getting hammered unlike the night before though. The drink calms him down and allows him to have proper sleep this time. He spends the most of his Sunday in bed, thinking about you, then attempting to remove you from his mind. 

Not wanting to deal with any more tension, he instructs Mr. Ri that Monday to just drive you straight to the office. Jungkook arrives and sees you stand up to greet him as he walks through the hallway, and he responds with a nod as his own greeting before heading straight to his room.

There’s that feeling again - of missing you, of hoping he could fix things but not knowing how, of wanting to ask you to stay but knowing he has to let you go, and of wishing that when he does, you’ll find your way back to him again. He shakes off the thoughts during that short walk to his desk, feeling himself weaken with every moment that he spends far away from you.

Jungkook takes his seat and sighs as another day starts without his usual routine. Knowing he has no other choice, he pushes on. From his periphery, he sees you glancing at him through the window, and a part of him wishes it’s your attempt at seeing if you could speak with him, maybe ask if you could talk about what happened later on or about what he now knows about you. Or anything, really. He just wants to hear your voice again. Hopefully see your smile. Despite all his doubts about you, the emptiness he feels tells him that nothing’s changed - what he feels for you is real, and he might not know what’ll happen next, but he at least knows that what he wants is to be with you; he hopes he’ll figure out how to do that with you.

He sees you glance at him again and it sparks a bit of hope. That is, until he spots the envelope on his desk, and inside it, your resignation letter.

He tries to act unaffected as he reads what you’ve written. It’s straight to the point, as you narrate your journey in the company, having started as an intern and then working in logistics before finding your footing as the Vice President’s assistant. You list the skills you’ve developed and other things you’ve learned but that you think it’s time to venture into something new and different, noting how you’ll take all your experiences with you in this new stage of your life. 

You thank him for his guidance, and he almost breaks towards the end when you mention the Arts Center. You apologize for leaving before its completion, but you’re thankful because it allowed you to appreciate the beauty of things, that it made you understand the value of meaning and connection, and that his passion for it pushed you to find something that you want to be passionate about, too. You’ve given him something, and now he knows that in his own way, he’s given something to you, too. 

You type away on your desktop while not-so-discreetly peeking into Jungkook’s office to see his reaction to your letter. Your plan was to resign after the Arts Center was launched, knowing how big of a project it is that needs all of Jungkook’s attention. He can’t be distracted, and a part of you scolds yourself for being selfish about deciding to do this now. 

But you also knew that you couldn’t delay it any longer. After what happened last Friday, you didn’t know how you could face him again, especially now that he knows everything. It didn’t feel right to continue on, not just because of your feelings but because you crossed a line - you kissed and did all that in his office. That itself is unacceptable; it almost feels like a betrayal to his family, whom you’ll have to painfully say goodbye to as well. 

Mr. Ri visited you yesterday to give you comfort, knowing that you’d choose to go through this on your own again. Jungkook was devastated but was worried about you more than anything, you were told, and somehow that made the decision less difficult but still painful to make. You don’t know if he’ll ever truly understand, especially if finding yourself means letting him go despite the happiness he gives you. 

It’s not everyday you find someone you feel so much for, but then again, human beings are complicated - they can want something and be scared of it at the same time; they can have the chance to have it but doubt it all the same. What you feel for him should be enough to dispel your worries about his sincerity but there’s too much going on in your mind at this point. Right now, you just want to get away. With him learning the truth, you suppose he needs time to process all that as well. 

You’ll miss him though. You’ll miss everything about this place. But you’ll miss him the most. 

Your phone ringing disrupts your thoughts, and your heart races when you hear Jungkook’s voice on the other end.

“Ms. Cho, please come to my office.”

You calm your nerves and find the strength to get off your seat and walk towards him. He’d been expressionless the whole time, and you wonder if he’ll hold off your resignation because it’s terrible timing. Either way, you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come. 

But clearly, you didn’t do so enough, as you’re still left speechless when he holds out an envelope for you to take, the sight of his hands that once held you close breaking your heart again.

“I accept your resignation,” he says, his voice low and firm, his eyes not fully meeting yours. “You have a month until your last day but you have two weeks worth of vacation and I urge you to take them before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” you manage to say, your voice soft and shaking compared to his. “I… I will.”

“And this is your recommendation letter,” he says, handing you another envelope. “You’ve shown exceptional skills throughout your tenure here, Ms. Cho. Everyone you’ve worked with says so, and I’ve seen that firsthand. I’m sure that wherever you decide to work after this, you’ll be another great asset. And my family wishes you good luck in your future endeavors. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

The words are too formal, too professional for your liking, and this breaks your heart even more. But you suppose there’s no other way to do it. You’re the one leaving; you’re the one who pulled away. After everything that’s happened, you’re the one who walked out to find your happiness when Jungkook needed you the most, and you could only hope that one day, he’ll forgive you for it. That he’ll forgive you for all of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in thanks. “I’ve said it all in my letter but once again, I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

You bravely look him in the eyes as he seems to have found the courage to look at you, and the longer you do, the harder it all becomes. 

“Shall I commence the process of finding my replacement, sir?” You ask.

“There is no need,” he replies. “I’ve received approval from my father to have Lucas come in as my assistant effective immediately. He’s scheduled to arrive this week, so you can spend the remaining time you have here turning over everything to him. I will announce your resignation to the team before then. You can also begin the offboarding process with HR so that there are no delays.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon,” you say, the light in your eyes dimming as each second passes by.

“Is there anything else I could do to help you, Ms. Cho?” 

There’s a prolonged moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, his eyes tinged with a kind of sadness that you perhaps mirror, with words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d say that he’s okay, that he forgives you, and that he hopes it didn’t have to be this way. 

He wishes you’d say that you’re sorry for leaving him, that you’ll be thinking about him, and that you hope you’ll find your way back to him again.

You want to tell him that he’s all you could think about, that you’ll miss him everyday, that you’ll search for  beautiful things that are tangible like you said you would, and hope they would lead you back to him. 

He wants to say that he’ll look for you everywhere, that he’ll hold onto every good memory you have together, that he hopes you find whatever makes you happy, and that he’ll wait for you until you realize that it could be him.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and head out the door.

You take your seat and will yourself not to cry. You can’t help it though, even as you press your palms against your ears to drown out the sounds of your own sadness, of your heart’s call of his name even if you’re the one walking away. 

You let the tears fall, a reminder that you’d done this, and that for the first time in your life, you’re crying over losing someone, even if he was someone you didn’t have in the first place. 

Maybe you weren’t meant to have him at all. 

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[six-eyed-samurai]

You can read this as a part II to this fic, or simply standalone. Reader is female and has already started a family with Giyuu.

Tagging: @flogflower otherwise this wouldn't have happened

Tomioka Giyuu was known for being a very silent wallflower, a mysterious man whom no one knew much about, not even the rest of the Hashira, as shown by how they never knew he had a wife until very recently. Usually that worked in his favour, as he hadn’t liked to be hounded by busybodies for his marriage to you or the birth of your first child Koji, but sometimes there really were moments where he wished he was as loud as Rengoku or open about his opinions as Shinazugawa because god damn if he wasn’t fed up with all the people hitting on you.

THE FIRST TIME:

He finally found the time to secretly surprise you by taking you and Koji to that restaurant you were always raving about. You’d always wanted to have a meal with him there and to this day he was still very sorry he never had the time to go. It would be the first time you all would be out as a family and understandably you were very excited (underneath Giyuu’s mask of stone he was as giggly as baby Koji at 3 a.m. in the morning). Understandably Giyuu spent a lot of time planning and perfecting this outing from reserving a table to predicting exactly how much he’d have to spend on dessert (your pregnancy no longer excused your crazy cravings, but Giyuu was long used to it…perhaps not his wallet though).

Understandably Giyuu was rehashing the 101 ways to get rid of the patron flirting next to you. It looked like the first way, aka staring at him intensely in the most uncomfortable way, was not working as well as he hoped.

The audacity! Giyuu couldn’t even savor his salmon daikon now, not when he was fuming so quietly as he was forced to watch the brunet drop hint after hint of his interest in you. When he. Was. Right. There.

The sheer audacity!

…he wasn’t sitting that far from you, was he? Maybe the man assumed you both were strangers? Giyuu slouched in his seat, as unaware of how obviously he was sulking as the man shamelessly hitting on you of your marital status. Koji turned his head up in surprise at his father’s sudden stop at tilting the milk bottle into his mouth, babbling sadly.

Did he not see the ring or something? Giyuu wondered if he should’ve bought something flashier like Uzui had said some time ago. You were barely offering the man a fraction of your attention but even Total Concentration Breathing couldn’t accelerate his heart as much as it did now.

Go away, Giyuu chanted in his head, go away.

“Mamamammamamamamamamamaamam!” Koji suddenly squealed, squirming around in Giyuu’s hold, reaching out for his mother. You turn immediately, cooing at your precious boy. At other times Giyuu would be put out by how his son was choosing you over him, but today he couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching into a smirk when he watched the man’s priceless expression as he handed over Koji to you.

“Pass me the bottle, Yuu.” You cuddle your baby closer, oblivious to the staring match Giyuu was winning between the man and him over your bent head. “Aw, don’t fuss, don’t fuss, Daddy sucks at feeding you, doesn’t he?”

“Hey!” Giyuu’s eyes widened, speechless. You giggle and press a quick kiss to his crumb-stained cheek (Giyuu was rarely one to gloat but he couldn’t resist when he flashed a triumphant smile to the man uncomfortably making some excuse to get up and leave.

“Here, hold him, I need to clean up your face.” Giyuu happily took back Koji and let you wipe at his face, reveling in the tenderness of your gaze. “I swear, Giyuu, even Koji doesn’t make such a mess - it’s like I’ve got two babies to take care of.”

“I thought you liked taking care of me!”

“I do!” You roll your eyes at his indignant expression.

“Mmmm!” Koji cooed and the corner of Giyuu’s lip twitched as he looked down. Saved by his baby to protect his other baby - oh well, better than the plan of extreme torture Giyuu had been dreaming of when that tiny spark of jealousy ignited.

THE SECOND TIME:

He thought that jealous, angry spark was smothered and put out after a week or so went by with nothing else like that happening, but hell was he wrong and like the flames of hell the spark was bursting into.

How the hell did so many people not realize you’re married to him, for goodness’ sake? He wondered. For that matter why did this always happen the moment you handed Koji to him for even just a moment?

Giyuu trailed around you like a lost puppy, pathetically trying to remind you of his existence while you walked around town with your recently reunited childhood friend. After the initial introductions and usual hyped excitement at seeing a cute baby you and Aya had fallen to catching up on what the both of you had been doing for the past years and recounting silly memories. You were so delighted at meeting her again Giyuu had offered to take Koji from you and leave for privacy.

He was content with the bonding time he had spent with Koji, of course, but it was rather spoiled when he returned after the tuckered out child finally curled against him to take a quick nap to find the topic of conversation had turned to one of romance and relationships.

“Your fiance sounds like an amazing man! I’m so happy for you - you better keep your promise of making me your maid of honor!” Out of habit you slipped your hand into Giyuu’s when he sat down on the bench next to you.

Aya giggled, as lovestruck as Giyuu at the moment. “Of course I will! But eh, (y/n)-chan, haven’t you gotten married yet?”

You didn’t notice the slow turning of Giyuu’s head in her direction with a disbelieving face, only to beam and reply. “I am! He’s -”

“If you want I know someone, he matches your personality very well! He’s a close friend of my fiance actually. I mention you a lot to him, to be honest, and he said you sound like a lovely person. If you’re okay with it I can help set you both up!”

“Are you stupid?” Giyuu suddenly blurted out, unable to control himself anymore. “I’m her husband…”

***

“Can you tell Mama I’m sorry for me, baby?” Giyuu sighed, gently nudging Koji away from the edge of the futon. He cocked his chubby head to one side, blinking, then flopped over to wriggle his way closer to Giyuu. “She’s not talking to me but she won’t ignore you.”

Giyuu was dying (from the lack of cuddles). Ever since his childish outburst (a justified defense of himself) that had severely taken Aya aback and caused you to give him the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. He had been banished (sent off to go sleep in the living room) and starved (denied your delicious cooking and made to go find cold soba from a nearby food stall). At least he had one ally left (Koji had no idea what was going on; Giyuu had simply kidnapped him from his cot for company).

“Bwa.”

“Mmm. I’ve already apologized about ten times though. I still can’t believe Aya somehow thought I was just a friend following her though.” It was nice to pretend Koji could actually understand him, though he’d never admit it. “Hey, hey, don’t drool there.”

“Mmph! Bweeeh!”

“Maybe I’ll go buy her flowers?”

“Sssss!”

“Are you talking to the baby, Tomioka?”

Giyuu sat up straight and whipped around fast enough to crack his neck. You stood by the hallway with your arms crossed and lips pursed. Koji giggled.

“…no.” Giyuu frowned. “Don’t call me Tomioka.”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“Not for you.” He looked on the verge of tears. This man really knew how to tug on your heartstrings; you averted your gaze. “It’s Giyuu. Or Yuu. Anything but that. Are you that mad at me?”

“You didn’t have to be so rude, you know.” You crossed the room and sat down in front of him, helping Koji roll over to you. “I didn’t know she didn’t know we were married and that’s is kinda silly of Aya not to notice, but that’s not really a reason to be so insulting.”

“I’m sorry.” Giyuu lowered his head. “…am I not good enough to be your husband?”

“What?!” Your jaw fell open. “Why would you say such a thing? You’re the best thing this world’s ever given me! I love you so much I’d actually choke on air if you’re not there! I’d kill myself if you left me! How can you even say such a thing?”

“Not like that! I’m just -” Giyuu shrugged miserably. “Why doesn’t anybody see that? Is it because I don’t show affection to you a lot? You could do a lot better, everyone seems to think.”

“Giyuu. You’re going to look at me and have what I said drilled into your head.” Well, at least you weren’t calling him by his surname anymore. “When we started going out I already knew what I was getting with you. So what if you don’t feel comfortable kissing and hugging and holding hands out in public? I don’t know any other guy who’d buy me bouquets for no reason, try to cook me my favorite meal when I’m sick, make sure I don’t overwork myself during training. Whether people think I could do a lot better or not is their problem. I’m already doing the best there is, so don’t ever say that to me, Yuu.”

Giyuu definitely was not crying.

“I’m serious, Giyuu. If you do you’ll be sleeping out here for a week.”

“Bwa!”

“And this time I won’t be letting you bundle off our baby for yourself either.” The closeness of how much you were leaning into him and the way you were smiling though said otherwise. Giyuu chuckled, pushing away your hair from your face and pulling Koji onto his lap.

“Can I go back to the bedroom then?”

THE THIRD TIME:

Giyuu was reasonably confident if someone were to repeat this mistake he’d be able to handle like a mature, grown man and not throw another childish remark around.

The universe didn’t seem to think so.

Shinobu had advised you to not go on any missions for the time being, reasons being you should be recovering after Koji’s birth. Giyuu and you were more than happy about that, both having agreed at the start that you didn’t want any babysitters. So for now you were saddled with minor jobs like scouting out an area or mostly, giving extra training to the lower-ranked slayers.

Giyuu was fortunately free that day, so he had decided to go stick around and if nothing else enjoy watching you relentlessly push the slayers into doing better. Somewhere along the way, however, Koji had somehow dropped his beloved stuffed rabbit and to prevent the inevitable temper tantrum and crying fit Giyuu wasted an hour looking everywhere for it.

Finally successful in finding the worn toy and putting Koji to sleep, Giyuu headed off to go find your training grounds.

“(y/n)-sensei is so pretty, isn’t she?”

“She doesn’t look married too.”

“Bet she’ll say yes if I ask her out!”

“You wish! Someone like you, stand a chance with her? Dream on! I’m far better than you, she’d say yes to me for sure!”

“Hah, wanna bet? You sure have an ego the size of Japan to think that.”

Giyuu stopped in his tracks with a scandalized expression on his usually stoic face.

The slayers you had been training were clearly on break. The two he had accidentally eavesdropped on were older than the rest, perhaps around the same age as him and clearly a whole lot cockier. You were too distracted answering some questions from others and calling out encouragement to a group of sparring slayers to hear them…but he did.

He walked in and everyone fell silent.

“Isn’t that the Water Pillar? He looks so scary!”

“What’s he doing here? I’m not going to be able to do well with a Hashira breathing down my neck!”

“Woah, whose baby is that? It looks so much like (y/n)-sensei!”

“Koji missed you,” Giyuu said abruptly, stopping in front of you and ignoring the circulating whispers, handing over your child. You quietly laugh - since Koji was born Giyuu started using him to express his feelings.

“Are you sure it was him or you - mmmph!”

Giyuu took a particular relish in seeing the looks of shock, embarrassment and horror on the two slayers as he yanked you into a heart-stopping kiss and flashed the hand with his ring on it at them.

“You’re done training for the day. All of you are dismissed.” He grabbed your hand, gestured listlessly at the others, and dragged you away firmly.

“Giyuu!!!”

***

He made a special point to invite the two slayers to the Water Estate a couple of months later. They were very pleased indeed to be trained by the Water Hashira himself per personal request! Honorary Tsugoku!

“Why are you both so weak? You move so slowly any demon would eat you before you even draw your sword. Have you not been listening to my wife’s training? If you aren’t, don’t ever waste her time ever again. Even my son could do better than you both.”

