#pray for reader’s parents insurance

[captain-lessship]

Lights Out

A/n: so using logic, reader needed a weapon and what sports have a great weapon and could provide good back story? Baseball. Also no, reader is not on drugs; just thought it was funny

You were just a guy. Just a fun baseball player who happened to fall in love with a goth girl from Nevermore. You wondered how you got yourself in this position of running with your car keys to your dads new Jeep. 

Enid, Wednesdays friend and Roomate had called and told you that the freaky hand had signed to her that Wednesday was in trouble and you threw on your shoes and grabbed your jacket and where out the door.

Luckily neither of your parents were home or they would have asked why their son was leaving after curfew in a car he hit the mailbox with. That’s why you were banned from driving it.

You shoved the keys into the ignition and turned it, slammed it in reverse and bolted out of your driveway, knocking over your trash cans. 

You winced. You would fix that later.

You knew you were breaking the speed limit but you needed to find to her. You knew the general location and that’s all you needed.

Then you realized.

You didn’t bring a weapon. You looked in the back and looked for options. You saw your bag from practice: it was heavy and had a bat. Good enough.

You wouldn’t call yourself very strong but fending off someone for her? You’d do it in a heartbeat.

You made a sharp left into the woods, the beaten down path to Cragstones Crypt. You knew you were going to have to explain the mud and even more scratches on it. He was going to kill you.

You looked around form where Wednesday could be, you even rolled down your window and stuck your head out to yell. 

There was no response. You looked for a flashlight when a loud crash brought your attention back to the shattered windshield.

What did you hit? You put it in park and opened the door and got out, headed to the front to inspect the damage. It appeared you hit a sort of monster. Oh you were so dead if it was just a Nevermore kid and you just committed vehicular homicide.

As you panicked and cursed about how you’d go to prison, not save Wednesday and your dads Jeep was ruined, you heard a scream.

“Move!” She screamed and she walked to you. It was Wednesday. 

“Whoa! Are you okay?” You ran to her.

“That’s the Monster! That’s Tyler.” She said again. You then heard a loud crunching noise, you slowly turned back to the Jeep, watching in mild horror as the thing you hit was getting up. You glanced at Wednesday, “Sorry.” You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you ran to the car.

She was yelling at you as you flung open the back passenger door and jerked your bag from practice out. You turned back, “Run Wednesday! Go! The school needs you.” 

She looked at you before turning and running. You smiled, she was safe. You pulled the bat from the bag and walked to the front, where the monster was still struggling.

You lifted the bat and whacked it across the head, it looked at you with its buggy eyes that were fueled with an animalistic rage. Suddenly one of the monsters arm swung out and flung you back. You landed a good few feet away. 

You heard a set of three loud crunches as the hood and front doors of the Jeep came flying at you. You rolled out of the way and managed to stand. You breathed out in pain, grip on your bat tightening.

“I ain’t scared of you, Tyler.”

There was a time when Tyler was your friend but you both fell out of touch when you joined the baseball team. You hadn’t been there for him as much as a friend should’ve. But that twinge of guilt didn’t stop the pressing issue: 

He was going to try his damnedest to kill you. 

He came running at you, and you readied yourself and began running yourself. He took another swing at you, which you baseball slid under, lifting the bat you whack against his shoulder. 

You stood up and ran behind a tree. You breathed as you slowly attempted to scurry up it, you did so with cuts on your hands and pulsing pain in your side. You stood a few feet off the ground now, watching him.

Your uncle was a bull rider. You hoped it ran it the family as you dropped, holding the bat on both ends, slipping his neck between the bat and your body. 

He was thrashing around at this point you were losing your grip and you were struggling to hang on. 

That’s when you heard a gun shot, it must’ve hit Tyler because of the howl of pain he let out. When he jerked forward, you were flung off. You rolled for a good distance before hitting a tree stump, it knocked the wind out of you but you  lifted yourself up to see Sheriff Galpin, Tyler’s dad holding the smoking gun.

You figured he had it under control til you saw Tyler charge him, you screamed out but a wolf like creature joined the fight. You lifted yourself up and you limped back to the car, it could still drive, you turned the key and lo and behold: it started. 

[hastyprovocateur]

Coaches Don't Play

(Coach! Abby x Soccer mom! Reader)

Summary- reader is a single mom determined to keep her act right for the sake of her son, but when his new, crushingly gorgeous coach enters the frame, she might have to ask herself some hard questions.

Word count- 12k

Cw- fluff, sexual content (ripping clothes, tribbing), mature themes (guilt, separation, divorce, single-parent struggles, mentions of domestic violence, sexual harassment, puritanism, homophobia, all-boys Christian school)

Reader desc- reader is a mom and has a name+surname, named son/ is not heavy on physical description)

Pickup at Noon

“The person you're calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone." Still radio silence on the coach’s end. You clicked your phone shut, tossing it into your lap as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. The light took an eternity to turn green. The school office line was already busy. A school zone sign stuck out like an accusatory finger as you drove out finally. The minimal outline of the mother and child, hand-in-hand, appeared to mock you; what with your relationship with your only son on the rocks.

How did I forget… how did I forget… you chanted under your breath as a by-passer yelled at you for cutting him before. It was elevator music at this point. Whether it’ll compound with the verbal lashing at the office from Bill, your boss, making after-school pickup an n circle of hell, you’d find out at night. When the day crushed your temples; threatened to split your skull open like a clam. It was all this, going on grave-ward.

You pulled into the school parking in your messy Civic. The passenger seat sat piled with manilas, cigarette boxes, and empty coffee to-go’s. A wrapped sub sandwich remained half-eaten from a couple mornings back. Running breakfast situation. You shoved whatever you could in the glove box, throwing the rest in the back before grabbing your handbag. Your panty hose shifted as you got out the car. Itchy seam on soft skin.

Throwing a frustrated glance around the parking lot, you adjusted yourself, lint-picking your pencil skirt for insurance. Tilting the cracked side-view mirror up, you wiped the lipstick overlining the bow of your lip, scraped the smudge of mascara below an eye, smoothed a loose lock down the side of your face.

Zion City had a spare handful of private elementary schools offering football, your son’s sport of choice. His father’s, more like. Things used to be different. There was a 5-year plan. House with a picket fence. In sickness and health. Us and ours. A silver lining.

Now you looked at pieces of it on the floor, asking if there was anything at all. Yes, he was protective… he loved you. He wanted all of you. And he did until there was very little of you left. It started with slamming doors, screaming at night. A slap. It can’t be true. You’d pray like a stuck record, beg to wake up with your eyes open. But you didn’t until one morning as you faced a mirror. Gash in cheek. Staring down blood in the sink.

The preppy, Saints-associated, all-boys private school was very much for European wonder. Pointed arches, ribbed vault ceilings, and glass stained windows supplying the hefty tuition fee. Fielding the entire cost of your son’s education tempted you every day to transfer him. You wanted to pick up the shambles, cut losses, and move across state. But your heart couldn’t bear to crush him with more changes than you’d already dealt him.

He needed his friends, the old house, neighbors they’d grown with. The skewed swing you put together one day in the spring. Besides… the school fields were immaculate in all their green splendor. You had to admit as you ran across the side of the building, down to the back. Heels clicking on concrete, you arrived a perfect mess at the stairs leading into the third block. “I’m so sorry I got late… I had this work… thing” words go amiss from your tongue as you see your son sitting with a blonde stranger, watching her flip a quarter.

He laughed, the dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks after Lord knew how long. She had him enthralled, her tall frame lay sprawled back on the stairs, elbows propping her up as she smoothly danced the coin over her fingers, hiding it in her palm. Her conversation came easy, long ponytail punctuating her animated facial expressions. You shifted on your heels, legs squirming ever so slightly.

“Dylan, honey…” you called out, hand outstretched, waving to get his attention. She noticed you first, beaming brightly at you in the late noon sun, straightening up with respectful poise. Pocketing the quarter. You noticed her broad shoulders, filling out her inky jacket all too well. “Think your mom’s here, bud” she slapped her thighs veiled in sweatpants, yellow whistle jostling in the middle of her chest. His face fell at the mention of you, betraying your already broken heart, but you concealed it.

“Hey, churro pop!” You tried to greet him, but he acted like you hadn't, numbly getting to his feet, putting his backpack on. All traces of joy from seconds ago were now dissolved. The young woman gauged the switch in energy, eyes flitting between mother and son. “I’m Anderson… the new Coach” she interjected, cordially extending a hand. It dwarfed yours, calloused fingers shrouding your hand before giving it a firm shake.

It made your dainty gold wristwatch tinkle from the motion. You stared up at her blue eyes, the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, high cheekbones. Youth spelled evident on her plump, pink lips. You felt a hitch in your throat as you ran a conscious hand up your blouse, closing the topmost button you’d carelessly left open all day. Your brain wracked.

“Oh” it clicked “That’s why Coach Carlson wasn’t... picking up… I tried to get through” You ran out of breath immediately. Strain hid below your tongue, sat like weight on your chest. Deflating you. You lowered your eyes, letting your exhaustion have its moment. “Yeah, it’s been a couple weeks” the young coach informed you, idly punching her open palm with the other fist “He moved to St George. To his daughter's”

Dylan bristled before you even spoke. “Baby, you never told me” You brought it up gently, except it landed like an axe. Maybe he did? You thought as his eyes deadened; face overcast with a shadow. He shook his head, storming towards the car, leaving you stranded with the new coach. You watched his little figure turn the corner and remember the skip in his step when he first started school. Head bobbing and his backpack swinging behind him.

The accusatory fingers returned. They weren’t in your face, but they filled your skull, fighting out your chest.

“He’s… mad at me” you muttered

“He’s just 9”

You gravely turned to the young woman “I missed his game.” “No, you didn’t” she shook her head, assuring sincerely “It was just practice round. Interschool got postponed by 2 weeks.” That simmered a quickly flooding guilt inside you, defusing something about to blow up. You exhaled in relief, spluttering as you wrung your hands “I promise I-I never miss his big matches. Rarely weekend practice. I do reach school on time. Just when, sometimes I rush in from work. I always leave a message for Carlson, then call Dylan from the office to make sure he’s-”

“Hey” Anderson’s eyes softened as she touched your arm, dragging the back of her knuckles down to your elbow “It’s okay” she assured you. Your shoulders dropped at the physical contact, melting the pent-up tension stiffening them like resin. You glanced at her hand and back up at her, brows scrunching above your doe eyes. A sudden proximity, forlorn depths in your gaze. Anderson dropped her hand upon realising, pocketing it as you rubbed your arms consciously. “I don’t mind staying back for a bit… Mrs Hendricks” her voice trickled slow. Deep.

“Angela” you managed a small smile, adjusting the handle on your purse as you shift your weight on one heel, part of your conscious focused on your son. “I’m…” “Divorced?” the new coach affirmed, seemingly aware of the family dynamics. “Separated. In the process of… divorce” you gave a brusque nod, pause weighing the air. With pretenses aside, you brought up your biggest concern “Is he okay?”. The coach drew a long breath, calm despite the choppy domestic matter she faced “Dylan’s our star goalie. A straight A student” she shrugged, smiling to comfort “He’s just struggling the way any child would.” “It’s… not just that” your whisper carried dead weight, grief.

“Mrs-” Anderson raised a finger to her lips to correct herself “Angela, I might be too young to understand marriage and children but I do see that you’re a great mom. I’m sure you’re trying your best.” You pursed your lip, lest you burst out into tears. Her voice touched a part too deep and wounded. You managed a grateful nod, pressing the back of your hand to your throat to push the lump down “I should… get back” you turned to leave, ankles struggling to hold up in your heels.

“Hey” she called after you, jogging to catch up and placing an innocuous hand on your back, causing a shift so mild, you barely felt it. “Why don’t you save my number?” she suggested, a touch of pink in her cheeks “I can keep you posted about important dates. For pickup or if you’d like to talk about Dylan.” “Oh” you blinked nervously, fumbling for your phone “sure’ you handed it out, flipping it open for her.

Anderson pored over the screen with focus as she fed her number in, handing it back “Put that in as Abigail. No! Just Abby.” “Abby” you echoed as you save the contact, hanging back ever so slightly to let your arm touch graze against hers. It felt like you were milking the moment, having felt nothing all this while only to come to feel something so strong. “Also” the coach bowed her head close, passing on a secret “I could be wrong but I think I accidentally unhooked your bra just now.” You swiftly averted your eyes, feeling up your back and realizing that the ends had indeed, come apart, leaving your breasts unsupported.

“Fuck” you cursed softly. Though Abby bit her lip apologetically, she barely masked the satisfaction. “I’ll… fix it later” you felt blood rush to your face, beating a hasty retreat. “Take care, Angie!” Abby called after you. A hand in pocket, other throwing the whistle around her neck triumphantly.

Later that evening

You double-checked the latch on your bedroom door, standing before your vanity mirror in your lace gown. It had been ages since it meant anything at all. To adorn yourself in the sheer silk and be slowly unraveled. It had been ages since you’d been touched tenderly, explored, and laid open like pages of a book, fingers running along every line. All that remained was a wretched mass left behind from a loveless marriage. You gulped as you pushed the strap down to expose your breasts.

They’d lost their former perkiness, sitting heavy and low. Milky blue veins and pale stretch marks ran around them like cracks of thunder. You cupped them gently, trying to remember what it felt like with your eyes closed. In sudden colorful musing, you imagined them being replaced by the young coach’s rough, warm hands. Running up your ribs and cupping you. The size of them perfect for her large palms. Tracing them gently as your nipples edged into her touch.

The stairs creaked as Dylan headed down to the kitchen, and you snapped out of it. You pressed the heel of your hand to your reddened face, and the mirror reflected your shame as you threw a robe over the gown, securing the cord tight.

Dinner across the four-seater was gravely somber. You served yourself a scarce portion of the pasta salad after doling heaps for Dylan, watching him spoon some into his mouth before moving to have some yourself. “Good?” you asked softly as he dug in with more spoonfuls, and he shrugged “It’s how it always is.” You fought the immediate woe upon seeing his disinterest. It was a losing battle. “Must be always good, then” you laughed a hollow laugh. Only for him to exhale, followed by an equally nonchalant “whatever.”

Painstaking silence ensued, and you struggled to push each morsel down your throat. A sip of water lubricated your words. “Your new coach is quite cute” you remarked after doing the mental gymnastics to bring up something he liked. “Yeah… she’s cool” Dylan responded after a while. “She said your interschool is in a couple weeks” you scratched the cheap synthetic tablecloth “Are you nervous?”.

“Don’t act like you know soccer” he snapped. Your jaw dropped with a sharp exhale, and you tried to cover it with a nervous laugh “What?” you grazed your chest “I… know soccer. I take you to all your games, we practiced when you were a baby, I was cheering on you when you won last season!”. He turned sour “Not like dad used to do” “Well, he’s not here now, is he!” you snapped back, regretting the moment it left your lips.

He stared at you, steeling his gaze as his soul turned away from you. He quietly got up, abandoning the half-eaten plate of food before leaving the room. “Dylan!” you call after him “Honey! I didn’t-”. It didn’t seem to matter. You couldn’t bring his father back for him, and he’d never let you forget that that he left. You could move wherever and so would the sinkhole he left in the house. One no amount of love can fill. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from the welling tears in your eyes, pushing your plate away.

Bedtime

Before bed, you checked your phone. It was chalked with the usual messages. Work, network service company info, local businesses, and scammers trying their luck. You’d long stopped receiving follow-up messages from fellow moms. Friends had faded in the process of tearing apart from your husband. He’d been the life of the party, rousing gatherings and infusing them with slapstick jokes. Always the funny guy. Which made you the shadowy outcast, the bad cop, the one to blame when things went awry.

Hence, why Abby’s message made your chest stiffen slightly. Butterflies tickled your ribs as you looked it over and over. She’d just sent herself a “<3” from your phone, perhaps making sure she saved your number as well. It doesn’t mean anything; you told yourself. As you moved to shut your phone, it burst into the sparkly digital ringtone you’d set ages ago. “Abby” it read on the caller id.

You clicked accept in a daze, realizing with the static-y blare of air on the other end that she was genuinely talking to you. “Hey, Angie!” her voice hit better than bourbon, running down your spine. “Good evening, coach…” you reply in wisps of words, breath irregular “Sorry… Abby”

“Is now a bad time? I know it’s late…”

“No, it’s alright”

“Cool” she bought a deep pause, seeming unsure of what to say next “… I just wanted to ask if… you and Dylan are doing okay.” You bit your lip, well-versed with standard answers “Yeah! He ate his dinner. Took care of his laundry. He’s doing his homework before bed” you counted off your imaginary fingers, hoping it was convincing enough.