There really was something very humiliating about being compared to the cooing, drooling baby pushing around his toys in the corner. Tomioka must really hate them to be speaking so much…

“Well? Get on with it!”

[ghostandsoap]

Feeling You

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Tags: Light smut. Cockwarming. Ghost being a softie. Word Count: 1.0k "Just happy you're here."

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

In the quiet sanctuary of your shared solitude, you and Ghost sat chest to chest, your hearts beating in a rhythm that echoed the symphony of your love.

The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourselves in each other's presence, your souls whispering secrets that only you could understand.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours, blurring the lines between where one ended and the other began. Your breaths intermingled, a testament to the intimacy that you shared. Each inhale was a silent promise, each exhale was a sigh of contentment.

The only sounds were your breathing, heartbeats, and the occasional whimper from you when Ghost shifted his hips underneath you.

Ghost's cock was nestled far inside of you, his tip pushed against a sensitive spot that you didn't even know existed until just now. He stretched your walls so perfectly and sat so comfortably inside of you that Ghost felt high off of it.

You had soaked his thighs and lower stomach, your arousal leaking on and around him. You weren't much better, because your inner thighs were dripping.

The two of you were spending the week together, not a single plan or obligation to be had. Ghost had every intention of staying in and keeping you as close as possible. It wasn't often that he had this opportunity, and he would be a fool to let it pass him by. The week consisted of movies, snacks, cuddles, and just about anything else that didn't require either of you to leave.

The two of you had been lounging on your living room sofa, just watching some cheesy documentary that you both agreed to watch. It was more for filler noise than anything, because the two of you had managed to chat with one another through the entirety of it.

When the film was over, you turned off the TV and your side table lamp to prepare to close your flat up for the night -- however, Ghost wanted just a few more minutes.

This was about an hour ago when Ghost had set you up on his lap. Mainly just because he liked having the chance to look up at you and he loved watching you sit on his thick, muscular thighs.

Frankly though, he hadn't anticipated this.

Somewhere along the way, your cotton sleep shorts and T-shirt were discarded, along with his sweats. Your clothes were tossed aside to be retrieved in the morning.

The two of you had shared some sweet kisses, and all the shifting around prompted Ghost to slide his cock into you slowly when you were wet and ready.

However, Ghost held you still when you tried to bounce on him, which caused you to raise a brow. Ghost was sitting up straight against the back of the couch, holding onto you in his lap like you were his lifeline. It took you a few moments to settle into this arrangement that he was making.

Eventually, the two of you morphed around one another like you were the most perfect fit. Like two pieces of the most beautiful picture.

It was inevitable for you to start squirming though. After all, it was hard to resist him when he was literally right under you.

Ghost groaned and huffed when you rolled your hips forward, one of his hands coming to your hip to restrain you.

"Sit still," He said, kissing your forehead. "I just want to feel you for a bit."

"Sorry," You sighed, head still resting on his shoulder. "Just getting comfortable."

"It's alright, doll..." He chuckled. "Just happy you're here."

Ghost's fingers traced paths of affection on your skin, each touch igniting sparks that danced beneath the surface. The silence returned, filled with the unspoken words of love that hung heavy in the air.

In this moment, you were not just two bodies sitting chest to chest; you were two souls intertwined in an eternal dance of love. Your connection was palpable, a force that defied logic and reason.

As the two of you sat there, Ghost realized that he was living a life he never thought he would ever have. He was experiencing a love that was uniquely his. A kind of love that he once thought he was far too damaged and broken for.

"You're so beautiful," He almost whispered. "My pretty girl..."

You pulled your head back to look at him, your eyes sleepy and cheeks glowing. He loved you so much he could barely even understand it.

"I love you." You remarked, rotating your hips in a way that was more involuntary than anything else.

Ghost couldn't help but let out a low laugh when your grinding down against him was returned with a slow, yet firm snap of his pelvis into you. He knew that this charade wouldn't last long, because one of you was going to crack sooner or later.

"I love you." He returned, his lips meeting yours in a meaningful kiss.

He didn't stop you this time when you started to rock your hips against his cock, the feeling of moving inside of you causing a flutter of his eyes.

He couldn't deny you any longer. He had to let you have your way with him. Truth be told, it was starting to drive him a bit mad anyways.

Your movements along with Ghost's were slow and careful...sensual. He wanted to feel you for as long as he possibly could. He would do this forever and ever if he could.

His cock felt insane inside of you as you fucked him at such a glacial pace. It was insanity because Ghost couldn't believe that he could ever deserve something as good as this...someone as good as you.

The slow rise and fall of your body onto his made both of your hearts begin to beat faster. The two of you craving the other like you were the only source of life.

And in the sound of your shared heartbeat, you found a melody that only your hearts could compose.

[rosequarzo]

the morning after.

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! aventurine + reader reader is gender-neutral established relationship spoiler-free tooth-rotting fluff domestic fluff ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & tba — catalogue

note. i know there are a lot of drabbles out there based on the official art but i wanted to write something for him so yeah... tagging @neuvistar

What was supposed to be a peaceful and undisturbed sleep resulted in Aventurine rudely woken up by the familiar sound of his phone ringing. Normally, he wouldn’t mind since it means he has business to tend to; allowing him to get his mind off some… negative thoughts. But today was different.

Today was his rare off day and he wishes nothing more than to spend the day with his beloved partner: you. Groaning, he blindly reached for his phone, only to be successful after grabbing the air a couple of times. 

He yawns before accepting the call, holding the device near his left ear. “Hello?” 

Aventurine internally winced at how hoarse his voice sounds, due to the lack of water for the past few hours. The speaker started speaking but none of their words entered his mind. The gambler wasn’t in the mood to entertain them and it was by pure instinct with how his eyes moved over to where you were laying. The sight of you fast asleep soundly, without a care in the world and with a serene expression on your face was enough to put him at ease. 

Never in his life had he foreseen himself falling in love with someone. Aventurine is a risky man, always going all in or nothing but when it comes to you, he is willing to take some safety precautions. He doesn’t know how to function without you by his side. The man reached out his left hand, fingers grazing the outline of your face and rested his palm on your cheek. He sniggered when you furrowed your eyebrows, murmuring something under your breath. 

Aventurine couldn’t resist the urge to move a few stray strands of your hair away from your face, gingerly tucking them behind your ear. The way he treats you was as if you were a piece of fragile glass that could shatter into pieces at any given moment. He vows to always protect you and he will keep to his words, even if it means putting his life on the line. For you, he was nothing more than a fool in love. 

“..llo? Sir, are you still there?” 

The voice on the other end snapped him back to reality. Aventurine sighed before replying, having only understood half of whatever they said. “Fine, let’s schedule the interview for today then.”

They exchanged a few more words before he finally hung up. According to what his brain remembered, the interview is scheduled to begin in the afternoon. That means he has more time to spend with you, much to his delight. Aventurine closed the remaining distance between the two of you, pulling you closer and buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

“...How long are you planning to do this, darling?” He murmured, his breath kissing your neck with every word he spoke. 

“Ugh, how did you know I was already awake?” You grumbled, annoyed at how you were caught red-handed. 

“Let’s just say I have my ways. Now, we should get more rest since it’s still early,” he chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss on your neck and savouring the way you shivered slightly at his action. 

“Huh, but don’t you have an inter-”

“That can wait. For now, I want to spend my time with you.” 

[madschiavelique]

headcanons on miguel’s favorite sex positions? 💃

OOOO boi do i have some things to say about this

headcanon : Miguel's favourite sex positions and why with some quotes of what he would say in each situation for the positions

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, mentions of -breeding kink, size kink, soft sex, rough sex, pnv sex, prostate, bdsm. softdom!miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 1,3k

﹫tag list : @fandom-ash

Missionary : ⟢ description : the receiver partner lays back and the giving partner enters from above

listen, he is a simple man that sometimes likes to stick to the good ol stuff

this, and also because he just loves to watch you and how small you look under him

Miguel for SURE has a size kink, like LOOK at how BIG he is

and the fact that he knows he can cage you underneath him simply with his frame makes his cock twitch

also : this one gives him access to your neck and your breasts/chest, and every single position that does so is a must

bonus point for the kinky missionary where he ties your hands above your head while his roam your entire body

plus he just loves seeing you begging, that powerless look in your eyes as you squirm under him makes his eyes burn dark

“I’m going to make you come until you can’t breathe.”

Table-top / Countertop : ⟢ description : you don’t have to do this specifically on a table. Have the giver enter while the receiver sits or lies at the edge of a table, counter, or bed.

this man is devoted to his work, but he is mostly devoted to you

and sometimes he just can’t resist seeing your thigh thickening as you sit down, it does unspeakable things to him (because he is undoubtedly a thigh man, fight me on this)

gotta make some good use of these desks after all

if he really just can't wait for you two to be back to his quarters, he’d 100% make everyone leave the office so that he can just pin you down on the desk and fuck you senseless

once, you almost got caught because you were moaning a bit too loud, and he just pressed his hand on your mouth

“I love your moans nena, but for now you have to be silent.”

you had tried to control your moans better, biting on the inside of your cheek, your lip, or his

“don’t worry, because later, I’ll make you scream”

another way for him to take you that is similar to the countertop would be :

Face-off / the chairman ⟢ description : the giving partner sits on a chair or on the edge of a bed ; the receiver faces them while seated on their lap (for the chairman, the receiving is facing away)

he likes this one because this way he can see you, hold you close to him and still have access to your entire body

he’d spend so much time marking you, everywhere across your neck, breast and back

also the chairman might start because either you or him proposes some cockwarming during his work

“I need you, right now.”

when in the bedroom though, he will go for something similar but sweeter :

the Om/Rocking Horse ⟢ description : the giving partner sits cross-legged, (yoga/pretzel-style), while the receiver sits on their lap facing them. The receiver can wrap their legs around the giver and hug each other

he just loves the proximity of this one, it’s so intimate

how he can hold you in his arms while you go at your own rhythm. You look so good for him, he’s literally drunk on your every expression and moans

he’ll become a full koala, just wrapping his arms around you and kissing your skin tenderly, his eyes full of pure adoration for you

seeing you so close, he is so proud of you and how good you are for him

it’s in these moments that he wonders what he did to deserve to have such an amazing partner

“do you like the way that feels ? Gosh, you should see how good you look right now.”

Cowgirl ⟢ description : the receiver kneels on top, pushing off the giver’s chest and sliding up and down their thighs. The receiver can relieve some weight from their partner’s pelvis by leaning back and supporting themselves on their thighs

ooo boi many reasons

first of all, after a long day, if you want him, you can still fuck him when he is too tired to properly take care of you (this man will crave your body until his last breath)

second of all, the view he has is amazing

seeing you bounce on his dick, his hands grasping your breasts/chest and your hips while you’re rolling them onto him : pure bliss

third of all, this one allows you to manage your own rhythm and your own pleasure just the way you want it

he does also love some alternatives to it

reverse cowgirl for instance is insanely good, seeing your amazing ass lowering on his dick and grazing his lower belly is heavenly. Bonus point for this one if it’s mirrored sex, because seeing your beautiful face while you’re the one fucking him elevates his soul

“use me as your toy all night long”

Leap frog ⟢ description : this is a modified doggy style position. The receiver gets on their hands and knees, then, keeping hips raised, rests their head and arms on the bed.

remember the soft Miguel I told you about in the Om part ? Let’s set that idea to the side, ‘cause he ain’t soft in this one

damn this position makes him want to breed you so bad, because this has a sort of bestial and intense style to it

he can go deep into you, hitting all the good spots while he toys with your clit and drives you from one climax to the other

he will lock your wrists in your back with just one hand while with the other he grips your hair

he loves the feeling of your ass against him, and will undoubtedly grab it full hand or slap it

he might or might not use this one whenever he feels frustrated and needs to vent the tension

“i’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk”

Scoop me up/spooning ⟢ description : both partner lie on their side, facing the same direction while the giver enters the receiver

Miguel, as we can imagine, is the big spoon, and he loves being it

so combining this with sex ? Oh boi that’s a win

also (same as with cow-girl) this is a great way for him to still make love to you when he is tired after a long day because he doesn’t need to use a lot of energy

bonus point about this one : he loves it because, when you’re all done, there’s nothing much left to do but snuggle up and fall asleep in each other’s embrace

“Coño, you feel amazing.”

Mating press / Seashell ⟢ description : the receiver lies back with their legs raised all the way up, the giver enters from a missionary position

as mentioned earlier, Miguel probably has a good ol’ breeding kink

so of course this position is a necessity

he can be all good and deep inside you while you're under him, he might bite your calf

he feels like he looks so much bigger than you in this, and he’ll never get tired of the vision of your eyes tearing up from how deep he’s fucking you

plus, he can block both your legs and arms, completely dominating you and holding you at his mercy, and that excites him very, very much

“Let’s find out how much you can take.”

this one is kind of a bonus :

the snow angel (maybe an unpopular opinion ? i have no idea tbh bhffrgd) ⟢ description : the receiver should lie on their back and have the giving partner straddle them, facing away. The receiver lifts their legs and wraps them around the giver’s back to elevate their pelvis so the giver can enter.

okay this one mostly applies for one single reason : prostate massage

you both might just rarely use this one, because miguel can’t see you nor mark anything than your legs (which he doesn't appreciate), however the possibility that you can finger his ass while he fucks you is an amazing feeling

the way he can bury himself inside of you while you hit his prostate so deliciously makes him moan uncontrollably

“Don’t stop… It’s so good when you touch me there.”

[joelsgreys]

to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky. 

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all. 

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him. 

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm. 

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer. 

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead. 

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze. 

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition. 

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it. 

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world. 

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you. 

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before. 

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments. 

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness. 

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy. 

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie. 

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull. 

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you. 

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright. 

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? 

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again. 

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter. 

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak. 

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right. 

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location. 

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin. 

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks. 

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured. 

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life. 

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him. 

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall. 

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up. 

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-" 

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?" 

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock." 

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs." 

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants." 

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?" 

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all." 

*

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager. 

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously." 

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-" 

Dustin starts squealing. 

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat. 

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?" 

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve." 

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile. 

"Baker boy, hi!" 

Steve's mouth goes dry. 

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone. 

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves. 

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner? 

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?" 

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk. 

"Told you I was the best." 

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-" 

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?" 

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-" 

"We'd love to stay!" 

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy. 

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?" 

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate. 

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite." 

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!" 

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-" 

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor." 

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first." 

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though." 

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail. 

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

[bella-goths-wife]

How would the Vees reaction to their pet falling to stockholm syndrome? Do they loose interest, do they become more obsessive, does this make them act out more to try and gain more control? So many questions!

Yandere Vs reaction to pet reader falling to Stockholm syndrome

Warnings: Valentino, abuse, punishments, verbal abuse, pushing boundaries

I think it all depends on in what way the Stockholm Syndrome presents itself

If it meant that you becoming less hesitant about doing what they asked and being more submissive while still retaining your personality and keeping your humanity in tact, they would adore it

They would instantly become more obsessive over you, because the lack of resistance would mean that they would get more pieces of you than before

They’d get to experience a certain vulnerability with you, and it would make them feel powerful to know what a command they have over you

I mean, you actually look at them with affection now

You’ve accepted your respective role as their daughter figure/pet/personal entertainment

And this would cause many more fights over who could have you for the day

They have an established schedule put in place for you because at the start of you working there, there would be many times when one of them would interrupt you when you were working with another one and steal you away

So they made a schedule that is only allowed to be disobeyed for punishments or emergencies

But after you become less resistant to your role, they’ll all want to spend every moment with you

So one will interrupt another one’s day with you and cause an argument over you

But Vox will quickly fix this by updating the schedule to suit these needs and forcing you to spend more time with them outside of the working hours

However, if Stockholm syndrome caused you to be more submissive while also loosing your personality they would absolutely hate it

Sure they love that your following orders, but your not filling their social or entertainment needs while doing so

They wanted you less resistant, but they didn’t want to completely break you

You wouldn’t fulfil your role as their pet, your just an emotionless puppet who cleans up after them

They will do anything they can to bring out your personality again

At first it was bribing you with things that are seen as rule breaking, such as offering you time outside the tower without them or being let out past curfew

But you didn’t want to leave without them, you said that you couldn’t break the rules

So they started leaving situations for rule breaks out for you to try and coax your spirit back, like leaving food your not allowed to eat out or pushing you to spend alone time with someone they knew you were physically attracted to

But you’d leave the food and always kept it professional with your old crush

So they turned to punishments

They went through voxs punishments, and nothing

And then velvettes, still nothing

And finally Valentino’s punishments, and still nothing

They even did all there punishments combined when they became desperate, but you just accepted it and asked how you could improve your work for next time

They gave up, they couldn’t do it anymore

They still somewhat cared for you, in their own sick ways

So they wouldn’t completely lose interest, your very presence would be enough to keep some interest going

And your useful, so they would keep you around and they don’t move you out from their floor of the tower to the employees floors because they still have some care for you

And sometimes they will all come in for some affection from you, although it isn’t as fun for some of them anymore

Even though your still useful, they keep you around kinda like you’d keep the extremely old dog that can’t care for itself anymore because they were passed on to you

Your just no fun for them anymore, but that doesn’t mean they can’t keep you around for when they feel the need to hurt or hold someone

Tag list so far :)

@buttercupfangirl @the-faceless-bride @lilyalone @repostingmyfavs

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

[jinkookspencil]

Hey, one with jk, he attends a red carpet and saw for the first time to his idol ( this world wide famous singer) and starts fanboying her, and they spend time together, and he asks for his number

i was surprised at how quickly i wrote this since my writing pace has been so incredibly slow and also since i’ve never written idol!jungkook like this before or idol!reader. now i keep resisting the urge to hold it in my drafts and add to it and make it longer >.< i feel like i might be able to maybe continue it?? but idk. thank you sm for requesting, anon!! i hope you like it!