“And you?” Abby furthered, taking you by surprise.

“Me?”

“What about you? How’re you?”

“I’m…” you fiddled with the hem of your nightie, fingering a hole in the lace “okay.” “Angie” Abby uttered, the faint sound of a TV in the back, match commentary in progression. You heard her suck air into her lungs for courage “You can talk to me, you know.” You pressed your thighs close, the tenor in her voice more penetrative to the senses than anything. It was scary how eager she had you over a phone call, fighting thoughts of how you’d be if she was close.

“There’s nothing to say. I really am… okay” you assured her despite the ever-present urge to unburden your whole heart “I’m sorry if I had you worry” you laughed for effect.

Abby chuckled in reply, clicking her tongue. Tough crowd, you heard her mutter under her breath. She cleared her throat “Can I see you in my office? Tomorrow?” she asked. You pressed a hand to your warm forehead, feeling yourself flush “Y-yeah… I suppose I can” you stammered nervously, to which Abby promised “Don’t worry, I just want to help.”

Next Day at the school office

You consciously bounced a knee in your cold chair, watching a handful of parents milling around the main office. You wondered what they’d been called in for. Failing calc? Smoking on campus? Jerking off into the teacher’s pigeonhole? You knew for a fact that some of them deserved it. The leather strap of your shoe dug in your ankle, compelling you to adjust the little gold buckle. A pair of white sneakers came to a halt near you, familiar ones. You peered up at the new coach. She smiled down at you, holding a hand out for you to hold. Her eyes inconspicuously flit towards your cleavage, and you blushed, sliding a hand up your chest. “Need help with that?” she asked softly, kneeling by your undone heel strap.

“No… it’s okay” you discouraged her but she gently moved your hand aside, feeding the leather into the buckle and securing it. “I’m quite handy with silly kid’s shoes, I’ll have you know” she tilted her head; hand wrapped around the underside of your shoe. “Women’s heels too?” you chuckled, shrouding the shiver from the way her hand grazed your ankle, how she knelt before you. Abby shrugged, smiling “New notch on my belt.” You headed through to the sports department. The trainer’s office was located on the opposite side of the building facing the field. “Like they didn’t know where it was going to be” Abby joked as she held the office door open for you, the metal plate outside still reading “Carlson.”

You looked at the partly disordered space, a fresh box of trophies and certificates in one, everything smelt like rubber. There stood a photo frame boasting of a grainy photo of a little girl with a braid, hoisted on the shoulders of a man. Dad and daughter. “They don’t pay me much, if you’re wondering” Abby joked, and you turned to her, smiling “They make me pay a lot.” “Well, thanks to you… I don’t have to share” she boasted, shaking her head.

The photograph lingered at your periphery, but you let the questions go for the meantime. “Thank you for meeting with me…” you said, a tone more serious, as she pulled a chair away from her desk for you, watching you settle down in it. “Me?” Abby frowned, leaning back against the side of the table, not too far from you “I should be thanking you. I know your work can be hard to get away from”

“It’s okay. I do need to get more involved. I barely attend PTA meetings” You confessed, eliciting a concerned nod of acknowledgment from Abby, “Those… are quite the spectacle”

“Parents can be passionate” you shrugged

“There was a petition to make the campus segway friendly”

“I… wasn’t part of that” you stifled a laugh

“Lucky you” Abby crossed her arms, her slight movements drawing your eye to her zipper glinting halfway down her chest, urging you to drag it all the way down. See what’s hiding beneath. You shook your head, placing your palms face down on your lap “Hey… I… really hope Dylan isn’t misbehaving or giving you a hard time”

Keeping it to the point there, Angie.

“Not at all!” coach denied swiftly, making you wonder what the issue was “He’s giving his all to practice and school. Which is why I was concerned… he seems stressed.”

“Oh…” your gaze fell to your lap as Abby craned her neck low, inquisitive. “Has he said something at home? Anything about the upcoming competition?”.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, stretching the pause out till it hurt your chest “Soccer season was always w-when… his dad would be home the most. At all his matches. They’d go on little hikes, drives, eat at his favorite diner, he’d buy him anything he asked for” you stretched your lips in a twisted smile “The house would be full.” Abby knit her brows, inching close to gently touch your shoulder as you fought the urge to start bawling. “He just misses his dad” her warm fingers slid down your back, almost breaking the dam holding it all back “a-and I don’t know what to do.”

Abby wordlessly pulled you against her front, your hands shakily wrapping around her waist as you steadied your breath. A tear still squeezed through, quickly bleeding into her jacket. “It’s okay” Abby rubbed your back, lightly combing your hair “You weren’t supposed to be doing it alone. It's not fair.”

You clutched your fingers deeper into her back, cinching at her shape through the loose athletic wear. Her fingers tickled the back of your neck, compelling you to pull away, peering up at her face. With your sweet lips rosied and wide eyes misty. Abby’s breath visibly hitched, chest falling still as she brought her hand towards your face, resting a thumb on your cheek, brushing your bottom lip. “No” you uttered breathlessly, curling into the chair.

Abby flew back into her desk, fingers digging into the wooden edge, visibly shaken as she drew jagged breaths. You covered your face in shame, breath hot against your palms “I’m so sorry.” “No, please” Abby brushed the air “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” “I’m sorry I…” you compose yourself, chin pinned to your shoulder “I can’t. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression and I don’t know why I just did that-”

“Hey, hey” Abby gathered your shaking hands as your guts twisted into knots “Hey… Nothing happened…” she asserted; blue eyes wide with her words firm “Nothing happened.”

You screwed your eyes close as you felt her hands shield yours, the weight of the emotion crushing your senses. “Yeah…” you collected yourself “you’re right” you consciously slip your hands out of her grip, clutching the arms of your chair “Nothing happened.”

Abby stared at the ground, idly punching her palm and letting the clock ticking on the wall swallow the whole incident. You strengthened your resolve, nodding “I’ll try and make things right with Dylan… I was planning on attending his weekend practice, anyway” you shrugged “I can fit in some stuff.”

“Sounds good” Abby remarked “don’t worry too much. I’ll do what I can from my side” she added. You raised your wrist to glance at the dial on your wristwatch. The metallic tinkle drew the young coach’s attention “Yeah… I need to head out to the field for PE class as well.”

You rose out of the chair, shuffling towards the door and reaching for the door knob, trying to maneuver it open. Abby came up behind, putting her hand over yours around the knob and holding it. Her breath ran warm down your neck. “By the way” a baited second passed “Coach Carlson didn’t move to his daughter’s.”

“What?” you whispered, clutching your purse as you turned to look at her. Abby licked her bottom lip, chuckle scratchy “They caught him with the guy who tends to the fields” she leaned closer “Utility closet down the corridor. Kicked him out the same day. Hired me three days later. Grateful as I was… I wonder” Abby steeled her eyes, hesitant yet bold as she grazed your wrist “If he regretted it…”

Morning of weekend practice

The car door shielded you from glances of the general passerby, soccer moms mostly. Also, from the cigarette between your fingers, cherry glowing bright as you sucked the smoke deep into your chest. The back of your throat tasted like cinnamon. You dug your fingers into your neck, lightly swinging as you sat on your haunches, delicately balanced on your high heels.

You’d battled for that half-day, leaving the temp in blaze amid ignored voice messages. You were determined to stay through weekend practice. An early drive home would be nice so you could spend some time together. Make a stop at the diner Dylan liked, ward off the bad luck with greasy food.

The inseam of your panty hose began irritating your skin again. “Cheap… fucking… shit” you forced a hand up your skirt, trying to relieve the itch.

“Hey, Angie” you heard from the sky above and nearly toppled to the side, throwing your elbow up to defend yourself from the unknown. “Coach!” you looked up to find Abby standing behind the door with her crossed arms propped on the window, smirking down at you. You quickly hid the hand holding the cigarette, moving to crush it under the point of your heel.

“No, save it…” Abby rounded the open car door, sliding down the side of the car to join you on the ground, big frame folding onto itself “Unless now’s a bad time” she whispered, holding two fingers out.