<3

she’s here? | jjk

jungkook arrives at another tedious brand event… only to see his celebrity crush

wc: ~1.8k

tags: idol!jungkook x idol!reader (afab reader) / fluff / one-shot / first meeting / clean except swearing / featuring: kim mingyu of seventeen / mentions: IU and cha eunwoo of astro

The flashing lights appeared before the car had even come to a full stop, and Jungkook was bored already. Sat fiddling with his styled outfit and brand-gifted jewelry, as he began to hear distant yells of his name, he wondered how soon he could leave the event. It wasn’t personal, just another tedious event.

“It’s good you decided to come here,” his manager, Do-yun, says beside him as if reading his thoughts. “It’s been a while since you made a public appearance, you’re contracted to show off your brand ambassadorship and promote the jewelry, and most of all, your album is coming up. This’ll be good.”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook murmurs, ready to disassociate for the next couple of hours while putting on his best smile. All he wanted at that moment was samgyeopsal, karaoke, and beers with Mingyu and Eunwoo… but duty calls. “Is Mingyu going to be here?”

“The PLEDIS team hasn’t answered my text,” Do-yun says. “You’re up.”

The van’s jet-black door slides open and Jungkook is almost immediately blinded by the lights of the cameras going off right in front of him. He’d forgotten just how bright they could be, but thankfully remembered his failsafe sensory-overload tactic: covering up his face with his hands. It was the only way Jungkook could cope, and for once, he thanked his youthful appearance and reputation for making him seem adorable above all else. He adjusts soon enough, as always, strutting down the carpet and showing off his charm, outfit, and accessories. He was able to pick up on one or two of the paparazzi and press’ requests, showing off a finger-heart pose and playfully touching his abs over his outfit, but in an instant, their loud voices fade, and time slows. He can’t hear anything. He can’t see anything… but the beautiful smile he's started to dream of, right behind the clear double doors of the event. Was that really….

“Jungkook!”

He hears that - a call right beside his ears coming from the familiar, booming voice of his own manager, now grabbing his elbow. “Snap out of it. You’re supposed to be in by now.”

Looking around, Jungkook realizes he’d been holding up a line, with a dozen other celebrities waiting for his moment to be over, while the paparazzi continued to cheer, capture, and fawn over him, eating up his ‘adorable spacing out moment.’

“I apologize!” Jungkook smiles, bowing to the celebrities beside him as well as the hundreds of photographers ahead of him, his heart racing as Do-yun and his security team lead him to the double doors. When they’re pulled open, his bubbling anticipation subsides, for rather than the heavenly hallucination he must've had, he sees Mingyu standing before him.

“Gyu!” Jungkook yelps, hugging his best friend, who greets him with the same enthusiasm. “Samgyeopsal and karaoke afterwards?”

“Please, sunbaenim,” Mingyu giggles quietly. “I’m bored out of my fucking mind. I’ve been here for an hour already.”

Unable to wait even a minute, Jungkook brings in both his manager and his best friend into a huddle. “Hey, am I dreaming, or was that _____ I saw in here?”

“She is here, simp,” Mingyu smiles, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively before sticking out his tongue between his teeth.

“Do-yun, you didn’t tell me she would be here tonight,” Jungkook says in a panic.

“I didn’t know. Seems she decided at the last minute, just like you did.”

“Soulmates,” Jungkook whispers under his breath, ignoring the two men rolling their eyes before him. “This is fate. We keep missing each other at these things…. I have to meet her.”

“I’ll make it happen, Kook-ah,” Mingyu smirks, expecting the light shove Jungkook gives him afterward. “For you, I promise. You know we don’t have the same taste in girls. Do-yun, do you know that I never even crushed on IU?”

“You fucking idiot - you know you’re the only idol who hasn’t, right?” Jungkook says. “Anyways, IU was a boyhood crush. This…. she… she’s even better.”

“Oh, shit. Do-yun-nim. This is serious. We need to do something.”

“I don’t know where your team is, Kim Mingyu, but I’m dragging the both of you to meet everyone you actually have to meet here. Then, sit in a corner and chat about pork or singalongs, or mingle with safe people. Men - or female staff only. You know the drill,” Do-yun says sternly. “Best to stay safe even though you don’t really have to worry about sneaky photos - security is tight, and they took all our phones. The only people with their phones are idols and brand ambassadors such as yourselves. Got it?”

The boys nod reluctantly. “Now we know why he keeps missing her at these things,” Mingyu scoffs, and at that, Do-yun quickly places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I’ll make it happen, Jungkook-ssi.”

+

It’d been close to an hour since Do-yun scurried away and mere minutes since Mingyu silently left Jungkook to fend for himself and wish his other members had been invited. He was so used to being glued to his hyungs at the hip, and now he found himself scanning the crowded room for a familiar face.

“Jungkook!” Mingyu’s familiar voice boomed, and Jungkook finds his best friend farther than he’d expected, close to the other side of the room with a wide smirk on his face. Knowing his friend was just as menacing as he was sweet, Jungkook made his way there without any thoughts…

"For your own benefit, I took a page from your book and stopped waiting around for the company’s approval... You're my bad influence, so you are my first bad idea. Thank me or scold me later."

One can never be sure when it comes to Mingyu, so Jungkook nods and allows his friend to grab him by the hand…. silently leading him through the crowded room... to you.

"Do-yun-nim was taking too long. Found her much hotter friend first, and ta-da,” Mingyu quickly whispers into his ear.

In a moment of panic, Jungkook’s idol-wired brain took over, quickly scanning the room for any warning signs - untrustworthy staff or sketchy fellow idols, hidden cameras. It seemed… safe. It was just an innocent meeting, tucked away in a corner of the room… No biggie.

“BTS Jungkook…”

Jungkook couldn’t believe it. Your voice was as sweet as it was in your interviews… But you were far, far more beautiful in real life.

“____!” he cheers. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Me? Coming from BTS’ Jeon Jungkook, wah, I guess I’ve made it then.”

Holy shit, how do you blush so adorably?

“You have made it,” Jungkook says, “And with your own blood, sweat, and tears, too. It’s insanely admirable.”

“You flatter me too much. You paved the way! I hope to one day get to the level where I can quote my own songs too.”

“That… was unintentional,” Jungkook blushes, regretting his choice of words. “But your lyrics are… some of the most beautiful I’ve come across in all my years as an idol. Your latest single brought me to tears.”

“It’s true. It was embarrassing,” Mingyu confirms, ignoring Jungkook’s glare.

“Oh, no, that touches my heart. It makes me feel like an honest artist and a bit proud, actually - not that I made you cry! But that my experience translated into the song like that… I cried every second I worked on the song, actually.”

“Oh no. I hope you never cry a day in your life, _____,” Jungkook blurts. “Don’t get hurt, please.”

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say with a heartwarming giggle. “I have to, though, don’t I? I’ll take care of my health, but I have to live. To live is to cry every now and then.”

“That’s true. Namjoon-hyung says that too - you know he’s the main songwriter in our group, right?”

“Of course.”

“Beautiful lyrics can only come from beautiful people.”

In a failed attempt to hide his scoff, Mingyu scurries off. “Simp," he quickly mutters under his breath. "I’ll go find your friend, ____.”

“Kim Mingyu, treat her well!” you call out with a ferocity that ignites another fire in Jungkook’s heart.

“Jungkook-ssi…. Maybe we can write together sometime?”

“I’m not really a writer,” Jungkook says, not knowing the reason why. A failed display of honesty, perhaps? He has written in the past, of course, for both his own discography as well as BTS’…. A surge of regret floods his system in a second.

“You’re a beautiful person, Jungkook, so by your logic, you must be able to write some beautiful lyrics as well.”

Stunned, Jungkook is unable to respond. Did you just call him beautiful?

“You really are as cute as they say… as cute as I imagined,” you smile. “What do you say?”

Jungkook nods, happily giving you his phone when you ask for it before typing in his number in yours.

“So I can call you?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair away from his face.

“I hope you do.”

You turn your back, ready to make your way back into the event and probably find your friend, but the moment you’d turned your back, Jungkook realizes he hadn’t said enough.

“____?” It takes another moment for Jungkook to muster up the courage to go on once he sees your face again, so he spills out his words the moment they come to him. “I just want to tell you that I… I really respect you as an artist. I always have, and I always will. I can’t say the same for so many of our peers these days, unfortunately, so I felt like I needed to say that.”

“I...... I needed to hear that more than anything else, Jungkook-ssi... Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Thank you," you repeat in a whisper. “I’m also thanking whatever force or higher power made you say that just now.”

“I mean it myself, though,” Jungkook reiterates.

“I know, but it feels like fate that you’d told me that tonight. I’ll tell you the story one day - why I so badly needed to hear that tonight.”

Jungkook nods, exhaling in an effort to hide his astonishment as you walk away in a rush, hiding whatever emotion you were feeling too.

One day.

He’ll hold you - and fate - up to that.

[samiiy20]

How about shower sex scenario with Yunho? Thank you. 😊

I've done something like this before (here), but if it's Yunho I can't resist. This is a little short and I'm sorry for the wait but I hope you like it.

✩ Jeong Yunho ✩

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗲: Smut and a little bit of fluffy. 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Teasing, Masturbation, voyuerism, oral sex, unprotected sex.

masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

It was so exhausting to spend all day outside just trying to survive, but now that you were home you could lie down and rest in your bed, but when you came in you knew you weren't alone. You smiled when you realized that your boyfriend had visited you so you called him.

“Yunho? are you here?" there was no answer.

You walked towards the room and heard the shower turning on, but there was something else. You pressed your ear to the door. You stayed still listening to what was on the other side, making your body tense as you heard him moan your name.

You bit your lips and slowly opened the door without him noticing. You suppressed a moan when you saw how the water fell down his naked body, his eyes were closed with his head towards the floor, he was massaging his cock with one hand while trying to maintain his balance with the other against the wall.

Yunho was lost in his own pleasure, but he had heard your steps and your labored breathing, he smiled and without stopping squeezing his cock he spoke.

"You like what you see?" You were surprised for a split second, but let out a laugh at being caught watching your boyfriend masturbate.

“The little puppy missed me so much that he couldn't wait?” you asked taking a step inside. Yunho looked up watching you slowly start to take off your clothes and nodded without stopping moving his hand when he saw your tits stuck to the glass that separated them.

The cold of the glass made your body crawl, but your pussy was already slippery just thinking about what would happen.

“I need you,” Yunho whispered desperately without looking away. You smiled and finally entered the shower, letting the water fall on you with a warm sensation.

You stood on your tiptoes and cupped Yunho's face, his lips were very close to touching but you wouldn't let him have what he wanted so easily.

“Will you let me take care of you?” Your hand went down his chest until you reached his hard cock that was dripping with precum and you ran your thumb over the tip making Yunho moan.

"Y...yes"

You pressed your lips together at the same time your hand wrapped around his cock and you began to caress him while the hot water ran down his body. Yunho grabbed your waist and you felt one of his hands go up your breasts until he reached your neck where he pressed a little, making you let out a moan and stop your movements on his cock for a moment.

“What's up kitty? I thought you were going to take care of me” You moaned when you felt a light squeeze and you moved closer to kiss him but he pulled away seeing your face desperate to feel something more than his hands on your neck, but he had to bite his lips when your hand started to move faster. "don't stop"

Without paying attention to his words you moved away from his body and before he could say anything he saw how you got on your knees. You grabbed his thighs and brought your mouth to his aching, throbbing cock while you rubbed your legs to relieve the tension in your pussy.

You heard your name fall from his lips as his head lolled back causing the water to run down his chest. You closed your eyes concentrating on trying to get the entire length into your mouth, but you knew you couldn't and you still tried.

Yunho stopped himself from holding your head and thrusting his hips, but seeing you trying to take him was enough to make his cock tremble. You stuck out your tongue and licked the tip of his cock, savoring his load while looking down at him.

You stood up staggering and before you could say anything he pushed your body to the wall and smashed his lips into your mouth, tasting himself in the process. He was desperate, he had been like this all day, he needed your kisses, your warmth, your voice, he needed you.

You felt his knee open your legs while one of his hands found its way to your clit and you moaned into his mouth when he inserted two fingers inside you without difficulty. You clung to his shoulders as you felt him arch his fingers touching your g-spot.

“Yunho…” you pulled away, hiding your face in his chest and he smiled as he felt the way your walls squeezed him “it feels so good… but I need your cock.”

You couldn't speak, his fingers drove you crazy and he knew it. He pressed his lips together and without hesitation took your body, wrapping your legs around his waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head back as he took his cock and ran it through your pussy.

“How much do you need it?” You resisted for a moment, letting him rub the tip of his cock on your clit.

“I… just fuck…” your words were muffled as you felt him push his hips and shove his cock into your tight hole. Yunho let his head rest on your shoulder and bit your skin to keep from moaning.

Without wasting time he began with an accelerated rhythm, pushing his hips until they collided with yours, letting the sound mix with that of the water drops that fell on their bodies.

“It seems like you needed me as much as I needed you, kitten,” he whispered in your ear, “don't you?”

You nodded, taking his hair in your fingers as you lost yourself in the sensation of feeling your pussy filled and your walls squeezing him. You ran your nails along his back and Yunho just groaned as he felt the combination of pain and the burning water on his skin.

Yunho buried his head in your breasts and tended to them, nibbling on your nipples and biting them lightly when he felt the knot forming in his stomach.

Your body was trembling before your boyfriend's thrusts and you knew that he was also close to him when you felt his cock throb but he still didn't stop and continued supporting the weight of your body while making his hips collide.

“Yun… I'm close.”

“Do it kitty… cum on my cock” his words were enough for you to obey him and release the tension in your body making him give you one last push, releasing himself. You cupped his face and kissed him while you felt his warm load inside you.

You stayed together for a while longer until Yunho helped you balance and helped you wash your body. They both joked and kissed for a while longer until at the end of the night they were lying in bed facing each other.

Yunho caressed your lower back while you kissed his neck and played with your legs to press his cock.

“Shit kitty…didn't you have enough?”

“It's just the beginning,” you said, standing up and climbing onto his lap while you took off the sweatshirt he had put on you, leaving your breasts exposed.

“Watch your words or you'll regret it” you smiled and moved your hips on Yunho's cock that had already gotten hard again and you leaned in to kiss him.

"We'll see"

[raribella]

To Say “I Love You” Right Out Loud | JJ Maybank

summary: JJ revisits his childhood and how he grew up with you through every side of life until he finally understands why this makes you so special

pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

genre: fluff, a spark of angst

contains: a combo of “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell and Love Actually (2003), mentions of death and child abuse. John B and JJ are childhood friends in this. I don’t know how to write dialogue. Drug usage (beer, weed).

word count: 6k

author’s note: I was immediately triggered by Joni’s astonishing performance at the Grammy’s and by remembering that the song is in one of my favorite movies. This is my favorite fanfiction I’ve probably ever written and I put so much time and love into this I really hope you like it.

This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters of Outer Banks nor any characteristic of the show. I am writing this story solely for my own entertainment and the marvel or comfort of any readers.

Rows and flows of angel hair, and ice cream castles in the air; and feather canyons everywhere. I looked at clouds that way. But now they only block the sun, they rain and they snow on everyone; so many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way.

College had finally ended. They had finally done it. Against all odds and contrary to the expectations of others, the pogues were finally free to embark on their own paths. And so, they gathered for one last celebration, a bonfire near the Cat's Ass, surrounded by shotguns, snacks, and reminiscing in the familiar feeling of just being together.

Spreading themselves along the space at the Chateau's yard, most of them ended up divided the comfortable water at the tub and the warmth of the fire, their laughter mingling with the sound of running water as they shared stories of what each of them could remember of their time roaming the Outer Banks as this fearless gang; the sentiment of each flashback was being intensified from the time they spent apart. As they were the pogues, it was not like their time together was abruptly interrupted, but the responsibilities and the minor distance happened during college, and they couldn't run away from it's effects; but the memories of those days seemed tattooed into their hearts and minds as they could recall every moment in lighthearted detail.

In a corner of the Cat's Ass, JJ found himself lost in a sea of memories, surrounded by the comforting embrace of his friends. You sat beside him in the water, the coolness soothing against your skin, while Cleo and Pope nestled comfortably at his other side. Outside, John B, Sarah, and Kie laughed and joked, their voices carrying on the night breeze. As he watched them, a faint, nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of JJ's lips, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared history, thinking back on how far they had come. They had started as a trio—himself and the Routledge twins, bound together by fate and circumstance.

The tree of you lay sprawled out on the sand for what seemed like hours, your eyes tracing the ever-changing shapes that danced across the sky. Castles, pirates, turtles—your imaginations ran wild, weaving tales of adventure and intrigue as you watched the clouds drift lazily overhead. At nine years old, you had joined your brother and JJ just a few moments ago, after spending the afternoon at a friend's house watching a Christmas movie, "Love Actually," with her mother.