You released a chuckle, passing your cigarette to her, back of your fingers grazing hers in doing so “It’s never a bad time to sit and do nothing” you shrugged with a simple smile. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?” she watched your face keenly as she took a drag, blue smoke pouring from her lips. “I can’t imagine someone as healthy as you smoking” you mused and she raised a brow, staring at the ground “I usually don’t”

“Don’t let me ruin you”

“Too late”

You quietly plucked the cigarette from her fingers, your scarlet painted nails lightly scraping her hand. Her eyes connected with yours beyond a mere look. Deep and curious. “Why not the bleachers?” she inquired, and you bit your lip, flicking loose ash “I was hiding, I guess” you confessed.

“Me too” Abby chimed in exhaustion, casting a furtive glance back at the field. A flurry of moms monopolized the bleachers with folding tables decked out with food stuff for their beloved sons as they took a break from practice. Helicoptering and rallying what with the competition round the corner.

“You first” she shuddered in the shoulders before turning back to face you. “Let’s just say… a single mom on the verge of divorce doesn’t fare well in these shindigs.” “I can imagine” Abby raised a brow, and you nodded slowly “They’re always praying that he comes back. So my family can be whole. The way God intended."

Abby let the words linger, the bitterness in it evident, the false comfort. “Well…” she bit back a smile “I hope he falls off the edge of Earth.” That brought some warmth to your soul, eliciting a surprisingly loud laugh from your mouth "Not you being a flat-earther."

"I'm not" Abby's smile faded and you laughed harder "Flat-earther" you repeated for emphasis.

"That's not funny" Abby protested with dead eyes and you lost it. You bumped into her arm for buttress as you teeter once again, feeling the smooth ripple of her bicep beneath the sleeve of her jacket. It gave you another unwanted flash of how her bare arms would feel like as they wrap around your breasts. You squeezed your eyes shut “Why are you hiding?” you redirected your focus quickly.

“Well,” Abby reached back to smooth her ponytail “It’s a lot of pressure to begin with. The Dean is really keen on bringing the trophy this season even though I just joined and it doesn’t help that Carlson left most of the team is disorder. Plus… the moms can be…” she dragged out the silence, and you piqued with curiosity “Spit it out.”

“I know they mean well…” she fiddled with the cigarette, thumbing the ruby print left by your lipstick “But they can be really touchy.” You knit your brows with empathy “Tell me about it. I once got told off for a chicken casserole I cooked wrong. “No…” Abby blushed; legs splayed open as her knee poked into your thigh “Touchy as in… they touch me… a lot.”

You dropped your jaw, scandalized “What?”

“Yeah” she scrunched her nose in embarrassment “They call me round the clock, telling me to take their sons off the bench, asking about what to feed them, talking about troubles at home. They stand too close…” she shook her head. You widened your eyes, nail tips digging into your bottom lip. “Put their hands all over” Abby whispered, holding the cigarette out at your stunned face.

You shook yourself out of it, drawing the dregs from the dying cigarette before you finally managed a thought “That sounds like hell" you blew a raspberry "It's like they've never seen a buff woman”

“You think I’m buff?” Abby watched you fumble with words as you crushed the cigarette on the tarmac, dusting idle ash from your leather heels “I’m just stating the obvious.” Her blue eyes mellowed, scoping your evident blush. Seeking you out. For more.

“Tell me what you think” she leaned close.

“I thought you don’t like moms talking at you”

“Other moms, no”

“Well,” you shrugged lightly, scraping together your feelings “… We were raised on verses, tender mercies, and blind faith. Many bought into it. I did. I thought it would work for me the way it did for them. But now I look at how my life turned out, and then I look at you. You’re about the age I was when I got married, by yourself, doing what you like, the way you want… makes me question everything” you gathered your knees, resting your chin on top.

Abby playfully nudged her shoulders into yours, “You make me question everything too” she whispered “I used to think people who marry and have kids are insane. After my dad... I didn't want to take care of anyone for a long time. And it was good. Being free... having no one depend on me all the time. Though the empty house hurt sometimes” she gripped her bicep, considering deeply “But I see you with Dylan... and wonder what I'm missing out on”

“You’re not missing out on marriage” you tutted, biting the inside of your cheek

“Not even with the right person?” Abby tilted her face at you, curious pout catching you off-guard.

“Maybe... it's hard to believe”

“Just because something didn't work out once doesn't mean it never will.”

You blinked, switching your gaze to the vast field, breeze blowing loose curls across your cheek. You wondered for an inane second if she saw your heart leaping up in your chest. Unable to contain the spike of hope she gave you. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me” you confessed.

“What?” Abby’s voice pitched “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You're a gorgeous woman. People should be telling you sweet things all the time”

“You think I'm gorgeous?”

“You don't?”

“Dunno” you shrug “Hard to tell when everyone is mad at me.”

“Not everyone”

You gulped, feeling Abby’s unwavering support setting fire to a part of you, reviving more bits and pieces of you against your will. Hope wasn’t a good thing to have in this tandem. The breeze swept your hair again as you turned to face her with some words of discouragement, catching your eye. “Ow” you winced softly, hand fluttering up to push them back, struggling as your eye burned a little.

“Hold on” Abby loosely wound her fingers into the feisty lock. “There” she smiled, tucking them securely behind your ear. Your brows peaked in that same old dance, like you were staring at the sun but it was just your son’s painstakingly gorgeous soccer coach

“Abby” you mumbled thinly as the warmth of her fingertips made you limp, cheek burying into her palm. She ran a thumb over to smooth a stray strand, grazing the raised bump on your cheekbone.

“Fuck” she uttered softly, eyes darkening as she switched between the scar and your eyes filled with fear. She knew before you said a word. “Angie…” her nostrils flared, lips pursing to contain her tongue. “No” you reach for her hand, holding it against your cheek as if to beg “Let me forget.”

Abby inched forward, gingerly leaning in to eclipse your faces. She hesitated, waiting for you to pull back but when you didn’t, she gently kissed your cheek, soft lips lingering over your skin. Her cool, smoky breath tickled you and you flinched, pulling back to peer into her blue eyes.

“Coach!” a distressed call erupted from somewhere in the distance and Abby jerked back. It was code soccer mom. Abby shot up, dusting her sweatpants as she sauntered over to the frazzled mother looking for her, briefly turning back to smile at you. “We need another table for the hors d'oeuvre, the extra broke and the boys-” she continued to explain as Abby soothed her “Let’s find another table for the hors d'oeuvre, Debra.”

She headed back to the field as you sat hidden behind your car door, stubborn smile pasted on your lips.

Towards the end of practice

“9, forward, forward, faster!” Abby yelled, wildly gesticulating to make it more coherent to the boys “4, free yourself! Goalie, watch the forward! Remember what I showed you!” She looked sexy when riled, golden muscles beaming in the sun, flexing through her fitted dri-fit tee after her jacket came off her back and sat tied around her lean hips. She was quick on her heels, eyes flitting over every single player. Sharp, barking instructions as her ponytail bounced behind her.

The mothers seemed to collectively sigh with every aggressive instruction. You fanned yourself with an expired Target voucher, wondering if they were imagining all the stuff they never got to hear in the bedroom.

As Dylan deflected another shot with a jump split, Abby sustained her whistle, signaling the end of the match as the boys slowed down to a canter in place. They bumped into each other, chirping about their respective goals amid rowdy back slaps and cheers. Soon they began looking around for their moms. You watched Dylan dully plod from the netted goal, unstrapping his protective gloves. “That’s my big guard!” you squealed, unable to help yourself.

Abby looked back, smirking lightly as the other moms shot unpleasant looks at you. You pursed your lips nervously, hunching down in your seat so you became less visible. Dylan acknowledged you with a quick nod, his face lighting up the second he saw his coach with a fist extended towards him. He bumped her back, laughing as she ruffled his head before hoisting him on top of her shoulders. Dylan beamed as Abby brought him over on her back as the other players rushed out with them. All running to their mothers.

Dylan seemed all too comfortable on there, hands gripping Abby’s shoulders as the mothers swarmed her, voicing various concerns as each grabbed her own flesh of the womb. Abby swung her head between the crowd, trying to hear everyone out. You remain seated in your plastic chair, watching the spectacle as it unfolded. Their voices soon became one united cacophony, the boys padded at her sides while the mothers clutched at her arms, shoulders, spouting question after question about every miniscule detail about the competition. The coral and bubblegum manicures dug into her arms and you bit your lip, mind wandering to forbidden places. A pang of jealousy perhaps. Because the way you touched her would be so much more dangerous than when they did.