As you settled into the sand, JJ couldn't resist a playful jab at the movie, dismissing it as a "dumb chick flick." his mind still floated between that child-like distaste of girls and the appreciation of you tagging along with him and John B back then. You swatted at him, your tiny arms barely reaching his chest, but it only elicited a smirk from the blond pogue. It was nice for you to actually share a moment with a nurturing figure at the absence of your own mom, who had just recently left for Colorado. Besides, you had eaten a whole bag of M&M's that she bought for you to share and you really liked the movie, even if it was funny how sometimes Mia's mom would tell you to close your eyes, your ears, or how sometimes you didnt really catch why she was laughing at some weird scene. You just rolled your eyes and brushed JJ's comment off, suggesting the sky gazing then relishing in the opportunity to spend time with him and your brother.

Your days were often filled with moments like this, carefree and full of laughter, the sound echoing against the backdrop of crashing waves. JJ's mother would eventually come to fetch the three of you, ushering you inside for sweet treats and cozy nights spent squeezed together in JJ's tiny room. Or you'd spend hours playing in the grass, watching as the river met the sea, until Big John's bell rang out, signaling the end of another day. You would get home covered in dirt, JJs hair color nearing yours and your brothers, so you would have a nice shower and come out to your dad telling treasure tales and making you hot chocolate.

One day, as Big John finished building a set of three swings for you, JJ's parents arrived. Standing side by side, the couple had brought beer and peanuts to complement what your dad already had inside for the night. That day, you were playing for hours, your small frame struggling to mount the swing until the duo stepped in to help. John B had made a mess while trying to help you hop on, and  JJ stepped forward to push you, but in excited haste, he pushed too hard, and you tumbled to the ground, scraping your knee. As your first cry pierced the air, the adults rushed to your side, JJ's mother soothing your pain with stinging medicine and comforting words.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of JJ, guilt etched on his face as he watched you wince in pain. But your brother nudged him, urging him to shake off his guilt and claiming that this was just a mere blip in the larger scale of the adventure you lived today.

And as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the beach, Luke took charge, setting a bonfire ablaze near the ancient tree in the backyard. The flames flickered casting shadows that stretched out against the sand. You gathered around the fire, marshmallows in hand to be skewered and toasted, laughter filled the air and echoed into the night. The hours slipped away unnoticed, so as the night wore on and the fire burned low, reluctantly, you bid farewell to your blonde friend as he left with his parents.

The life you lived was simple; living in the less fortunate side of the island, you couldnt really enjoy much more than moments like these; the food wasn't fancy, the drinks weren't expensive, your houses weren't pretty and big, so you relied mostly in home made playthings and your own imagination, but you were happy that way; the youthful innocence made all the diferences between you and the kooks be seen with rose coloured glasses, and while in the company of your brother, your best friend, and the team of parents that you saw as guardian angels, it all just seemed warm. It seemed like it would be fine.

One day, though, just as the sky turns cloudy at the end of summer, signaling the onset of storm season, JJ's demeanor shifted, casting a shadow over his usual brightness. At fourteen now, he had been seeming distant and preoccupied at school for weeks, until one day after class, he reached out to you with a heavy heart. Fidgeting nervously, his hands clammy and cold, he confided in you about his mother's illness, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air. Knowing how much his mother meant to you both, he sought solace in sharing his burden with you, trusting you with his vulnerability. "Mumma's sick, I think... been in the hospital for a while now," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't visit because I'm not sixteen yet... I- I wanted you to know, but you can't tell John B." And as you hugged him, you promised to keep his secret, the first one you kept just between the two of you.

And as JJ clung to you and John B in the solemn silence of the cemetery, the stark reality of their loss weighed heavily upon you, casting a shadow over your once bright and colorful world.. JJ's mother's absence lingered like a specter in their home, his father grappled with the weight of his grief, seeking solace in alcohol and spiraling into a downward spiral of despair. The once vibrant hues of their family life began to fade, replaced by the darkness of addiction and aggression. JJ watched helplessly as his father's temper flared more frequently, his outbursts leaving scars both physical and emotional. The sanctuary of their home became a battleground, each day a struggle to navigate the minefield of his father's unpredictable moods.

In the aftermath of his mother's passing and the turmoil within his home, JJ withdrew into himself, building walls around his heart that even his closest friends struggled to breach. He became increasingly unreachable, his once vibrant presence dimmed by the weight of his grief and the scars of his father's aggression. Some days, he would disappear altogether, only to reappear with a purple eye hidden beneath dark glasses, a silent testament to the struggles he faced behind closed doors. And when he did show up, his demeanor was somber, his face etched with a perpetual frown as he rejected activities he once enjoyed. Even cloudgazing at the beach became a source of frustration for JJ, as he lamented the impending rain or the end of summer, his words tinged with bitterness and resignation. As you and your brother looked on, helpless in the face of his pain, you could only watch as JJ retreated further into himself, the vibrant colors of his spirit muted by the shadows that engulfed him.

The tension crackled in the air as you confronted JJ, frustration bubbling to the surface like a storm about to break. "Why won't you just watch 'Love Actually' with me, like, once? It'd help distracting you, y'know!?" you demanded, your voice tinged with exasperation. "You can't keep avoiding fun, JJ. You can't lose hope and light just because things are tough."

But JJ's response was sharp, his tone laced with bitterness. "Those things are for kooks, y/n" he retorted, his words heavy with the weight of his pain. "Pogues can't afford to indulge in luxuries like love and hope. We have to focus on surviving you know."

Your heart sank at his words, feeling the distance between you grow with each passing moment. "If you really look for it, JJ," you countered softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "I've got a sneaky feeling that love is all around. Even for us Pogues." But JJ's expression remained hardened, his walls firmly in place as he turned away, the gap between you widening with each step he took.

John B stepped in a while later, his voice calm but firm as he defended his friend. "He's been through a lot," John B interjected, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of empathy and understanding. "Give him time, he'll come around. I know he will."

But despite John B's reassurances, the weight of your worry and frustration bore down on you like a heavy burden. Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you sought solace in the arms of your father, tears streaming down your cheeks as you poured out your heart. "I didn't mean to be petty," you sobbed, your voice choked with emotion. "But I'm just so worried about how Luke has been treating JJ. I miss him, Dad. I miss the way things used to be." And as your father held you close, comforting whispers soothing your troubled mind, you cried yourself to sleep, longing for the comfort of simpler times and the warmth of JJ's presence by your side.

A few days after the heated exchange, JJ found himself drawn to the familiar solace of the beach. As he laid alone on the sand, the rhythmic sound of the waves echoing in the background, he cast his gaze upward, chuckling at the shifting shapes and colors of the clouds above. Yet, amidst the tranquility of the moment, a pang of longing stirred within him.

Reflecting on recent events, JJ realized that he had begun to see clouds from two distinct perspectives—from the highs and lows of life's tumultuous journey. But amidst the solitude, his mind drifted to an understanding; to how he seemed to have looked at clouds like this from two different perspectives now, from up and down, and still he would recall better colorful and elusive memory of your company. He remembered the joy of pointing out funny shapes at the sky with you and your brother, laughter echoing into the vast expanse. It was a memory painted in hues of warmth that contrasted with the darker shades of recent events. In that fleeting moment of recollection, JJ yearned to return to that moment exactly, to say sorry, at least. And alone at that same beach, he felt like he had a perspective of a future for the first time in a long time. He wanted to see if he truly knew clouds at all, or if there was a new side to it.

JJ was abruptly brought back to reality by Pope's punchline of a memory of his own; he was retelling the story of how he met Cleo at college, and how she wouldn't have passed half her subjects f it wasn't for him. As the group erupted into laughter, he did the same to mask the fact that he had zoned out for a minute, but JJ's gaze instinctively sought yours, his heart yearning for the comfort of your smile. And as his eyes met yours, a warmth spread through him, his thoughts drifting to another memory

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels; the dizzy dancing way that you feel as every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way. But now it's just another show, and you leave 'em laughing when you go. And if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.

At sixteen years old, you had a full understanding of the dizzying, electric sensation that washed over you whenever JJ emerged from the sea, his board in hand. It was a feeling that stirred deep within you, igniting a spark that refused to be extinguished. Yet, despite the intensity of your emotions, uncertainty plagued your heart. You couldn't decipher JJ's true feelings for you; for every significant gesture or word he offered, there was an equal measure of aloofness or distance.

There were moments when JJ's actions spoke volumes, leaving you breathless with hope and anticipation. But just as quickly, he would retreat into himself, leaving you to question whether his affections were genuine or merely fleeting. And then there were the times when he would disappear into the crowd at a kegger, his attention captured by another girl, leaving you to grapple with the ache of unrequited longing.

Fearing the consequences, you kept your emotions hidden from your brother, John B, despite his keen intuition and suspicions about your lingering glances. Instead, you found solace in the companionship of Pope and Kiara, the only other pogue girl. Your friendship with Kiara blossomed rapidly, providing a safe haven where you could confide in her about everything, including the complexities of your feelings for JJ, seeking her guidance and understanding.

In December of that same year, a vivid memory remains etched in your mind—the day JJ was meant to pick you up from work and take you to the Chateau to meet up with the rest of the crew. Kiara had proposed the idea of a secret Santa, with the stipulation that the gifts could only be candy or chocolate—She herself aiming to guarantee that she'd get a bag or two of Sour Patch Kids. As you exited the souvenir shop, clutching your own "Paradise On Earth" cap, you spotted JJ waiting for you by the Twinkie—the van John B claimed would be safer than the bike. With both hands hidden behind his back, you shot him a questioning look. "Hello?" you greeted tilting your head slightly to the side, to which he responded with a playful smile, feigning surprise at seeing you. "Oh, hello ma'am, your carriage is right here!" he exclaimed, extending his arms towards the open door of the van, one hand tightly clutching something that piqued your curiosity. Hopping onto the Twinkie, you couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious object as JJ closed the door and took his place behind the wheel.

During the ride, JJ attempted to coax the name of your secret Santa out of you, but you remained tight-lipped. Upon parking the van at the Chateau, he sat in silence for a few moments, and you studied him intently. "Oh, before I forget," he said non-chalantly, reaching into his pocket and offering you the object he had been concealing—a ceramic lobster adorned with a tiny Christmas hat, clearly crafted by him. "This is for the nativity scene you keep in your room, I just didn't have time to make the other one..." he explained, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he confessed that he hadn't received your name for the candy exchange but couldn't bear to leave you without a gift.

You stood in awe for a moment, marveling at the thoughtful gesture and the evident reference it held. JJ's apprehension melted away as your eyes met his, a radiant smile spreading across his face. "Wait, wait, wait... Are you trying to tell me that there was more than one lobster at the birth of Jesus?" you quoted, teasingly. JJ rolled his eyes playfully, completing the reference with a loud "duh!" his laughter mingling with yours as you stepped out of the car into the moonlit night, making a lighthearted entrance at the Chateau and eliciting a knowing look from Kiara towards John B.

As time passed, you welcomed Sarah into the fold, introduced by John B with starry-eyed affection that spoke volumes of their budding romance. With the dynamic between her and Kiara settled, John B wasted no time in proudly declaring their relationship to the group—a declaration met with hugs, smiles, and lighthearted jokes about not hurting each other.

One day, Sarah suggested a surf trip to a lesser-known beach nestled between Figure 8 and the Cut, its pristine beauty a sight to behold with crystalline waters and powdery white sand. As you surfed the afternoon away, basking in the warmth of the sun, you found yourself sprawled on the sand along with the rest of the group, supporting yourself on your elbows and catching your breath as you watched JJ roll a joint with practiced ease. "I like this shit," JJ declared, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "We can be neglected misfits or whatever, but I love leading this life with you guys. I don't even care about what people think of me! "long as I have a board and you guys, 'm gonna be saying I'm rich... Especially if I have this!" He gestured towards the joint, his words met with cheers from the group.

Your smile started weak but grew as the group cheered. In that moment, you felt a sense of family, and your appreciation for JJ weighed heavily on your chest. Despite the challenges, he had found a way to see life in a positive light, even after Big John went missing. As the wind blew sea salt into your eyes, you turned your face toward JJ. "Yeah, yeah… you know, I keep saying it… but if you really look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that—"

"Y/n, if I hear that quote just one more time!" Sarah interrupted, and the others joined in with her lighthearted protest.

With time, JJ's behavior became increasingly perplexing since after sharing moments like this, he would leave you alone, retreating into the company of the other Pogues with a suddenness that felt jarring and awkward. His focus would shift, his attention consumed by their own banter, leaving you to wonder where you fit into the equation.

It was during these moments of isolation that doubts crept in, whispering of insecurities and unspoken fears that lingered just beneath the surface. Wondering if you did something wrong, you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing as you watched JJ immerse himself in the dynamics of the group, his laughter mingling with theirs as you stood on the sidelines, a silent observer to a world that felt increasingly distant and unfamiliar.

One morning, as you shuffled through the Chateau's corridors, the aroma of breakfast lingering in the air as John B shuffled through the kitchen, you noticed JJ's door ajar. You peeked inside with the intention of wishing him a good morning, only to be met with a sight that shattered your makeshift reality of him. JJ hovered over another girl in his bed, their closeness echoing a betrayal that left you speechless.

"Hey, whoa! Sorry!" His voice softened as he realized it was you, not your brother, at the door. The shock on your face was palpable as you hastily pushed the door closed, shaking your head to dispel the image burned into your mind. Stumbling down the corridor, you muttered a distant "morning" to Kie and Pope, who were still groggy on the couch, woken by the commotion.

Throughout the day, both JJ and yourself moved in a state of flustered avoidance, exchanging glances laden with sheepish guilt. JJ's eyes mirrored the remorse of a caught wrongdoer, but you couldn't summon anger; instead, you carried the weight of hurt and confusion, grappling with the realization that he wasn't yours to claim.

As the day waned and the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Chateau, you found solace on the hammock. With the remnants of the day lingering, you confided in Sarah about the events, the words tumbling out as the weight on your chest grew heavier. The hammock cradled you in its gentle sway as another day ended, leaving you to confront the tangled emotions that now clouded the once-clear skies of your friendship with JJ.

JJ vividly remembered June of the following year, with your birthday fast approaching. Usually, you wouldn't stop talking about how much you loved having your birthday during the summer, and everyone would plan something special to mark the occasion. Kie and Sarah would always get you fancier gifts, like a new top or necklace, while the boys made sure there was a cake to share, probably under the tree lights at another night spent at the Cat's Ass, chuckling at the stupid name JJ had given to the tub.

But this year was different. You and the girls wouldn't stop talking about this idiotic touron, Jeremy, who had apparently flirted with you when you helped him at the store. Now, your attention seemed solely focused on him, much to JJ's annoyance. He rolled his eyes and huffed aloud whenever Jeremy's name was mentioned, with Pope nudging him to keep his cool.

"He's gonna take me to a summer fair," you grimaced, looking into the mirror as Kiara clasped a necklace around your neck. Sarah and JJ hovered on the kitchen counter, Pope sat on the couch, and your brother leaned against the doorframe of your room with a protective frown on his face. John B always believed you and JJ would end up together, and he felt safe with that perspective because he knew and trusted JJ. But that didn't happen with Jeremy.

Across from him, you, Sarah, and Kie giggled with scenarios and provocations, "What if he brings you a giant teddy bear and tries to win you a goldfish?" Kiara teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Sarah snickered. "I can already picture it!"

Meanwhile, JJ fought to keep a frown from appearing on his own face. He was unwilling to let you know how he really felt about the situation, and he avoided giving his jealousy away to his friends. As you exited laughing with the guy in his car—a godforsaken Jeep, for crying out loud—JJ was still unknowingly clenching his jaw, his mouth twisted in a disgusted frown.

Sarah, the only one still outside by now, smiled to herself and snuck up on him before reaching a hand to pat his back. The gesture was meant to silently convey far more than his poisoned mind could grasp at the moment.

He chuckled at that memory; you had to endure a girlfriend of his own during college, and he watched as two or three other guys broke your heart as well—he wanted to go out there and punch them every time, but preferred that only John B externalized that thought. From those memories, he realized he had looked at love from both sides of it with you, from give and take, but years later he wasn't so sure if you'd be keen on the idea of him ever again. JJ turned to you in the tub, whispering, "Where's that lobster I gave you that Christmas?" You were a bit taken aback by his sudden recall but smiled back, mimicking the tone of his voice, "Been keeping it on my bookshelf all year long now."

John B and Sarah were now playfully arguing about the two perspectives from when she joined the group, with Kie tagging along to remind them of how they had to make amends beforehand. It made JJ come back fully into the scene. As he looked around, he realized they were sitting in couples, at least Pope and John B, and he held back a nostalgic smirk at the thought of how his younger self would react to both his old friends now "pussy whipped," stuck in relationships and breaking the "no pogue on pogue macking" rule—he didn't know love at all.

He was different too, at least Kiara said so, coming at him a few days ago before graduation with a whole "you've changed, became more yourself and know how to separate what you went through from what you are, I'm so proud you're opening the surf shop—but please make it eco-friendly" speech. It was nice to look back and realize how his years and moments with the Pogue family kept balancing out all the rest. Now he would open a sick surf shop, Poguelandia flag above it and all, right in the corner from the souvenir one you worked since you were fifteen—he didn't know if you had bigger plans than that after graduating though, but that was an uneasy thought he preferred to ignore.