Half an hour passed and the young coach had found no respite, they badgered her over the devilled egg halfway into her mouth. An attack no amount of soccer training could have prepared her to defend. You hadn’t taken too deep a breath either, swilling a glass of warm lemonade as two women interrogated you about your husband’s whereabouts, puzzled how you managed the bills alone, took care of the house and tuition fees. Bet nobody was asking your ex such questions. His friends are probably badgering him to sleep around again. You told some half-truths, intercepting a stray Dylan trying to shimmy past you as you braced to slither away from the gathering. The second they turned, you chanced upon glorious getaway, only that… Abby appeared so sapped and cute, trying her best to be attentive.

“Coach Anderson!” you called out to her over the din on the bleachers. She snapped up, attentive as a canine to your voice as you beckoned her. She excused herself from the hound, jogging up to where you were standing.

“Hey” you pulled her close, watching the moms break out in urgent whispers “Don’t act like it but… I was taking Dylan to his favourite diner and I was wondering if you’d like to join.” Dylan peered up at your faces, about to emote in excitement before you clapped a hand around his mouth, feeling him argue with your fingers. “Did you turn water into wine in your last life?” Abby asked gravely, quickly slipping a hand up your back as she ushered you out of the enclosure.

“A thankyou would suffice” you chuckled at her pallid stone-face

“It most certainly would not” Abby hissed

At the diner

You felt the bile rise in your throat as you nudged at the vinegary lettuce on your plate. Abby noticed, picking some off and munching on it. Meanwhile, Dylan had ketchupped both his hands, shoving his side of bacon and hash browns into his mouth.

“You alright?” Abby asked as you lightly rubbed your temple. “Did you really have to sit in the same booth as me?” you asked under your breath as Abby lifted a brow, corner of her lip twitching “Am I too close?” she shifted in place, spread thighs nudging into your crossed legs. “Don’t play…” you warned her with a stern glance “I’m doing this for my son.” “Coaches don’t play, Angela” she stole another chunk of lettuce from your plate, chewing with a smug grin.

Dylan had been talking nonstop about new goalkeeping techniques he had perfected at practice. Obviously, he was elated at the prospect of hanging out with his favourite person, more so now that she was sitting across him. It smarted a bit to watch it not be you but you just wanted to see him happy. Even if you weren’t the reason.

“Who taught you soccer?” he piped excitedly and you turned to Abby, watching her face fall ever so slightly despite the big smile. “I had the greatest coach” she simply said “the best ever.” “Will he come see us play??” Dylan hopped excitedly in his seat and Abby chuckled “Of course, he’d love to.”

You contemplated heavily before inching your hand to the side to comfort Abby under the table with a gentle hand over her knee. She kept her composure, quickly sliding her hand over yours. The callouses on her palm felt scratchy on the back of your knuckles, dwarfing your hand. You wondered if she lifted. Of course, she did. You weren’t the avid gym goer but you could pick those who were out of a lineup.

“Mom” Dylan gestured to the bathroom and you nodded, watching him slide out of the seater and bound down the diner, leaving the two of you alone. “Was it your dad?” you asked gently and Abby frowned, nodding.

“There was… this photo… on your desk”

“Right”

“I didn’t mean to pry”

“You didn’t pry” Abby managed a small smile “It’s me… I still don’t know how to talk about him” her voice broke despite the forced steadiness. You began to draw your hand back, feeling it linger on her knee for too long and Abby snatched it back, placing it right back on her knee. You threw a cautious glance around the diner, worried if you might have undue company. Perhaps a pair of eyes from the locale. You turned to her, welcoming her into embrace.

Abby gladly fell into you, arms catching on your shirt in a hurry to wrap them around you. “It’s alright…” you cradled her head, lips pressing into her hair head as she nestled into the crook of your neck. Abby tightened her grip on you, causing you to exhale sharply as you clung to her back. Her chest rose and fell shallow, breath quickened with her eyes closed. “Abby” you warn her as she slid her hand up your spine “I need this” she begged.

“We’re in public” you whispered only for her to groan back “You suggest we do this privately?” “No!”

Her warmth began seeping through the layers of clothes between you, getting to you and making an all too comfortable home at the back of your head. It was a hard thought to unthink, an even harder act to undo. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, fingers weakly pushing her arms down from your waist. Footsteps come bounding back from the distance and you barely tore yourself apart as Dylan hopped back in his side of the sofa. You self-consciously sorted your hair mussed on one side as Abby fought the flush in her face.

“Coach, you’re still eating” he laughed as Abby rubbed her neck nervously “Yeah bud, can’t get enough of it.”

“You’ve had enough” you weakly snapped at her, pulling your wallet out “Grab your bag, Dylan… we need to drop coach off at her house before we go home.”

That evening

You lightly knocked on the door, turning your ear against it. “Yeah, mom” Dylan acknowledged back and you cracked it open to find him hunched over his study desk. Upon a closer look, you found him scribbling defense formations on his notepad, tearing them out and scribbling more.

“Honey…” you stared at the papers “Come on… bed now” you rub his shoulder. He paused, hovering his pencil inches from the paper before dropping it. Trudging over to the bed, he plopped and laid down. “Good” you smiled, pulling his comforter over him. “You happy about today?” you sat yourself at the edge of the bed, patting him gently.

“Yeah” he said simply, rather numbly “Practice went well… I’m trying to perfect my technique.” You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully “Sweetie… you know you don’t have to be perfect, right?” you adjust the collar of his night suit “The only reason we put you in soccer was… so you’d have fun.”

“Hm” he stared vacantly at the wall, you words were already out his other ear. “I liked hanging out with coach today” he said out of nowhere and you turned your head to look at him. “I’m sure she feels the same” you smiled after some moments as he looked at you, a bit crestfallen “You won’t take her out of my life too… will you?” he asked.

“W-what?” you felt gut punched “I don’t… I mean, why would I…?” your voice broke while you fought to pull yourself together with a shaky hand in the air.

Dylan frowned; lips downturned “You didn’t seem too happy to hang out with her today… like how you were with dad” he clutched the comforter tighter “I think you’ll make her go away too.”

“Baby, I…” you wanted to speak but the ache of your heart breaking overwhelmed you, your chest hurting “I would never do that” you got up, making a hasty exit while your face was still dry. I would never you repeated to yourself as you shut your bedroom door behind you.

There wasn’t much you could do beside softly sobbing into your hands, hunched over as if wanting to disappear within yourself. Your cell phone erupted, the chippy caller tune distracting you. It was the coach.

“Hey, Angie” she said as you clicked accept, labored breathing into the receiver, realizing that you were in no position to speak yet “Hey…?” she repeated and you began to speak, words getting immediately swallowed by the lump in your throat. You slowly blew through your teeth, forcing yourself to act right.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Abby inquired with more urgency and you cleared your throat, finally catching your breath “Hey” you blurted “I’m okay… Dylan’s okay.” Abby paused, not knowing what to say “Are you sure?”

“Yeah... yeah” you breathed, nodding to yourself. Self soothing. “Are you okay??” you asked, realizing that you hadn’t checked on her or asked why she called.

“Yes! It's all good” Abby responded, her voice deeper… softer. “I know I’m calling late again but I wanted to…” she hesitated, making you clutch the phone tighter “I wanted to say sorry” she finally uttered “I realized I was being really pushy and I guess… I need to manage myself.”

You massaged your temples, mind wracked as Dylan’s words linger in your mind “It’s okay…” you exhale “I don’t mind you being a part of my son’s life… I’m seeing him act like himself after a long time.”

“And you?” Abby let the question hang in the air like a guillotine as you struggled to find answers.

“I’d like if we stay friends… for my son’s sake” you enunciated each word carefully lest the truth slip out “Nothing more”

“I see” Abby processed it, her tone dulling significantly “If that’s how you want it.”

“Please don’t take it the wrong way…” you trailed, fiddling with the lace trim on your robe “I'm in no place to reject you. You’re so young and energetic… you could find anyone your age. They'd be lucky to have you!”