Tears and fears and feeling proud to say, "I love you" right out loud! Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, I've looked at life that way. Oh, but now old friends they're acting strange, and they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed. Well something's lost, but something's gained, in living every day.

Kiara was the first one to leave, claiming that this was really good and that she knew that with the pogues there were never really goodbyes, but that she had an early morning tomorrow with a sea-turtle project. Then, as the fire died out and the minutes turned into hours, the two couples left as well. Pope and Cleo claimed that they still had to shower before going to bed, and John B only snuggled with Sarah, pushing her towards the house. As the couple giggled, JJ noticed from his peripheral vision when you jiggled your eyebrows at Sarah, but the blonde only winked at you, pointing at the both of you at the tub before turning back. You sighed, distancing yourself from him now that you had more space in the water, and JJ held back a smile as the tree lights illuminated your pink cheeks. At twenty-two, he felt just like a teenager in that moment.

There were a few quiet minutes then, you were looking intently at him, drawing each of his features with your eyes as if trying to tattoo the image of his wet torso on your brain, but JJ didn't notice; he was lost in thought, provoked by being alone with you again. JJ realized that ever since he could remember, even though your brother was his de facto best friend and even as the group grew larger, you were there. For every phase and every belief that each one etched into him, you were there. As he looked at both sides of life, at win and lose, you were right beside him, either winning and losing as well or just supporting him emphatically through it.

Somehow he could always just recall how his pogue life acquired a rose-colored filter with you in it; he'd recall life's illusions with you at his side. You were there. You were it. And he didn't know his next step at all, but he wanted you in it; ached for it even.

He feigned cold as an excuse to get you both out of the tub, grabbing the one towel thrown onto a chair and wrapping it around you as you exited as well. He threw a familiar, amicable smile in your direction to disguise how he was, again, lost in his own train of thought. A hand rested on the small of your back as he led the two of you to the Chateau. As you got to the front porch, the other reached for your pulse gently, trying to stop you from entering. JJ became conscious of how he was dripping onto the wooden porch, but he didn't care, calling you by your nickname in a low voice. He was acting fast, planning something but also acting instinctively, intending to speak just from memory.

"Hey, uhm..." he stopped himself again as your eyes locked onto his, growing a little bit nervous now. Your eyebrows shot up expectantly, and some of your hair was sticking to your wet face. You'd be the death of him.

"With any luck, by next year, I'll be going out with one of these girls..." Your brows pinched, and eyes flashed with recognition as JJ shuffled his phone, some drops falling from his hair onto the screen before he turned it in your direction with a picture of Kendall Jenner and sliding his finger so it would also show one of Giselle Bündchen. You laughed, gulping expectantly.

"But for now, let me say, without hope or agenda, just because we finished college— even though it's at Christmas that you tell the truth." You chuckled again, but felt like you were hyperventilating, unable to believe that this was really happening to you. Much less that JJ Maybank had memorized a scene from the "dumb chick flick" you obsessed with since you were a mere child. You battled with your own feelings as you tried to let him finish.

"To me, you are perfect, and my wasted heart will love you until you look like this..." He shuffled again with the tiny screen, a smirk on his face as he turned it to you. A photo of a very old and wrinkly woman made you chuckle. Under it, it read "former surfer lady turns viral as she advises to the risks of not wearing sunscreen." You couldn't hold the cackle that left you at that, not even worried about the rest of the group sleeping inside the house, which made JJ smile widely as well.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, I love you..." A loud sigh met a sob halfway as you looked up, feeling pounds lighter after saying so naturally something you had been burying for years, feeling absurdly proud of just that. "I love you so much, what the fuck! I've loved you forever." You beamed at him again, relief written all over his face as he said it back proudly. "I'm sorry for the wait; it wasn't on purpose—Swear it." He grabbed both your cheeks as you laughed, smiling from ear to ear as his face etched closer to yours by the second. Your noses were touching already when he whispered in a low tone, "fuck, y/n..." as your mouths glued together longingly.

The world seemed to fade away as your lips met, a rush of warmth spreading through you as if the sun had risen inside your chest. JJ's touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as his hands cradled your face gently, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. Every moment felt like an eternity as you lost yourselves in the kiss, the taste of saltwater, beer and weed mingling with the sweetness of the moment.

For JJ, it was as if everything he had been holding back, every unspoken word and hidden feeling, was finally pouring out into this one embrace. His heart raced in his chest as he kissed you, his mind buzzing with the realization that he had found something truly precious in you. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a culmination of years of friendship and longing finally coming to fruition.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, JJ's eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that took your breath away. In that moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. You had crossed a threshold together, stepping into a new chapter of your lives filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a future together. And as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that this was just what you wanted; like you were made for just that.

"I don't even want to come inside, I don't wanna-" you said, sighing mid chuckle, "don't wanna do anything right now, God, JJ, I'm like in a haze!" He clung to you, chuckling, his hands going to your arms, your neck, your hair—he wanted to touch all of you. "Always have the hammock..." he suggested, and you rushed your way there as if just walking would make you lose any time with him.

After you spent a while staring at the stars in the sky, listening to the chirping of crickets in between small, sloppy kisses, JJ sleepily muttered "I feel like I'm fucking high right now," you both laughed "like I'm floating—life accomplishment kind of thing." you swatted at his chest, lightheartedly telling him to stop being silly before readjusting in the wet towel that served as a blanket for the two of you.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you drifted off to sleep, the sound of the river running to meet the ocean lulling you into a state of contentment. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the warmth of JJ's embrace and the soft rhythm of his breathing. It was a moment of pure bliss, a fleeting glimpse of perfection in an imperfect world.

The warm rays of the morning sun gently kissed the faces of the sleeping pogues as they stirred awake, the sounds of birdsong filling the air. Stretching and yawning, they emerged from their makeshift beds scattered across the Chateau, the pull-out couch and matresses on the floor.

As they gathered outside to clean the space free of empty cans and wrapping paper, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, John B's gaze was the first one to fall upon the sight of JJ and you nestled together in the hammock, still fast asleep. He nudged Sarah first, but soon a collective smile spread across their faces as they exchanged knowing glances, a silent understanding passing between them.

"About time," Pope muttered under his breath, eliciting chuckles from the others.

John B grinned, looking at Sarah. "Looks like our boy finally made his move."

Sarah rolled her eyes playfully. "Took them long enough," she teased, but there was genuine warmth in her voice.

Kiara smirked, crossing her arms, she showed a satisfied facade even though she was jumping inside, bubbling with happiness for the both of you; the sparkle of her eyes being hard to hide. "Well, better late than never, I guess."

With a chorus of laughter and gentle ribbing, the pogues left JJ and you to enjoy your moment together, the feeling was that their little family had just grown a little bit stronger. You had woken up the moment the front door banged back against it's frame as it closed the first time, but feeling JJ's chest under your head, you decided to just keep your eyes closed, fighting a grin to show on your face at your friends' commentaries. You were home. And you only wanted to know life now if it was by JJ's side; especially if he'd be scratching your hair like he was doing just now, half a smile on his lips—"Did I take that long?" he questioned, jokingly.

"A lifetime."

If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love, actually, is all around.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky

Word Count: 2366

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background/minor themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

1. Lemon Cream Tart (with Pistachio Streusel)

“Oh, baby, yes.”

Mary grunts, annoyed that this is still going on.

Her pleasure waned a while ago, nowhere close to orgasm, and she can’t seem to get it back when she’s being fucked this hard. She’s getting too dry now, just wants him to come and have it be over with. 

“Yeah,” she says breathily, canting her hips up against where the guy—Dennis, she thinks it is—is fucking into her. He’s going too fast, pulling out too far,and hardly connecting with her body at all before thrusting again. “Jackrabbit sex,” she calls it in her head.

“Shit, Ugh. M’gonna cum,” MaybeDennis grunts. 

It’s nice to finally hear him talk. He’s been virtually silent this entire time and Mary’s whined and squirmed and panted, wishing that the sex was better and that he’d just fucking say something to her—something low and quiet in her ear, something confident and knowing, maybe putting a hand on her neck at the same time as he—

“Fuck!” he shouts, close to her ear. His thrusts start to stutter, losing their rhythm as he gets close. Mary grips him harder, and moans loudly like she’s getting close too. It makes him come, and she tenses her body and matches his sounds of relief with some of her own. It’s performative and easy to fake, she doesn’t overdo it, and she sounds convincing.

MaybeDennis groans and collapses against her, resting his sweaty forehead on her shoulder for a moment before pulling out. He flops over onto his back, chuckling tiredly and removing the condom. Mary watches him get up from the bed and pad into the bathroom. He’s a good looking guy, with just a little too much fat in the midsection for her taste. But then, she knows she’s overly picky, especially considering the state of her own body.

Beyond the open bathroom door, the toilet flushes, and MaybeDennis peeks his head out from the bathroom. “Hey, you mind if I grab a shower before heading out?”

Mary resists the urge to grimace and smiles tightly instead. “Nope. Go ahead.” She’s just grateful he isn’t asking to spend the night. “Towels are in the closet.”

MaybeDennis smiles. “Thanks.”

After he leaves, Mary gets her vibrator out of the bedside drawer and shoves the extra pillow between her legs, arranging the toy so that it sits against her just so. She doesn’t think of MaybeDennis as she gets herself off. The orgasm feels good but leaves her feeling bereft afterwards. She scowls and wipes the tears from her eyes, feeling just a little pathetic.

Like most other nights, she gets up and goes to her apartment’s little kitchen, grabs the vodka from the freezer and pours herself a glass mixed with diet soda. She winces in relief as the first sip goes down. It’s eight o’clock now. She doesn’t have to be up for work until seven, so that leaves at least another six hours to get drunk and have a nice relaxing evening in. 

It’s her favorite part of the day.

Bucky’s just left the gym after a really intense workout and is feeling pleasantly worn out and relaxed when he decides to try the new coffee shop on a whim. He’s passed it by for months, and when he finally walks through the front doors he’s pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere. There’s a small dessert case next to the register, which he examines while he waits his turn in line. It’s filled with colorful, glossy, artful little pastries that look almost too pretty to eat—almost. He grins as he thinks about what Steve might want.

“Welcome to Angie’s, what can I get for you?”

The greeting sounds mechanical and anything but chipper, and Bucky’s attention shifts to the woman behind the register. He eyes her up and down, noticing both how pretty she is … and how worn down she looks. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her eyes look red-rimmed. They have faint circles under them. Bucky offers her a sympathetic wince. “Late night?”

She blinks at him, unamused. “Yeah, I guess. Do you know what you want?”

“These pastries all look so good,” he says, trying again for friendly. “What would you recommend?”

“Any of ‘em. They’re all good.”

“Are you sure?” he teases.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” she deadpans. “Since I make ‘em.”

Bucky looks back to her, impressed. “Yeah?” He regards her nametag, sees the little handwritten “Mary,” and thinks, aw, that’s cute. He reins in his reaction. Leaning against the counter, he praises, “Well you’re very talented. They all look like little works of art.” 

(They’re priced that way, too. $8.99 for a shiny little dome thing? Jesus.)

Mary blushes and smiles a little, not seeming to know what to say to that. But she leans towards Bucky too, receptive to his compliments. She’s not making eye contact, which automatically gets Bucky’s instincts perking up. Not that he has any intention of taking this anywhere. It’s just a little friendly banter, a woman reacting to him in a way that’s naturally satisfying for Bucky. “Thanks,” she says shyly.

“I’m still waiting on that recommendation, Mary,” he says, inserting a bit of flirtation into his tone. She makes eye contact at his use of her name, her lips parting just the barest bit and her pupils expanding. Bucky grins, leaning closer. “Hm?”

“Uh, the … the lemon tart is very good,” she says. “If you like lemon. Not too strong. I balance it out with cream and some pistachio streusel, and the meringue on top of course …”

Now that she’s closer and is talking more readily, Bucky catches the faintest whiff of alcohol coming off of her. He raises an eyebrow and looks at her more closely, noticing how there’s a sheen to her eyes, how she doesn’t look just tired, but unsteady; not just unkempt, but disheveled. He frowns. Is she … is she drunk? “Um,” he hedges, pulling back to stand straighter. “Are you okay, Mary?”

She looks surprised at the question. She glances down to her nametag, then back up at him. “I’m … fine,” she says. “Just tired.”

“You kinda smell like booze,” he whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear. He gives her a searching look. “Are you hung over?” Her eyes widen in alarm and Bucky frowns, concerned. “Are you drunk?”

 “I told you that I had a late night,” she hisses. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Bucky gives her a warning look for her tone, and the girl is immediately lowering her eyes. Hmm. Not many people are dominant or submissive the way that Bucky is. It’s considered disordered, so he doesn’t usually play around with testing people this way. But this girl has raised some of his telltale red flags, and he’s curious. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Honey,” he says gently. Then, inserting a careful amount of authority into his voice and watching how she reacts, he says, “Now: I’d like an almond venti chai latté with stevia and cream, double-frothed, to-go. And why don’t you be a good girl and grab me two of those lemon tarts as well? They look too tempting to resist.” Her eyes flick up to his, some strange mixture of outrage and obedience in them, and Bucky feels like he knows, then. She looks the way a woman looks when you’ve just whispered something filthy in their ear. Bucky raises his eyebrow. “Did you get that, Mary?”

“... Yes,” she breathes, making something deeply innate in Bucky stir. She shakes herself out of her stupor and gets to work with a sharpie and venti-sized paper cup.

“Bucky,” he tells her, as he taps his card to the terminal to pay. “That’s the name you can write down.” Mary looks inordinately pleased at having been given his name (another clue). Bucky nods over to the other end of the counter. “I’ll be waiting over there.”

“Okay,” she says, once again back to not meeting his eyes. She seems embarrassed at having been found out for being drunk at work. Maybe she expects Bucky to scold her. He wishes he could. Instead he goes down to where he said he’d wait, and makes up his mind to ask her about whether she’s on the spectrum.

“Here you go,” she says as she hands over the cup several minutes later. “Bucky” is written in neat, sharp letters on the paper sleeve. She pushes a little white box across the counter at him too. “And the tarts.”

Bucky takes them without comment, eyeing her up and down instead. “Mary?” he says, because subs love hearing their names said aloud. Predictably, her eyes snap right up, alert and bright, like Bucky’s just dangled catnip in front of her nose. He offers her a kind look and delicately ventures, “Have you ever been assessed on the D/s spectrum, Honey?”

“What?”

“The D/s spectrum?” he repeats, keeping his voice low because he’s still not trying to upset her. He can see the moment that her brain clicks over in recognition, because her irises flare and her face slackens in shock. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky reassures gently. “I don’t mean any of this in a negative way. I just think you might be on the spectrum. I’m familiar with the signs. And if you’ve gone undiagnosed all this time … well that’d explain it if you’re struggling, you know.”

“I’m not … I’m not struggling,” she stammers.

Bucky gives her a look. “You don’t think so? When here you are, sleep deprived, drunk at work?” 

Embarrassment stains her cheeks within seconds. “How dare you? I am not.”

“Not drunk? Or not submissive?” 

She blushes even harder, jaw working. “I’m not,” she repeats stubbornly.

“Oh, Honey,” Bucky says, and he reaches for her hand before she can pull it back. He circles her wrist with his fingers, marveling at how tiny it is in his hand. He squeezes—and proceeds to watch her eyelids flutter like he’s touched someplace far more erogenous than her wrist. “I think you are,” he murmurs sadly. 

It takes her a minute, but she gets angry again and yanks her hand away, scowling at him. “You’re very rude,” she says. “You can’t just say stuff like that to people.”

“Can’t I?”

Her lip quivers. She pushes the box further across the counter at him. “Take your stuff and leave.”

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” Bucky says. “It’s okay. I’m diagnosed dominant, you know. I understand what it’s like.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying: I’m not going to judge you. I think you should probably get some help, though. It’s pretty progressive if you don’t address it.”

“You don’t even know me!” she hisses, then looks around the shop nervously when she realizes she’s gotten louder. Nobody seems to be paying attention to them, but she still looks back at Bucky with a furiously embarrassed expression. “You're wrong. I’m normal.”

Bucky knows that arguing with her isn’t going to get him anywhere. Instead, he slips the paper sleeve off of his coffee cup and plucks the sharpie from the edge of Mary’s apron. She gasps at the boldness of it and he shoots her a wink. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, as he jots down a number. He hands the sleeve back to her. “You can call that number any time, if you wind up needing help.”

“Oh my god, is this some sort of come-on?” She sneers. “Newsflash: I’m not interested in you.”

Bucky nods placidly while imagining putting her over his knee. “No, it’s not my number. It’s a hotline you can call. To talk about this stuff. It’s free and confidential, and it’s manned by people like you and me.”

She regards the cardboard sleeve like it might suddenly have more information written on it. “I don’t—”

“Here.” On a whim, he jots down his cell number as well, this time on the back of his receipt. He slides it over the counter at her but she doesn’t take it. “That’s my number,” he says. “If you want it.”

“I don’t need these. I’m not some friggin’—”

He cuts her off from whatever undoubtedly prejudiced thing she’s about to say. “I’ll be back to give a thorough review of the tarts,” he tells her, taking the box and his coffee cup and stepping away. He heads for the door, satisfied that he’s done the right thing by this woman, even if his dominance is still urging him to do more. “You should have a coffee, yourself,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Have two, even—Strong ones.”

“I hate coffee.”

He hears her scoffing at him as he goes out the door. She’s right, he thinks: he doesn’t know her. It was ballsy to talk to her the way that he did. To presume her situation from just a few reactions. He could’ve been wrong about her … 

Glancing back through the café’s window from outside, he sees her making a drink at the espresso machine. There are no other customers waiting in line. Bucky watches as she takes a sip from it, winces in distaste, and takes another sip anyway. She’s obeying his command. She took it as a command. Bucky smiles sadly from out on the sidewalk. He wasn’t wrong about her. Hopefully she’ll call the hotline, get started on the right path to fix whatever’s going wrong in her life. But even though Bucky’s a dom and thus a natural “fixer,” he can’t solve every sad case he comes across. Especially when the person doesn’t want to be helped. He’s done all he can do, and that’s going to have to be enough.

Shaking his head, he turns away and starts off for home, sipping at his—excellently made—latté, and feeling grateful that he got help when he needed it, back when he was young. He’s one of the lucky ones. 

He puts Mary the drunk barista from his mind, thinking instead about how he needs to get home to shower and change into something nice. He’s got a date with Steve, after all.

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card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

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[kazvha]

Hi! May I request alhaitham x reader? Alhaitham reacting to reader bringing home a bunch of kittens and taking care of them.

Take ur time with this! And can it be fluff?

Notes: Hi, thank you for your request! Hope you enjoy<3

Summary: Having cats with Alhaitham

• Man, Alhaitham was really annoyed when you first showed up with three random kittens

• "Where did you even get them from?"

• He was against keeping them because the cats would probably get in his way, disturb him when he's reading, and even mess up his precious books

• But it was you he was up against. He knew he couldn't resist you and your pleading

• "If they break one thing, you have to take them back immediately, alright?"

• So, although grudgingly for Alhaitham, your life as cat parents began:

• At first, you had to take care of all the responsibilities alone

• Alhaitham wouldn't help at all and ignore the kitties. Every time one walked into the room he was in, he would simply sigh, shut his book and leave the room

• However, he slightly warmed up to them every single time he saw you playing with your little friends and how brightly your face lit up

• "Huh- Haitham? Is something up?" "No, it's nothing." He disappears into his room before you can see his red ears.

• So, he gave them a chance for your sake

• One day he was, as usual, reading a book in his room, and one of your cats was walking in. Instead of leaving, he observed how the pet was snooping around aimlessly until it finally settled down on his lap

• He had to resist the urge to shove it down and kept staring at it

• When he saw that the kitten fell asleep, he returned to his book

• His hand began carefully to pat the back of the little fellow and Alhaitham realized that maybe cats aren't bad at all!

• After this wholesome moment he started to open up to the cats: Alhaitham offered you help when you fed them, tagged along when you were buying cat stuff, and sat beside you while you both played with them.

• He did throughout research about cats' needs, their likes, dislikes, behaviors, etc.

"Did you know that cats spend 70% of their life sleeping? They sleep like 13-16 hours a day."

• Your lock screens are pictures of each other with your cats

• When you are washing the kittens, Alhaitham holds them while you soap them up

• Sometimes when you come home, you witness Alhaitham following the cats around:

"Little beasts, here's no point in running. Come back here." He blocks the escape route of the kitties.

"Hah, I got you."

It was fleeting, but you catch the smile that Alhaitham has on his lips for a few seconds.

You decide to make yourself known. "Looks like you made some new friends."

The man scoffs. "I never said I don't like them."

• It became a normal thing that the cats join you two on the bed. They either rest between you two or are spread around the entire bed

• That all being said, Alhaitham would do his best for the kittens<3

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A FRESH START [21]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: description of injuries, language, spoilers for S3 The Mandalorian, death of minor original character, self defense leading to homicide, groping of reader by stranger (not described in depth)

Word Count: 10k+

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i am so sorry this took so long i know y'all have been waiting all day for it. work was so hectic and i was so frazzled and it's been a long day hah. i know the tags at the bottom aren't all working right and i'm sorry about that but tumblr kept being a bitch and i was gonna lose my mind. speaking of taglists, i am closing AFS's taglist. anyways, hope y'all enjoy!]

#21: MADE OF THE RIGHT STUFF

.

"no one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear." -c.s. lewis

.

The Armorer had been a constant in Din’s life. She was a staple piece of the covert⏤ a figure of mentor ship in his upbringing. He had always greatly admired her, and her opinion meant a lot to him. It was why hearing her call him ‘Apostate’ had stung so badly. Coming from anyone it was a blow, but having the Armorer cast him away had been devastating. Being able to come before her, prove his redemption, and have her reinstate him had been a  sweet moment. If Din were a smart man he would’ve left it at that and been on his way. However, Din was a stubborn man. A stubborn man who would not leave this rock until he got what he wanted come hell or high water.

“She is an outsider.” The Armorer spoke in Mando’a. 

“Yes, but⏤”

“An outsider that you ask me to stoke the forge for?”

Din kept his entire body still to hide his nerves. “Yes. That is what I am asking.” The Armorer did not reply further. She stayed silent, seated by the forge with her hands laid in her lap. Din spoke up again, unable to resist. “She is made of the right stuff. The virtues of a Mandalorian. She may not follow the Way, but she understands it⏤ respects it.”

“You wish to court her?” The Armorer asked and Din gave a firm nod. “Have you presented her with a token of intention?”

Din thought to the blaster he had gifted you. Typically, a token of intention would be a weapon of some kind created for the intended. However, the blaster had once been his and it did not have his signet on it. Plus, it had been given to you while he was an Apostate. It did not count. “No. I have not.”

“This forge is for beskar, and I do not make weapons⏤”

“I am not requesting a weapon.” Din said firmly. He knew beskar was for armor. It was part of the reason his spear had been melted down to create Grogu’s chainmail. Din already had a plan for his token of intention. That was of no concern to him. “I am requesting a set of bracers with my signet.”

The Armorer’s head gave a slight tilt and he wasn’t shocked by her surprise. She rose from her seat and her hands clasped behind her back as she spoke. “You have yet to present this woman with a token of intention, yet you are requesting a token of ridduurok?”

“Yes.” Din replied. He knew how it sounded. Din was not blind to the weight of his request. However, it wasn’t as if he planned to present this to you the moment he returned. He was going to take his time, court you properly, and let you control the speed at which this relationship would move. Din was a man who was sure of what he wanted though, and he knew that was you. He had known that for quite some time now. There was no one else in this galaxy for him. People were constantly referring to you as his wife, and he always corrected them, but more than anything he wanted to be in the position where he did not have to. Din wanted it to be true. “I am sure of my decision and wanted to bring this decision to you sooner rather than later.”

“And if I refuse?” The Armorer pressed.

“I…” Din swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands clenched tight as they rested on top of his thighs. “I would be disappointed, but it would not stop me. She is who I want. She is… She is who I love.”

The Armorer hummed in response and it gave him no clear picture on where the figure head stood on this decision. She made the motion for him to rise from his seat. Din pushed up and tried to hide the tension in his frame. She finally spoke, but it was only to motion to the door and speak on a different topic. “Take your boy to the training yard. We will speak again.”

Din bit back a sigh and gave a tense nod. Well, it was better than an outright no. He turned on his heel to go find Grogu. As he walked, he lifted his vambrace to try and call you. Hours earlier you hadn’t answered, but Din assumed that meant you were busy in the clinic. It happened sometimes. Just as before, the signal did not pick up on your end and his steps came to a slow pause. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut. You were busy. His mind was jumping to the worst case scenario, but you were probably just busy. He forced himself to keep walking. Din would try again soon.

Your ears were ringing, and you felt like you were trapped in a fog. There was a tugging on your arm. You lifted your gaze to try and find the source. Nima. It was Nima. She stood by your side, eyes wide in panic, as she screamed at you. She screamed but there was only the ringing. With a final tug, she dragged you up to your feet and the world snapped into focus.

Sirens. A siren was blaring and it mingled with the sound of explosions as fire rained down from the Corsair in the sky. “We have to go!” Nima screamed and your eyes snapped to her. “Come on! Move!”

Nima was pulling you down the road as the two of you got lost in the crowd of other panicked citizens. The smell of smoke burned your nose and you could feel the heat of various burning buildings as you passed. Your head was throbbing and with every step your vision would blur for a second before shakily coming back into focus. The flow of the running crowd picked up speed and panic as another bomb fell not too far away and your hand slipped out of Nima’s. You heard her scream out your name, saw a flash of her pink skin as she tried to jump and spot you, but she was swept even further away.

Someone slammed into you from behind and you went sprawling. Get out of the way. Get out of the way. This was a stampede and you needed to move. Unable to get to your feet quick enough you threw yourself to the side beside some rubble so you weren’t trampled.

While leaning against the rubble, you tried to catch your breath. Your arms were covered in the dust being kicked up into the air, but no immediate wounds. Hesitantly, you probed at your hairline and winced when you found a tender spot. Pulling your hand back your fingers were coated in a shine of blood. 

“Shit.” You breathed. That explained the concussion. 

Most of the crowd had passed and you glanced around to figure out where you were. The school house was up ahead which meant if you kept pressing down the street you’d reach the lava plains. With a grunt, you tried to jog forward⏤ in the distance behind you, the sounds of deep, excited yelling spurned you on. As you were passing the school the sound of a muffled scream brought you to a screeching halt. You paused, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart and the excited yelling getting closer. After a beat, there was another scream. Fuck, the schoolhouse. 

Your eyes darted to where you could see the edge of the city. Din would be so mad at you. You could almost hear his voice at the back of your mind barking for you to get the hell out of Nevarro. The scream came again and it sounded young. All you could picture was Grogu, scared and hurt, trapped in the rubble. That made your decision for you. If this had been your boy you’d want someone to stop for him. You sprinted into the school house and scanned the destroyed classroom. The back corner had caved in from a bomb. 

“Hey!” You yelled. “Can you hear me? Where are you!?”

“Here!” 

That was Wynn’s voice, Grogu’s teacher, and it sounded like it was coming from the space behind the pile of rubble. You hurried over and scanned the pile for a spot you could pull away. Wynn was making calming noises to a sobbing and hysterical child⏤ that’s who had screamed. You wrapped your fingers around a block and pulled it back. The large chunk of concrete shifted just enough that you could get down on your knees and crawl through. 

All of the rubble had blocked off one of the small back cubbies where the children would keep their bags. There you found Wynn, uninjured but covered in dust, clutching a familiar child in her arms. Elodie. You tried to bite back the gasp that threatened to leave you. 

“Hey, sweetie, it’s okay.” You said softly and crawled closer. “Do you remember me, Elodie?”

She sniffled, “You’re⏤ You’re Gro⏤ Grogu’s mommy.”

“That’s right.” You nodded and shifted so you sat right beside them both. Elodie’s blonde hair was covered in soot and you could see bright red blood on her shirt. Jaen and Dayen were probably out of their minds with worry. Maker. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Her arm.” Wynn mouthed.

Elodie was crying once more, and you reached forward to carefully touch her. Elodie let out a scream of panic and you tried to whisper reassurances. “It’s okay, it’s okay, sweetie. I’m gonna make it better.” You pulled her right arm away from her body as it had been cradling and covering the left one, and as soon as you did you felt the blood drain from your face. Still, you kept your features neutral. Her left arm was broken, her pale skin discolored in ugly shades of purple and red, and the bone itself had pierced out of her skin. That’s where the blood had come from.

“The other kids were out for recess. My assistant got them out, but Elodie had come back in to use the bathroom.” Wynn shook her head. The gentle woman was trembling. “I couldn’t move the rubble and hold her.”

You gave your pockets a pat, but the only item you had on you was some medical tape. “Dank farrik.” You muttered. “Wynn, where’s the school’s first aid kit?”

“Out by my desk.”

You spun and crawled back out of the rubble to find the kit. If the kit was up to date then you’d have the supplies you needed for a temporary patch job. It didn’t take you long to dig the kit out of the desk, but it was then you noticed the explosions had stopped. Everything had stopped save for the hooting and hollering in the distance. Shit. You raced back to where Wynn and Elodie sat.

“Alright, sweetie, I want you to look at Ms. Wynn, okay? Just her.” You said. You met Wynn’s gaze and she seemed to understand what was about to happen and nodded.

“Hey, honey.” Wynn spoke softly and shifted so she could hold Elodie’s head to face her. You dug through the kit while the teacher spoke calmly and kindly to the little girl who was still crying. The first thing you did was grab the medgun which was loaded with pain meds and punched the needle into her arm without warning. Elodie’s crying grew worse and you hit her with the needle twice more. Three doses was just below what would be too much for a girl her size. Then you grabbed the bacta spray and began to coat the open wound with it in thick layers. 

The numbing pain meds seemed to be working as her sobs turned to hiccups, but she was not going to like this next part. However, the sound of the attackers was growing closer which meant you were running out of a window to do this. You set one hand behind Elodie’s elbow and grasped her left hand with your other. Wynn saw the motion and held onto Elodie tighter. You gave her hand a sharp tug, drawing the bone back into place, and the scream that left Elodie’s little lips was haunting. It only lasted a second before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she went limp.

“Elodie??” Wynn cried.

“She’s okay.” You checked her pulse and breathing. “The pain just overwhelmed her.” 

Quickly, you grabbed the gauze and wrapped it around her arm along with the collapsible splint to keep it from moving. The sound of a deep laugh while someone kicked around items made you and Wynn freeze. You carefully closed up the kit and motioned for Wynn to pull Elodie to the side and even deeper into the pocket you were trapped in. 

“I liked this place better when it was a bar!” A voice barked out and other men laughed. You were hearing at least four voices. “Look at all this shit!” The sound of furniture being tossed around made you wince. “Where’s Beetl with the liquor!?”

It sounded like they were settling into place and you mentally cursed.

The three of you were going to be stuck here for longer than you liked, and you just prayed Elodie stayed unconscious. 

Din was getting nervous. So much so that he couldn’t even enjoy watching Grogu beat Paz’s son in a sparring match with darts. All he could think about was the fact that he wasn’t getting in touch with anyone from Nevarro. You still weren’t picking up his calls, and now he couldn’t get in touch with anyone else either.

He had to go back. 

“And you’re going to take Grogu with you?” Bo Katan questioned.

“He goes where I go.” Din replied. Grogu grunted in agreement from his arms while Bo Katan shook her head in disagreement. He had told her a quick good-bye and to explain to the others where he was going. Din had a sinking feeling since this morning that he just couldn’t shake.

“Djarin⏤”

His vambrace chirped as a message came through and Din let out a breath of relief seeing Mayfeld’s name. Din shifted the call to his helmet. “Mayfeld! What the hell⏤”

“We got trouble, boss.” Mayfeld blurted. His voice strained. “King Gorian Shard is here. His Corsair is raining fire down on Nevarro. We evacuated the city and⏤”

“Soran.” Din blurted your fake name, the one you still went by. “Where is she? Is she alright?!”

“I’m sure she’s fine⏤”

“You’re sure??” Din barked. “You have eyes on her?! Mayfeld! Do you have eyes⏤”

“I saw her and Nima running out of the city when this all started.” Mayfeld snapped, the sound of blaster fire filled the other line before he spoke again, “We’re trying to keep the pirates away from the citizens, we’re out in the lava plains⏤” Din felt like he was going to be sick. That wasn’t enough. That wasn’t enough reassurance for him. “Mando!? Mando, are you listening!?”

“I’m coming. Just keep them safe. Please get Soran to call me when you see her.”

“It might be tough. The Corsair is jamming our communications. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you this entire time but⏤”

The call cut out and Din was already moving. Bo slid into his path and he nearly bowled her over to get past. She held her hands out and forced him to a stop.

“What is happening?”

“Nevarro is under attack. Gorian Shard brought his Corsair and his men have infiltrated the city.” Din snapped. “Now move⏤”

“You can’t just go there alone.”

“Get the hell out of my way.” Din’s hand drifted to his blaster.

Bo let out a slow sigh and tilted her head. “Think, Djarin. What do you think you’ll be able to do on your own? You’re out gunned on this. You need back up.” Logic told him that she wasn’t wrong, but every fiber of his being was screaming for him to shove past her and get to the N1. “You’re wasting time here with me.”

“I know!” Din yelled, frustrated. “So get out of my way, Bo.”

“The covert is a community, is it not? A family?” Bo questioned. “You have some of the finest warriors in the galaxy here, yet you want to go to Nevarro alone?”

Din was shaking. A mix of anger and fear. Grogu tilted his head up to gaze at him, wide eyes filled with concern. His son may not have fully understood what was happening, but he knew something was wrong. Grogu chirped, “Ma?”

“I get it. I do. But how much can you help this girl of yours if you run in blind and get yourself killed?” Bo pressed. She shook her head. “You drive me up the wall, Djarin, but I know you’re not a complete idiot. Think for a second here.”

With a frustrated huff, Din spun on his heel to find the Armorer. With every step he took, Bo on his tail, Din prayed to the Maker, and any other deity that may be listening, that you were somewhere safe. He was coming for you. Din would tear through any person who stood in his way. He just needed you to hold on a little while longer.