“You’d think it would be easy but it's not” Abby confessed quietly, the static behind her voice hanging over the silence “The girls I’ve grown up with are all puritan and now teaching P.E at a Mormon private school. I can’t risk it…”

You gulped heavily, all too familiar with the situation “I get it” you replied shakily “My ex-husband’s fighting me for custody… telling family and friends that I’m this sleazy drunk throwing myself at strange men. I can’t seem to start over hard as I try.”

More silence ensued, punctuated by Abby’s frustrated sigh “We can start over”

“Abby…”

“I want you”

“No!” you discouraged her sternly, holding back all the feelings you didn’t trust. “You’ll find a girl. Younger, wiser… braver” you said cautiously, not wanting to entangle her in your fucked up world “I just know it.”

“And you?” she asked, calling your bluff.

“I’ll… be doing what I do" you laughed bleakly “I barely have to time to think between court visits, office, pickup, weekend practice and making casserole the right way” declaring hesitantly: “I’ll be fine.”

“Just say it, Angie…” Abby urged through gritted teeth “Tell me to fuck off so I’ll actually listen” she cursed in exasperation, anger thinly masking the despondency.

“Fuck off…” you replied firmly as you heard her draw a weighted breath, like she could burst out in a flutter of honest words but instead the line went dead.

I want you too… you mumbled to the nothingness.

At office

Abby’s words from last night haunted you, like a shadowy devil on your shoulder as you sat at your work desk. With how much time you’d spend in the same spot, doing the same things, you wondered if you’d truly forgotten about moving on. Because when she brought it up… it sounded alien. Absurd.

This life was all you'd known but what would things even look like outside of this. You could imagine Abby doting on Dylan, fussing over his games, engrossing him with coin tricks. You pictured them sharing a meal at the table, laughing. Like a family. You even fantasized about pleasing her when alone, crying and writhing in her arms… trusting her… loving her.

“Shh!” the sound punctured your thoughts and you turned around to catch your colleagues gossiping. They quickly hid their faces.

Just like that, you were back.

“Hello, this is Angie from Accounting. How can I help you?” you took a call, pinning the receiver to your ear with a shoulder, fingers flying over the keyboard as you sorted the invoices. “Bill?” you craned your neck to look outside your cubicle “He’s preoccupied, I believe” you lied, watching him stuff oatmeal cookies in his face in the breakroom. “Sure, I’ll pass it on to him" you clicked the telephone back, rearranging the reports on your desk as Bill strode up, brushing crumbs off his beard.

“It’s Nessie, she said you didn’t re about their company ad sizing in classified” you explained, and he rolled his eyes “How many times have I told her…

“Just talk to her”

“No, you talk to her”

“I’m just an accountant”

“Angela… please”

“God” you grimaced, staring at the growing pile of paperwork on your desk, tabs of spreadsheets open on your computer “Fine, but just this once.” “Cool” Bill dismissed it immediately. Your cell phone rang in the middle of work, it was from the school nurse’s office.

A shot of ice ran up your back, stiffening your body “Mrs. Hendricks? mother of Dylan Hendricks of 4C?” the nurse barked down the phone. “This is her” you replied shakily. “Your son hyperventilated and lost consciousness during soccer practice. The coach has handled the situation but we’re mandated to inform you.” “What?” you sobbed into the phone as the nurse cleared her throat “Ma’am… don’t pani-” you shut your phone as you swung your purse up your shoulder, getting up to leave.

You bumped into Bill on your way out.

“Hendricks” he grabbed your arm “Where are you off to? It’s not pick up yet.”

“Dylan fainted during practice; I need to get him right now” you tried to push past him but he forced you back, blocking your way in the hall

“He just fainted. You have bigger tasks at hand here. Is this how you’re planning on working here?” he hissed.

“Bill, you’re hurting me” you tried to pull your arm back as he looked around in annoyance from any attention you might be drawing.

“You’ve exhausted your monthly leaves and I just assigned you some important work even though we all know how you…” he snarled, unable to say it.

“Mighty kind of you” you spat back “To assign me work you’re supposed to do in the first place. Maybe you'd have more time if you weren't gossiping about me in office all the time.” Unnerved, he just glared down at you as you steeled yourself.

“You’re either letting go of me right now… or I’m going to leave you a bloody mess. Unlike yours, my son needs me and I’m not letting your sorry ass get in my way” you thinned your lips in a scowl, baring teeth. That seemed to do the trick as Bill unhooked his hand from your arm.

You stepped on the pedal, weaving and rushing through familiar streets as best you could. Abby had tried your number several times since you rushed from office, leaving a message saying “Dylan’s okay. We’re at my house. Please, don’t worry.” How can I not?? you screeched around a car moving out of park as it nearly slammed into you.

Your baby boy had burned himself out, trying to do Lord knows what and you saw all the signs. You had tried getting to him but you failed each time. You're a failed wife. And now a failed mother. The accusatory screams echoed around in your head till they became one united blare, bursting at your temples. You parked up Abby’s drive-through, rushing out the car and up the front door, banging it down.

At Abby's home

Abby opened the latch, her eyes hollowed, and her ponytail loose. You pushed past her “Where is he?” you threw a glance around the staid living room, lace doily on the television and a leather sofa. Old fashioned like it was stuck in time. “Where is he??” you raised your voice in urgency. Trophies and certificates sat on special shelves, jersey’s framed on the wall in clear glass, a tin of pre-workout pile, dumbbells stood along the wall by size. MCAT prep books sat in a heavy stack on the table.

“Shh… he’s sleeping upstairs” Abby called after as you hurried up the stairs, opening the first room on the right to find him safely bundled in a baby blue blanket. His face peeked out from under it and he looked the most peaceful you’d ever seen him. You began to step inside but Abby held you back with a gentle arm around the waist “Please.”

Your face twisted with contempt, bounding back down the stairs and into the living room before turning around to face her “Why’d you bring him here?” you pointed upstairs in upset, voice terribly shaky. “Angie…” Abby tried to placate you, reaching for your outstretched arm “He couldn’t defend a goal and panicked really hard. He needed to breathe... he needed rest.”

“And you brought him here?” you pulled out of her reach to which Abby deadened her eyes “I took care of my dad till the day he died… I can trust myself to take care of him." “And me? I should trust you too?” you pitched your voice, watching her face fall. “Why are you doing this?” Abby asked, hurt and confused.

“What? Worrying about some stranger taking my son home??”

“I’m no stranger”

“Sorry, my bad. You’re basically Dylan’s dad now. I should just fall to my knees and worship you. Since you’re saving our broken fucking family! My fucking savior” you spat each word out with more vitriol than the last, eyes stinging painfully.

Abby seemed equally disturbed, slowly shaking her head as she blinked fast “Angie… I understand you’re in pain.”

“You understand my pain?” you chuckled, nearly choking from how badly your throat was trying to close “Y-you understand how my stomach hurts from all the knots? Or how much my s-son hates me? That my family wouldn’t take me back? Or how I’m not allowed at church anymore?” Abby lowered her eyes, lips pressed to hide their quiver as she let you unravel.

“Maybe you’ll understand how the other moms say I have std’s… how my colleagues hit on me saying I’m s-spoiled goods, or maybe how my in-laws tear me apart at every court visit” you practically lunged at her, grabbing the front of her t-shirt, “Do you understand that all I wanted was to be LOVED and I BROKE my bones trying to love him in hopes he’d love me back… and HE NEVER DID.” Tears squeezed out your eyes, pouring down your cheeks.

Abby enveloped you in her arms as you broke down entirely, body going limp from the relief of spitting out all the agony coiled deep inside you. Unburdened. At long last. You screwed your eyes shut painfully as you felt her tighten her grip around your waist, hand cradling the back of your head, stroking gently.

You felt her chest rise irregularly; her breath jagged from your words. The front of her t-shirt turned dark from your bleeding mascara. You relaxed your fingers over her chest, peering up at her forlorn face. “Are you mad at me?” Abby asked softly and you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheek “No… I’m scared” you sobbed and she brought her hand to your cheek, pressing a thumb to your lips.

“We’re safe… it’s just us” Abby whispered close to your forehead, the blue in her eyes growing deeper with all the love she had for you. You tensed, raising your lips to meet hers. You pecked her ever so gently. A tender apology. Abby’s hands ached from sheer restraint, tugging you back in for a deeper kiss. You tilted your face, whimpering as she forced your lips open with her tongue. Soft and wet as it slipped deep. Past the hesitation of doing wrong, you gave in entirely. Your hands dragged up her chest, hooking around her neck as you kissed her back, leaving her lips red with lipstick smears to match the flush on her cheeks. Before long, Abby had hoisted you on her hips, hands cupping your butt as you nuzzled into her neck. Your heels clattered to the floor. The scent of her sweat made you squirm around her even more.