Apparently, the pirates had decided to make the schoolhouse their new cantina. Never mind there was literally a cantina filled with drinks right in the middle of the city they could use. New voices would come in and out, laughing loudly and blindly firing their blasters, while you and Wynn stayed silent. Hours had passed. As unlucky as this entire situation seemed, you were thankful that Elodie was still out cold and that not a single one of the attackers was curious enough to dig through rubble.

You leaned your head against the wall and tapped on your communicator uselessly. It was dead for some reason. Maybe the attack had something to do with that. None of your calls were going out and if someone was trying to call you then it wasn’t coming in. You let your arm fall to the side and glanced over to see Wynn gently running her fingers through Elodie’s hair in a soothing pattern.

Poor Jaen and Dayen. You hoped they were alright and out in the lava plains with everyone else. If you were in that situation, stuck outside the city while Grogu was trapped Maker knows where? There was nothing that would keep you from racing after him. You’d claw the face off anyone who tried to stop you from searching for him. Despite knowing that fact, you still hoped someone was holding them back. The last thing you wanted was for something terrible to happen to them.

A loud crash made you and Wynn jump. You shifted so you sat between the only opening out into the main room and the little girl. Wynn wrapped her arms tighter around Elodie. Laughs followed the crash and it seemed like you were still safe⏤ for now. This wasn’t going to last. You couldn’t just sit here and pray a miracle happened. All it would take is one noise from the three of you or one of the pirates getting nosy and that would be it. Game over.

The light that had been streaming through the hole in the ceiling, created from the rubble, had disappeared hours ago. As night settled over Nevarro this could be good or bad news. If you were lucky then with the darkness the pirates would drift away to sleep and give you three a chance to make a run for it, but if you weren’t lucky then even more people would drift into the school house to drink. Based on the setting, you were not having a lucky day and so far it seemed none of the men drinking were slowing down quite yet.

A soft whimper made you stiffen and you saw Elodie begin to squirm in Wynn’s arms. Wynn’s gaze met yours in a panic and you began to quietly dig through the first aid kit again. You couldn’t expect the young girl to stay completely quiet with an injury like that. There were a few more doses of pain medication. You hated the idea of giving her more than the recommended dose, but as long as you kept an eye on her vitals. Risk versus benefit. In this scenario, there was more benefit than risk currently. 

You pressed the needle into her upper arm and moments later her features evened out. You let out a breath of relief and leaned your head against the wall once more. This was a waiting game and that was your least favorite situation to be stuck in. With a slow breath, you let your eyes close for just a moment.

“Soran.”

A soft hiss made your eyes snap open, to see Wynn trying to grab your attention. You felt dazed and you were now lying on your side. You had closed your eyes for only a second, but the lighting had changed. It was still dark, but the dim glow of dawn could be seen through the ceiling’s hole. You pushed up and winced at the headache still lingering behind your eyes.

“Shit.” You mumbled quietly. “How long was I out?”

“Through the night?” Wynn whispered back. “I was worried. You were out cold.”

“Elodie?”

Wynn shook her head. “Still sleeping.” You turned your head to try and listen out for the main room. It was mostly quiet now, but there was still an artificial glow peeking through the rubble’s cracks. “I think most fell asleep, but they’re still out there.”

You shifted and reached out for Elodie. “Take a break, Wynn. Get some sleep.”

She nodded without much argument and you could see the exhaustion in her eyes. You wished you had woken earlier. It didn’t take long for Wynn to lay down and fall asleep herself while you curled Elodie in your arms⏤ careful not to jar her arm. Holding her made you miss Grogu, but you were thankful he wasn’t here. If anything ever happened to him you don’t think you’d survive it. Him or Din. That was a comfort you could take in this. Neither of your boys were here to possibly get hurt.

They were worlds away⏤ safe.

Maybe an hour had passed when Elodie began to murmur and move against you. You held her tighter to your chest and whispered that she was safe with you. A whimper left her lips and you winced. “Elodie, sweetie, you’re okay. I need you to stay quiet for me.” You whispered. Her bleary eyes blinked open and you ran a hand through her hair. “It’s me. You’re safe with me and Ms. Wynn. Everything is okay.”

“I want my mommy and daddy.” Elodie began to cry. You buried her face into your shoulder to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

“I know.” You mumbled into her hair. “I know, sweetie.”

Elodie cried for a while, but it slowed to harsh and tired breathing. She was awake and clinging to you with her good arm. You continued to run your hand through her hair and murmur how brave she was and how proud her parents would be. This seemed to marginally calm her. 

The sound of shuffling grew closer to the rubble and you felt your entire body stiffen⏤ on edge. It didn’t seem like he was looking for anything and moments later you heard the sound of peeing off to the sound of the rubble. Your nose scrunched in disgust but you supposed it could be worse. The man began to talk to some others and you listened as closely as you could to try and count the number of people in the room. As the glow of dawn spread across the sky, you really needed to get out of here. Elodie was stable, but she needed proper medical care.

Wynn woke up when you hissed her name and you shifted the little girl in your arms to her. They both stared at you in alarm as you crawled slowly and quietly toward the rubble blocking you in. As you got closer you laid on your belly and shuffled closer. You were low enough to be able to peek through the entrance, but you stayed as far back as you could to remain out of sight just in case one of the men was facing the rubble.

“How long do we gotta stick ‘round here?” A man scoffed. Someone threw a bottle and you heard the glass shatter with a wince. “Can’t we go?”

“You wanna tell the King what to do?” Another snorted. “Be my guest, idiot.”

A third man chimed in and they seemed to go in circles. Three in total then? Unless one was quiet, but you sincerely doubted that. It seemed like every soul that swung through here couldn’t keep their mouth shut. You crawled back deeper into the pocket to settle beside Wynn and Elodie.

“We need to get out of here.” You whispered. “I have a plan. I’m going to distract them⏤”

“Wait⏤”

“⏤and while I do that, you’re gonna take Elodie out the back and use the alley to get Elodie to the lava plains. It’ll be a straight shot. Just stay off the main street.”

Wynn shook her head. “This is dangerous. You’re putting yourself in an awful situation. Maybe we should just stay.”

“We’re tempting fate just by sitting here, and Elodie needs further medical care.” You argued. “This is our best bet.” Wynn still didn’t seem convinced, but you had already made your decision. In your career, you needed to rely on gut calls. Instinct. No time for hesitation. It was best if you did this now before more men showed up. “I’m gonna make them chase after me, and as soon as they follow you need to take Elodie out the back door. Do you understand?”

Wynn nodded after a moment. “I do. Just please be careful.”

Before you could lose your nerve, you crawled back toward the rubble entrance and tried to listen and figure out where each man sat. If you had to guess, you’d say they were on the other side of the room which worked in your favor, and the front door was a straight shot. The issue would be going from on your knees to running without tripping over or being shot. Once again, you heard Din at the back of your head telling you what a reckless and stupid idea this was. That was always a good sign, right?

You sucked in a sharp breath, waited until you heard the men burst into laughter, and then pushed out. It all moved in a blur. You stumbled over your feet, trying to get off your knees, you heard the men shout in alarm, but you kept moving. They were jumping up, yelling at you, but you pumped your arms to sprint faster toward the door. You took a sharp turn right out the door and ran down the street towards the city’s center⏤ away from the direction Wynn and Elodie would need to go in.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw three men following. Good. Your plan fell apart when you turned your head to see where you were running only to collide into a firm body that sent you sprawling to the concrete ground with a grunt.

You tried to jump up, but a boot pressed down on your chest keeping you pinned on your back. A thickly built Twi’lek stared down at you with a sickening grin. His skin was a dark shade of purple and you could see an injury on his side that stained his clothes with blood.

“Well, well,” The Twi’lek hummed, “Aren’t you just adorable?”

“Oh, come on, Kiff.” One of the men who had been chasing you complained. “We saw her first!”

The Twi’lek, Kiff, shook his head and glared at the men. “Is there a reason you left a civilian alive? You had strict orders.” He drew his blaster pointing it at the men first who shuffled back a step and then he pointed it down at you. You stiffened, your hands gripping his boot, and he just smirked down at you. An excited anticipation glowing in his dark eyes. This man was looking forward to killing you. “Any last words?”

“You’re going to die.” You blurted the first thought that came to mind. His face furrowed at the threat, but you shook your head and pointed at his side. “That injury. I’d guess you have an hour at most.”

“It’s nothing. I was just grazed. Not even bleeding anymore. Nice try.” He huffed.

You were lying through your teeth, but he didn’t look like a man who knew much about anything. You kept your voice calm and firm. “I can see the bruising from where your shirt is torn. It’s not bleeding externally anymore, but you are bleeding internally. That’s where all the bruising is from.” He swallowed once and you kept on. “Right now, I bet you feel fine. Barely hurts. Give it another half hour and you’re gonna be in agony. Look at me.” You motioned down to yourself. “You think I’m wearing these scrubs for the fun of it? I’m a doctor, you ass.”

“Then I guess that means you know how to fix it.” He spat at you. Kiff put his blaster away and reached down to snatch you off the ground. You were barely on your feet when his hand clamped around your throat painfully tight. You clawed at him, trying to loosen the grip, but he didn’t even flinch. “Fix it. Now.”

“Clinc.” You gasped. “I need⏤ Clinc.”

Kiff threw you aside and you sucked in as much air as you could while trying to stay on your feet. The other pirates were still watching as Kiff buried his hand in your hair and held on like a leash. He leaned forward to press his lips near your ear. “Lead the way, bitch.”

It had taken hours too long to get to Nevarro. Din was thankful for Bo, thankful for his covert, as they agreed to help, but as his ship entered Nevarro’s atmosphere and his eyes landed on the smokey and still burning city beneath a monstrous Corsair, Din lost his breath. You were down there. You were in that mess.

“Ma? Ma!” Grogu was slamming his hands on the N1’s window. Din scooped the boy up to bring back to his lap and tucked him under his bandolier as a makeshift seat belt. 

Bo’s voice came over his comm unit, checking in to see if Din was still on board with the plan, and he was forced to agree. She was going to drop a unit of Mandalorians down to the city streets to fight, but it was up to him and Bo to take care of King Gorian Shard’s ship. As he got near, he saw a group of civilians nestled out in the lava plains. Were you there? You had to be there. Din could not wrap his mind around any other situation. 

“Let’s get this done.” Din barked gruffly over the communication line.

The sooner he burned Gorian Shard’s ship to the ground, the sooner he could find you.

The clinic was in shambles. Most of the structure itself looked intact, but a group of pirates must have ran through to scavenge for supplies because everything was sloppily tossed around. The hand tangled in your hair was roughly pulling, making your scalp ache, as you let him shove you forward into the main clinic space. You had a plan. It was a very, very bad plan, but that seemed to be the theme of the last 24 hours.

“Well, get to work then.” Kiff threw you aside before climbing up onto one of the cots. You straightened your posture and tried to steel your nerves as you approached him. He stared at you, eyes following your every moment, as you reached out to peel his shirt up. You pretended to examine his skin. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Depends.” You muttered⏤ your throat felt raw from his grip earlier. 

Kiff’s hand trailed down your side until it reached your backside. He kneaded his fingers over your ass, groping and pulling you closer, and it took all your strength to keep a steady face. You knew he was looking for a reaction. 

“I think you just wanted to get me alone.” Kiff hummed arrogantly.

“I need to grab the cautery.” You said and turned to walk toward your desk. He slid off the cot to grasp your hips and you felt a terrifying chill run down your spine as your skin crawled in disgust. “You should stay seated.”

“I think I’ll follow along.” Kiff leaned forward and you tried to ignore him as you continued toward your desk. He follow only half a step behind, large hands groping where he could reach, and you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck. When you reached the desk, your shaky hand reached for the top drawer. Kiff leaned into you, pinning you between his hips and the side of the desk, as he chuckled. “I could fuck you right here, right now. How’s that sound?”

A while back, Din tried to convince you to carry the blaster he gave you on your person at all times. You argued that a doctor shouldn’t be walking around locked and loaded. Din didn’t love your argument, but the two of you settled on a compromise. You wouldn’t wear the blaster on your hip, but you’d keep it within reach at the clinic. 

Your hand wrapped around the blaster’s grip, your finger clicking off the safety as Kiff was distracted by feeling you up, and without pause you spun and fired. He was so tangled around you that the shot only clipped his side, but it was enough to make him grunt in pain and stumble back. 

“You bitch!” He roared.

Not giving him the chance to say anything further or even to reach for a weapon, you fired again. And again, and again, and again. Your finger pulled the trigger over and over. Even after the fourth and fifth burned through his chest and he lay on the ground with blank eyes, you fired more. In fact, you didn’t stop until the blaster overheated and slipped from your shaky hands. If anyone deserved to die it was a piece of shit like him, but you had taken an oath to do no harm. You had lost patients before, that was the nature of medicine, but you had never deliberately taken a life before. 

Nausea rolled through your body as the stench of burning flesh met your nose. It was familiar to you, but only through procedures and operations. Never like this. Never caused by your hand. Panicked, the voice at the back of your head, the one that sounded like Din, pleaded for you to pick up the blaster and run. You wondered how hard you had hit your head yesterday to be hearing his voice like this. You picked up the blaster with trembling hands and hurried out of the clinic.

Lava plains. You needed to get out of this city. 

The sound of a firefight was filling the air as you began to sprint down the street, but a very familiar sight sped by overhead in a blur. The N1. Your feet came to a screeching halt. Din. Din was here. Din had come. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in relief. You were still in the midst of a war zone, surrounded by fire, smoke, and danger, but just knowing that Din was in the vicinity came as an incredible comfort. Stumbling forward again, you tried to send out a call through your communicator once more, but it still seemed dead.

Just keep moving. Din was here now which meant everything was going to be alright. Just keep moving.

You had made decent progress down the road when the sight of a familiar body filled your view. Wynn. It took a beat before you rushed to their side. Wynn was lying on her chest so you cautiously flipped her over and a soft groan left her weary lips. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the significant wound decorating her abdomen. A blaster shot. Her dress and skin were charred from the heat of the blaster fire, but it clipped deep enough to hit an artery. That was the only explanation for the amount of blood you were seeing and the continued steady ooze. You applied pressure to the wound, to try and stop the bleeding, and Wynn didn’t even whimper in pain. Her just fluttered.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” You said, trying to convince yourself more than her.

“Elodie…” Wynn gasped.

“Reinforcements are here. You just gotta hang on⏤”

“She ran. I told her to run.” Wynn pushed the words out. “They ambushed us. I⏤I tried⏤ I tried to hold them back.” You pressed down on her abdomen harder. The blood seeping through your fingers. You bit down hard on your lower lip and tried not to cry out at how useless you felt. You knew the odds of this injury, you were fighting fate currently. “Find her⏤”

You shook your head. “I will. I will, but I have to take care of you first. You’re bleeding⏤” Wynn’s shaky breaths came to a stop as you watched the life leave her eyes. “No, no.” Frantically you felt for a pulse and when you didn’t find one, you began CPR. Desperate. Was this your fault? Maybe you should have stayed in the school house. Had you made the wrong call? After three short rounds you fell back on your heels with a shaky gasp. “Wynn?”

Her unseeing eyes stared blankly up at the sky. Tears were rolling down your cheeks again and when you tried to swipe them away you felt her hot blood, still fresh on your hands, smear across your cheek and you gasped. You tried to use your scrub top to wipe it away. 

Elodie. You had to find Elodie. Wynn’s blood was on your hands, figuratively and literally, but you had to save Elodie. You gently closed Wynn’s eyes, whispering an apology, and stumbled away. The blaster was back in your grasp and you were desperate.

“Elodie!” You yelled. Not giving a single damn if the pirates heard you. The sound of blaster fire echoed down the streets just as it rang in the air overhead. “Elodie!” You were weaving in and out of buildings as you were able and peering down any alley you passed. “El⏤”

The heat of a blaster bolt screamed past you only narrowly missing you. You threw yourself to the ground as more fired in your direction. The pile of rubble you hid behind took most of the blows, but you could hear the yelling of your attackers growing closer. Shit. Shit. Shit. Blindly, you lifted your hand to try and fire a few shots of your own, but if it made contact with anyone you didn’t hear it do so. You tried to scan the region, looking for an escape, but the two paths you saw involved running out into the open. You wouldn’t survive that.

Right as you began to try and force yourself into accepting the terrible decision of making a run for it. Louder, rapid blaster fire filled the air and the attackers screamed  briefly before it all fell quiet. Someone had killed the men firing at you. The enemy of your enemy was your friend right? Hesitantly, you peered around the rubble and the sight of Mandalorian armor made you jump back out into the street.

The Mandalorian, a large man in armor decorated in shades of blue, carried a black turrent and it swiveled toward you at the sound of your approach. You held your hands up in surrender. “Please! I need help!”

“The path is clear.” The man barked out in a deep voice and motioned down the street. The direction you knew would take you to the lava plains. “Go.”

“No, I⏤ There’s a child lost here.” You rushed to stand in front of him. His broad frame towered over you. You had always thought Din was a large Mandalorian, but this guy may as well have been a building with legs. “I need help finding her.”

“I will seek out the child. You leave the city.”

“I’m not leaving her behind.” You glared at him.

He stiffened and maybe you had just gotten good at reading Mandalorian body signals from Din, but you could tell this man was glaring at you through his helmet at your disobedience. “This area is not fully secured. Leave the city and I will⏤”

“You can’t kill pirates and search for a little girl at the same time.” You snapped. “I’ll stay and we can⏤”

“You will go⏤”

“Look at me!” You barked out with the same confidence you used to command any other emergency you had encountered. The Mandalorian looked taken aback at your tone. You kept your shoulders tight, solid, then spoke in a firm voice that gave no room for argument. “I am going to find Elodie, and you are going to mow down any pirate that gets in our fucking way. Do you understand? This is a team effort. I am not leaving that little girl behind. So either you help me, or I do this on my own.”

The Mandalorian was fuming at you. At least, that’s what you were assuming based on the silent gaze he was burning down into you. This was not debatable. You lost Wynn. You would not lose Elodie. Over your dead body would anyone hurt that little girl any further. Finally, the Mandalorian blew out an irritated sigh and bobbed his head down the street.

“Move then.” He ordered.

You pointed down an alley to the left. “I’ve already been down that way. We need to cut here to search further.” 

Without waiting for his response, you marched down the alley. Only a second passed before a heavy hand clamped down on your shoulder and roughly dragged you back. The Mandalorian scoffed. “I have the weapon. I stand in front. Understand, wero’ika?”

“Fine.” You replied. You recognized the sound of Mando’a but didn’t know the word he used. It didn’t linger long in your mind though. The two of you were pushing down the alley and despite the Mandalorian telling you to keep quiet you continued to yell out Elodie’s name. More blaster fire, getting closer, made your heart pound even harder in your chest. “Elodie!”

“I said you need to⏤” The faint sound of a response only barely reached your ears and you shushed the Mandalorian. “Did you just⏤” You shushed him again and tried to listen. His next word came out in an irritated growl. “Wero’ika.”

“I hear her. I hear Elodie.” You blurted and sprinted past him. 

His thundering footsteps stayed only a step behind you and the Mando’a words he was spitting out under his breath were all the curse words you had heard Din use a time or two. You came to the edge of an alley, right where the blaster fire was loudest, and the Mandalorian shoved you behind him once more just in time for a bolt to bounce off his beskar covered chest. Your eyes frantically scanned the street and it took you three times before your eyes found the little blonde girl tucked in a ball and sobbing as people fired over her head.

“There!” You took a step forward to try and peer out but the Mandalorian yanked you back barking something out in Mando’a. “I wasn’t gonna run out there yet! I was trying to see if there was a path I could use to get to her.”

“I will lay cover fire and you will use that time to get to the girl. Do not,” He emphasized the command, “Leave that spot until I come to you.” You nodded once, but he did not budge. “Speak. Do you understand me, wero’ika?”

“Yes! Yes, alright!”

The Mandalorian grunted once in approval then he stepped out of the alley. The black turrent he was holding open fire and the red bolts leaving it rapidly was a sight to behold. So shocked by the weapon’s range of destruction you paused until he barked out at you. Elodie. Right. You sprinted out of the alley and made a beeline for her hiding spot. The Mandalorian was firing to your right, where the pirates stood, but to your left was a wall of Mandalorians. At least three of them. Had Din brought an army of his kind?

You slid to your knees beside Elodie, setting the blaster down, and wrapped your arms around her. She screamed and squirmed, but you held on tight. “Elodie! Sweetie! It’s me! You’re safe!” You yelled over the loud blaster fire. “You’re alright!”

Her wide eyes, filled to the brim with watery fear, landed on your face and she began buried her face in your chest with sobs. Elodie’s injured arm was still wrapped up with the splint but blood was seeping through the bandage once more. You could barely understand her through her cries.

“Ms. Wynn⏤ She⏤ We⏤”

“I know, sweetie. You’re okay.” You tried to reassure her even as your stomach flipped at the mention of her teacher’s name. “Come on.” You scooped her up into your arms and she wrapped her right arm around your neck in a death grip. “Keep your head down, Elodie. Alright? Don’t look up. Just close your eyes and keep your head down.”

You felt her nod against your shoulder and shifted so you’d be crouched down, out of range, but ready to go when the Mandalorian got to you. Big Blue, as you were so kindly referring to him in your head, was still firing at the pirates but was making steady steps in your direction. The other Mandalorians continued to drift up to add to his onslaught and when they stepped side by side with him, Big Blue peeled off to rush to you. 

“Up!” He grunted, and you didn’t hesitate to listen to him then. With Elodie in your arms, you rose up and Big Blue spun you around to march toward the city’s edge and away from the battle. He kept his body pressed close to your back and every once in a while you’d hear him grunt as blaster fire pinged off his beskar. 

The three of you shifted around a mess of debris when suddenly a pirate jumped into your path. Big Blue reacted quicker than you did and he spun the both of you around so his back was acting as a shield once more. You fell to your ass, with him draped over you in protection, as the pirate rained blaster fire onto the man. On more instinct than thought, you let go of Elodie with one arm to grab the blaster tucked in Big Blue’s holster and after flicking off the safety you rapidly pulled the trigger blindly. It took multiple bolts before you heard the pirate cry out in pain and the attack ended. Big Blue glanced over his shoulder and once pleased with what he saw he shifted off of you.

“Mirdala, wero’ika.” Big Blue grunted with a nod of approval. You held his gun out to him which he took and re-holstered then he reached down to bring you back onto your feet. The sound of an explosion made you both jump in alarm, but it came from the Corsair overhead. You watched in shock as the smoking vehicle began to careen into the side of the mountain Nevarro City was nestled against and go up into fire and ash. “Come.” Big Blue pulled you to his side to try and get you moving again. “We still need to get you both to safety.”

As Big Blue guided you through the streets and the sight of the lava plains came into view, a breath of weary relief left you. The Mandalorian next to you caught you off guard by setting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

The fight was over. Your brain supplied familiar words that Din had said to you once before.

The danger has passed.

Din was frantic. After landing the N1, and leaving a crying Grogu with Peli, he began to rush through the throngs of civilians looking for a familiar face. Looking for your face. As the seconds ticked by fear gripped him tighter and tighter. What if he had been too late? What if you were still in the city? Shoving past people, more roughly than he probably should have, he finally spotted someone who could point him in the right direction.

“Vanth!” Din barked and rushed to where the man was seated on a makeshift cot. He looked worse for wear. One arm was wrapped in a sling and dried blood was splattered in his hair on the right side of his head where a line of staples held together an ugly gash.

Vanth’s bloodshot eyes glanced up and at the sight of Din he shakily rose. “Hey, brother. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are you alright?” Din asked and after Vanth nodded, in the same breath, he added, “Where is she?”

Din didn’t need to clarify who. Vanth swallowed roughly and let out a haggard sigh, “I don’t know, Mando.” His blood ran cold. “Last I heard, Mayfeld is on the search for her. I got put out of commission pretty early in the fight.” Vanth winced with every breath and word spoken. “Little doc junior, Aayla, has been patching everyone up best she can since…” 

Since you were missing.

“The fight is over now. Anybody hiding in the city will start coming out.” Vanth tried to reassure him but it fell on deaf ears. “Mando⏤”

“Sit. Rest.” Din carefully pushed Vanth back onto the cot before moving on. 

He’d scour the entire city if he had to. Din would tear down any remaining buildings left standing if it meant finding you. This was what he did, right? He hunted. His rushed steps were nothing like the calm and collected image he tried to uphold as he hurried towards the city. All his worst fears seemed to be crumbling down on him and the beskar he wore felt suffocating. Din pushed out of the crowd, nearly broke out into a sprint, when he hard your voice. Faint. It really made no sense that he’d even be able to hear it over the lively crowd and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

However, as if drawn to it, his feet came to a stop and he turned. There you were. The parents of Grogu’s friend from school were sobbing hysterically as they held a little girl in their arms. You stood right in front of them with Paz a step behind you. It was an odd sight that left Din with more questions than answers, but all his mind could focus on was you. The rest of the world may as well have grown blurry and dim.

You were in a pair of your scrubs but they were dirty and torn. Dried blood stained the front and sides. Your hair was a mess and even from the distance he was at, he could see the exhaustion radiating from your frame. Din was moving before his mind was even aware of his body’s choice. It was you. You were right there. You were standing. You were breathing. You were safe. Maker, Din felt his heart leap up into his throat as he struggled for a gasp of relief.

Din couldn’t find his voice to cry out to you, but as if you were drawn to him as well you turned and met his gaze. His feet stuttered at the sight. Dried blood covered your features, mixed with dust and soot, and there was a wound on your hairline he could see clearly. The skin around your neck was darkened with bruising. You looked like you were in shambles, but that fire he loved still remained in your gaze. Your pretty eyes burned with life and energy and determination.

“Din!” You cried and he didn’t even register the fact that you called out his name in public. He was too thankful to hear it in your voice once more. You broke out into a sprint, to meet him halfway, and as soon as you were close enough Din snatched you into his arms in a bruising grip. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your face buried into his shoulder and if Din wasn’t so worried about jarring any of your current injuries he would’ve crushed you even tighter in his hold. “Din, I⏤ Din. Din.” Your body shook with sobs as you struggled to find words. For a beat all that could spill out was his name, but every time the sound left your lips Din felt the tight coil of fear in his chest loosen. “You’re here.”

“I am. I am, ner kar’ta, and I’m never leaving again.” He murmured to you. A promise. Din’s gloved hand buried itself in the back of your hair to pull you even closer. It took all of his strength to not rip his helmet off right now. Redemption be damned. “Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I should have been here.”

The only reason he was able to tear himself away from you was to examine your wounds. The injury at your hairline had scabbed over and it seemed the only other injury you had were the faint bruising around your neck. It would worsen before it got better and it was not lost on Din that the darker shade was in the shape of a hand.

“Who?” The word left his lips in a near growl. Din cupped your face and tried to swipe away tears, dried blood, and soot. His hand trailed down to lightly brush against your neck. “Who did this?”

“One of the⏤ One of the pirates. It’s a long story, I⏤” You took in a shaky breath and Din could see how close you were to crumbling. “He’s dead. I… I shot him. With the blaster I keep in my desk. I shot him.” Good. Din could see the heartbreak in your eyes, the pain, and he hated more than anything that responsibility had fallen onto your shoulders. That you had been forced into that position. Truly, you had done the pirate a favor⏤ shown him mercy. Because if he were still breathing, Din would tear the bastard apart limb from limb. “I lost your blaster. I’m so sorry⏤”

“Don’t. Stop.” Din leaned his head down to press his forehead against yours. He took in a slow breath. You were here. You were safe. You were in his arms. Din’s heart finally began to calm. “All that matters is you.”

Your hands had found his neck and the way your fingers dug through his collar told him that you were as desperate as he was for skin to skin contact. Din just needed to reassure himself that you were fine. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of you to ensure that nothing was wrong. That you were fine. It was a craving not born of lust, but concern.

“Grogu.” You breathed out in a ragged gasp. “Where’s Grogu? I need to see him. I need⏤” Din’s eyes darted over your shoulder where Elodie’s parents were still smothering their child. Something had happened in the city, you had obviously saved that girl in some way, and Din knew your desperation to see Grogu had something to do with that. “Din?”

“He’s alright. He’s safe.” Din wrapped his arm around you tightly, not willing to let go quite yet, and began to lead you back through the crowd to find where Peli was. People called out comments of relief and comfort to you as he led you through. It seemed he hadn't been the only one worried about you.

The sound of Grogu’s cries could be heard and you rushed out of Din’s arms to find the source, “Grogu!?” Din paused as he spotted Peli holding the boy as you rushed toward them. Grogu’s cries were halted and replaced with panicked wailing as he squirmed out of Peli’s arms to jump into yours. You collapsed to the ground with the boy buried in your chest. “Hey, baby. I’m here. I was so worried about you.”

Grogu continued to cry as you whispered reassurances to him. A small smile pulled up the corner of Din’s lips. For the first time in hours, he felt his shoulders relax. He took a step forward, to join his family, when familiar steps settled beside him. Paz crossed his arms and watched the reunion between you and Grogu as well.

“She saved that little girl.” Paz spoke with a hum. “She’s brave. Reckless, but brave.”

“I know.” Din replied, beaming with pride. Everything he had said to the Armorer had been true. You may not have taken the oath, walked the Way, or adorned a helmet, but you were Mandalorian through and through. It was in your spirit and soul. 

Paz nodded. “That is the one you spoke of? The woman you plan to court?”

“Yes.” Din didn’t add that you were the woman he planned to marry as well. It didn’t need to be said now or like this. Just knowing was enough for him.

“But you have yet to present her with a token of intention?”

“Not…yet.” Din turned his head to look at his brother with suspicion. .

“Hm. Perhaps, I’ll offer her a token first.” Paz chuckled. Din barked out a curse and it only made Paz laugh harder. You had risen from the ground and glanced over at the noise. Paz slapped his hand roughly against Din’s back, making him stumble, and then gave you a firm nod. “Good work, wero’ika. I was proud to share the battlefield with you.”

Din continued to glare at Paz’s retreating figure, but at the sound of your approach his gaze softened. You were still holding Grogu close to your chest as if you were afraid someone would come and snatch him away. Din understood the irrational fear. It was why as soon as you were in reach he pulled you and Grogu into his own arms. With another sigh, Din let his eyes flutter close as he rested his head on top of yours while you leaned into his chest. You were safe. His family was back together. 

What more could he ask for?

mando'a translations

Ni ceta: I'm sorry Mirdala: clever Wero'ika: little problem Ner kar'ta: my heart

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilraa @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition @thelovelyhann @harrys-sunflower-bakery @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis @javicstories @ezzynf @bravotwelve @cookielovesbook-akie @coolbanana44 @kittenlittle24

[acewritesfics]

Having Another Baby | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

⚠️ ALL FICS CURRENTLY ARE A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Request: From @rainydayteacups

Fic Type: Short Imagine. Fluff

Warnings: Daughter's name is Caroline. Pregnancy.

Word Count: 736

Tag List: Open - acewritesfics taglist sign up

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist

©️ no one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my works on here or anywhere else.

“Can I ask you a question, Daddy?”  Caroline ponders as her father places the book he just finished reading her back on the shelf.  

He tucks her into her bed and sits on the edge, “What do you want to know?”  

“What is love at first sight?” she wonders.  

Bradley’s eyes widen in surprise at his daughter’s question. He bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to come up with an explanation for the six-year-old. “It’s when you first see someone and fall in love right away. Not many people think it’s possible.”  

She looks at him with great wonder and asks, “Do you think it can happen? 

He gives her his honest opinion, saying, "I do, but I believe it’s a rare thing to happen.”  

“Did it happen for you and mommy?”  

“Love at first sight? Nah, it wasn’t. It took us a while to get there but when we did, I knew I couldn’t love anyone else the way I love your mother,” He smiles as he turns his head towards Caroline’s bedroom doorway and sees Y/N standing there. “But I’m sure it was love at first sight for your mommy.”  

Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes, and enters the bedroom, moving to stand next to Bradley. “Your daddy had to do a lot of convincing for mommy to go on a date with him.” 

“But when she did, she fell head over heels in love with me,” he continues as he looks up at his wife before returning his gaze to Caroline. “She couldn’t resist my charm.”  

“What charm?” Caroline says, which causes her mother laugh and her father to look offended by her words.  

“The same Bradshaw charm you used to get away with being naughty,” he teases as he tickles her. Caroline giggles while wriggling free of her father’s hands. “But the truth is,” he says as he stops tickling her, “it was love at first sight for me. I knew the moment I saw your mommy at Nanny Penny’s bar that she was the woman I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with.” 

“What about me?” Caroline wonders aloud.  

He smiles and bends forward to kiss his daughter’s forehead, “I fell in love with you the moment I saw that little blob on the screen when you were still in mommy’s tummy. Now, go to sleep. We have big day tomorrow.”  

“Can I ask you another question?” She talks quickly as he stands and drapes an arm over his wife’s shoulders.  

He gestures with one finger, saying, “One more.”  

She looks at her parents and says, with an innocent smile on her face, “Can I have a little brother or sister?” 

“Well…” Bradley starts looking from Caroline to Y/N. “Mommy and I will talk about it and let you know what we decide on.”  

Y/N nods in agreement with him before leaning down to kiss her head.  

“Okay. Goodnight, Mommy and Daddy,” Caroline grins and turns onto her side, closing her eyes.  

“Sweet dreams, angel,” Y/N says as she takes Bradley’s hand and leads him out of the bedroom, turning out the light on their way out.  

Entering the living room, they settle down on the couch. Holding her tight with her back against his chest and his arms over her shoulders and her hands resting on his arms, tracing circles along his skin, Bradley says, “Maybe it’s time we gave her a baby brother and sister.” 

“You think so?” she asks, biting her bottom lip, thinking about what it would be like with another baby. 

“Yeah. She’s six now. If we want another kid, we probably shouldn’t wait too much longer.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have to,” she smiles, pulling away from his hold to face him. 

“What do you mean?” he asks looking at her confused.  

“That doctors appointment I had today, I found out we’re having another baby,” she grins unable to hide her excitement about the pregnancy. 

“Are you serious?” he asks his confusion turning to one of surprise and excitement. 

“Very serious,” she leans forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. 

He kisses her back for a moment before the kiss, his hands moving to her belly. “I love you so much. All three of you. You, Caroline, and the baby.” 

“We love you too,” she smiles as she moves onto his lap, kissing him again. 

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