You fell back on the couch. Her on top, pinning you down. You dropped your gaze down her front and she chuckled ever so softly. Voice low. With a quick yank, she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, stretching them over her broad shoulders. You bit your lip, staring at the veins throbbing along her waist, the deep v-cut leading inside her shorts. Your lids grew heavy with passion, running your nails up her smooth abs and cupping her silky breasts.

“I wanted to do this the day I met you” Abby groaned, fingers fussing with your first few shirt buttons, ripping the rest off as you gasped from the shock. “God” she nestled into your ample cleavage, inhaling your perfume as she kissed the tops of your breasts.

You wound your fingers into her ponytail, throwing your head back as she lowered the lace cups covering you, rubbing your nipples. Making them more sensitive. “Abby…” you mumbled into her hair as she began to tug and suck on them. You gripped her bare back with a hand, slipping the other low to push her shorts down, exposing the elastic of her underwear… the sight of her happy trail and lean hips left you panting in place.

Her back muscles rippled below your fingers, nails digging into her soft skin. Abby tugged your shirt off, leaving it draped on the couch arm as she ran her tongue down to your navel, slowly pushing your skirt past your hips. “Let me take them of-” she desperately tore your pantyhose mid-sentence, eyes affixed on the milky patch staining the narrow strip of fabric covering your pussy.

“I’m sick” you whined, covering your face as Abby slipped a thumb inside your crotch, slowly rubbing along your sticky folds, dipping ever so slightly into your entrance. It oozed on her thumb. She smiled at the way you closed around her. Teasing you. “I’m sick too” she raised her soaked thumb to her lips, dragging it across her tongue “I think we’re just right for each other.”

She took your hands away from your face, pinning them above your head “I wanted to ruin you in my office that day” she confessed, stroking the lace trim of your bra, caressing you with your eyes. “I wanted to straddle you in the booth at that diner” you admitted breathily, digging your thighs into her sides as she chuckled.

Abby’s voice trickled beneath your skin as you pushed her shorts down, slipping a hand below to cup her groin, the other squeezing her butt. Her pussy was plump and warm. Dripping wet. You slid over her slippery lips, her swollen clit. You giggled, watching her lose composure as you rubbed a circle around it, feeling it throb even harder.

“I want to feel it” you bucked your hips eagerly, back arched as she snuck out of her shorts and underwear. You hungrily stared at what the happy trail had been leading down to, offset by her massive, perfectly built thighs. You fell limp, legs open for her use as she pulled your panties aside, drawing out wet strings from your sopping pussy. You cried out softly as she ripped them at the seams, leaving you exposed. Dragging you forward, she raised your leg up on her shoulder, edging herself into you.

The skin on skin made you delirious, throbbing and snaking as she pulled you even closer. She held you in place with her hand on your ankle. Unable to inch away from where you eclipsed, rubbing and griding earnestly, the sounds getting louder. Wetter. You gripped her forearm, nails raking her skin, feeling the steady rhythm of your hips rocking, her abs dully slapping your inner thigh.

You bit your tongue lest you screamed from the pleasure. Sex had always been such a chore to you that you’d began associating it with work. But the friction of your folds and how perfectly you fit together made you rethink everything. Made you float. Made you wonder if you could ever stop once you started. The way her body pressed into yours at all the right places. How her muscles flexed and rippled against you. How needy her face looked; lips swollen and her eyes watery.

"Fuck” you cursed softly; hips raised to meet hers as the pressure on your clit made you shake uncontrollably. You reached below to place a palm on her hip, thumb pressing onto her clit. “Angie…” Abby’s hips grew more demanding, grinding down harder, squirting until you were sticky. Your breasts bounced pathetically as you fucked senseless, eyes rolling back into your head, lashes fluttering.

Your climax came hard and slow, bursting into an involuntary spasm which you let overwhelm you, quivering and squirting in place. She followed suit, holding you firm as she came, chasing it with more strong thrusts onto you, eliciting incoherent sounds of pleasure from your lips. Abby groaned, a sound rooted deep in her belly, chest rising and falling deeper. She collapsed on top of you, heaving.

You were already burning, but something about the weighted heat healed you. Let you know for sure that you weren’t alone. That you were being touched, heard, paid attention to. You couldn't be close enough to her, if only you could nestle inside her. Abby slipped her arms underneath you, head resting on your chest as you both cooled down. The ceiling felt blurry for the longest time, yellow lit from the standing lamp in the corner.

Her voice seemed to fix the ringing in your ear “I can hear your heart” Abby mumbled, the movement of her lips tickling your breast. “I can feel yours” you smiled, tracing down her shoulder blades. Abby wriggled up, level with you as she simply gazed down. “What?” you asked gently, looking into both her eyes, dilated with love.

“Promise me you won’t regret this…” she whispered, idle hand on your cheek. Wrought with innocent longing despite all the lust. “Promise me… you won’t regret us” she kissed the corner of your lips, wiping a loose eyelash. “M-mom!” Dylan shakily called from upstairs.

“Baby!” you shot up, frazzled as you look down. Ripped clothes leaving your tits sticking out, nethers exposed. Red-faced and desperate. Shame washed over you with the effect of cold water to the face, realizing how you’d been fucking around with your son’s soccer coach when you should’ve been paying attention to him. You shimmied your skirt down, grabbing your shirt from the couch and throwing it on.

Abby got herself in order too, straightening her t-shirt, slipping on her shorts “Hold on.” “No” you insisted, doing the buttons on your shirt that still remaining, tucking the shirt inside your skirt “You stay away.” You scrunched your face in regret, tucking your loose hair up as you hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Dylan sat up, looking disoriented and tired. “Sweetie” you sidle up on the bedside, pulling him into a hug “You’re, okay?”. He meekly nodded into your chest, mumbling a soft sorry. “It’s alright, baby…” you cuddle him “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Abby hurried down behind you as made your way to the front door, holding Dylan in your arms. “Angie, wait” she tried to talk as she unlatched the front door, joining you down by the car “I’m really grateful for your help… but I need to take him home.” Abby helped open the door to the backseat, heartbroken as she watched you set Dylan down with the blanket curled on end to let him rest his head.

You shut the door turning to her “Abby, I…” you drop your words, uncomfortably crossing your arms as her face fell “You regret it” she affirmed with a quick nod of her head. “It’s not like that” you threw a glance back at Dylan, he was groggy again. “No, I get it" Abby looked defeated, deflating in exhale before she fetched a folded piece of paper from her pocket “Just wanted to give you this.” You took it quietly, biting your lip.

“She’s a child therapist… specializing in children of divorce” she stared at the road behind you, unable to meet your eyes. “Take care of him… Take care, Angie.” You caught skin from where you’d bit your lip. A sharp pain. “Thankyou” you stared at her just a second longer, reluctantly turning and getting into the driver’s seat. Abby didn’t stay back, no wave goodbye even as you kept looking in the sideview mirror. You didn’t deserve one.

Later at night

You lightly kicked open Dylan’s door, lugging in a big, steaming bowl on a wooden tray. “Big, chunky chicken noodles for my big boy” you sang, carefully setting it on his lap “Be careful, love.” Dylan smiled guiltily, accepting dinner. Too easily. “You didn’t have to, mom” he fiddled with the tray handle. “Who else will I do it for?” you shrugged, dipping the soup spoon in and bringing it to your lips to blow it cool.

“Open sesame” you fed him the first bite, raising your brows inquisitively. He gulped it down, nodding “It’s the best” he nodded “you’re the best.” You did a double take, shocked “Really?” you asked in disbelief. Dylan nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. He paused, contemplating.

“Sorry, mom” he repeated what he said after he’d woken up at Abby’s home. “What for…?” your hand hovered midair, spoon caught between your fingers. “Coach… she talked me down when I panicked on the field today” he confessed and you lost focus, staring down at your lap. “She told me to think of you” Dylan went on “Said that you love me the most, that you’re always thinking of me… protecting me. That you're the strongest person she knows.”

Your face crumpled and you tried to hide them but the tears snuck past “I know things have changed in a way they weren’t supposed to… I haven’t done my best, baby” you tried to keep your voice level, coherent “I know your miss dad… a lot.”

“I do but I miss you more, mom” Dylan reached for your hand, “I was being mean with you because you’d changed… and I didn't know what to do.” “It’s okay, baby” you held his little hand back, turning your face to him as you smiled despite "Sometimes, we're mean when we don't understand our feelings." Dylan smiled sadly but it still felt like hope. Like all the frost had finally melted. Warm and full again. Safe and sound.

At bedtime

After doing the dishes, you headed back to your bedroom to change for the night. You slipped into satin, brushing your hair in the mirror. In the reflection, your phone sat heavy on the nightstand, like a dancing pointer. You tied your hair in a knot, walking up to it and picking it up before you could let a thought interrupt.

You called her, getting rejected immediately. The screen went red and you gulped painfully, knowing you’d fucked up. You decided to message her, punching in “Will wait for u at school reception at 8 tom… would like to talk” you sent it and thankfully it went through.

You stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen, feeling stupid after a while. A knock came at the door, and you slid your phone under the pillow. Dylan peeked inside, pillow in hand “Can I sleep here tonight?” he mumbled and you beamed, patting the side on the bed next to you.

You snuggled in, covering you both in your comforter like old times. The scent of his hair and the back of his neck took you in like an embrace, reminiscent of when it all felt so new. Cradling your new baby, the night you brought him home. Nothing had changed. The thought of the young couch sat at the back of your mind, and you stared at the wall. Thinking.

Next day at school

The concrete flooring amplified your anxious heel clicks, drawing dirty looks from the couple other parents sitting on the plastic seaters. You made a quick oops face, stilling yourself. The container on your lap was beginning to leave an imprint. The felt bag you’d brought along had fallen into your side again.

It had been 20 minutes past 8, and it was starting to look like you’d be running late for work again. Not that Bill was going to take it up with you. You zoned out on a blur before realizing it was the coach walking towards you. You nearly leapt out of your seat before remembering the contents of the Tupperware.

“I’m so happy you came” you smiled at her gladly, slowly getting to your feet. “How can I help you, Mrs. Hendricks” Abby remained stone-faced, oddly formal. “I was hoping to talk to you” you glanced at the container in your arms and the felt bag on the chair behind “… in your office.” Abby sighed, body angling away from you. With her hands in her pockets, she turned on her heels “Follow me.”

It made for a silent stroll across the poorly blueprinted building to the sports’ department. Abby walked several steps ahead, unlike last time. Her ponytail was limp, slump in her walk, keys jangled in her pocket. It reminded you of Dylan angry-marching whenever he was in a funk. Abby unlocked her office door, holding it open for you as you ambled inside.

While still amenable, she wasn’t as warm as before. Understandably so. You entered her office, aware you had to do better if you were going to halfway fix things. You set the stuff you’d brought on an available corner of her desk, reaching for the photo frame. You gently stroked the glass case, smiling at the tiny, grainy girl. White jersey clad. She had blonde pigtails, big grin on her face. The grass stains must’ve been hell to remove you chuckled to yourself.

Abby clicked the door shut, hands in pocket as she turned around, awkwardly pillared in the corner. “I talked to Dylan and we called the therapist whose number you gave me” you tried to initiate chat “She said she’d be glad to see him Sundays and… he’s willing to give her a try.” “That’s promising” Abby bit the inside of her mouth, cautiously approaching her desk.

“I got your blankie back!” you beamed, placing a hand on the carry bag “I wanted to wash it but it smelt so much like you, I didn’t have the heart to” you looked up at her “so I just lint rolled it.”

Abby wordlessly tugged at her blanket. Fuzzy from wear, spattered with stars and rockets from her childhood. You tapped the ridges of your wristwatch to drown the silence, dropping your gaze upon realizing you were losing focus on the bumpy bridge of her nose. “I made you some chicken noodle soup” you said softly, pushing the box into view “Not that canned stuff! This is my grandma’s recipe I made from scratch” you threw a glance around the office. “You have a hotcase? I can just leave it there… have it warm by lunch.”

“Angie, you didn’t have to” Abby finally uttered and your hand flew to your chin, covering your neck so she wouldn’t see you gulp painfully. “I’m sorry if I’m doing too much” you apologized softly, facing in the opposite direction from her. Abby sighed, “It’s not that. I’m not mad at you after… what happened. You don’t have to make it up to me” she whispered. “I understand if you don’t want to complicate things over a relationship. With how things are for you, it’s beyond understandable. Just… be honest” she dug a nail under the Tupperware lid, toying with the rubber.

“Okay” you stepped closer to her, steeling your voice with as much brazen as you had in you. Honest. “Last night was the most alive I’d ever felt” you confessed, feeling the immediate burn in your cheeks from confrontation but you soldiered on. Abby exhaled ever so slightly, like she’d constricted her chest too long.

You lightly pressed your arm against hers, feeling her shiver despite the jacket “I wasn’t expecting to… not this strongly at least… to develop feelings for someone” you felt yourself losing breath “I’ve been a wife and mom for so long, I forgot how it felt like to be a lover… to be loved.” Abby blew out her cheeks as she tried to look at you, blanching quick “Love’s not enough, is it?” her voice broke, sliding her hands over the edge of her desk, gripping it.

“It’s not… my marriage taught me that if nothing else” you shook your head “But what I felt with you… it wasn’t frivilous. It was pure and hopeful. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what to do with it so I abandoned it... I abandoned you. I shouldn't have.” you apologized earnestly. Abby’s breath grew labored as she visibly fought to compose herself.

“Hey” you gently pulled her before you by her sleeve, peering up into her eyes “I want this” you raised your hand, stroking her freckled cheek with the back of your fingers. Abby nuzzled into your touch, closing her eyes in relief. Lashes fluttering. Her hands returned to their familiar place on your waist as you cradled her neck, soothing the goosebumps on her skin.

“I want you” you mumbled into her chest as you felt her graze the small of your back, rubbing a soothing circle “And though I’m a single mom, with a 9-year-old. I work a boring desk job, have a messy Civic and an even messier ex. I don’t have much going for me-” “Stop that” Abby lightly scolded you. “But-” you kept your eyes low, tugging on her zipper, scraping the cool metal “Never put yourself down, you hear me?” Abby angled your chin up, pressing her forehead to yours.

“Yeah but…” you tried not to lose yourself entirely in her overtures, her lips pecking your nose, brow and cheek. She snuck across your cheekbone to your ear, tinkling your earring. “I need you to know what you’re getting into” you insisted. Abby whispered against your temple “What makes you think I don’t know?” as you weakly tried to discourage her, more for your own sake than hers “Abby…” you stifled a moan.

“And I’ll have you know…” she firmly propped you on her desk, hand curling around your bare thighs “I wouldn’t have it any other way”. She noticed something, looking down at your legs.

“I told them I hit myself with a cabinet door” you sheepishly explained, lifting your leg to show off the deep red handprint on your ankle. Abby smiled, folding her sleeve up to reveal the devilish nail scrapes on her arm “Haven’t been able to take my jacket off all day” she informed you gravely, sending a rosy blush over your cheeks.

“We’ll have to invest in quite the parka, then…” you pouted; eyes filled with faux guilt “because it will happen again” a sudden smug grin curled up on your lips. Abby’s jaw dropped, grabbing you as she vigorously nuzzled into your neck amid your giggles “Someone’s going to be explaining several curling rod incidents soon.”

To be continued (?)

[novelcain]

Okay, okay okay… I’ve had a little headcannon rattling around my head for awhile now…

AND I NEEEEEED TO SHARE IT!!!😆

Okay SO, Ao Lie is referenced as being a “young Dragon” right??

Well what if he’s actually the Dragon equivalent of a Teenager? Meaning he’s literally a traumatized child! (Because apparently his dad was totally okay with Ao being sentenced to death by the Jade dumb-dumb) and this realization makes reader unlock the most terrifying ability possible… Parental RAGE!! 😈

I could seriously imagine reader just going absolutely Apeshit on some poor soul, who thought they could get Tcherpitaka by targeting his “horse”.

She’s all like: “HOW! FUCKING! DARE YOU!!! You think it’s acceptable to attack kids!?! Do you! DO YOU!!! Well guess what pal, I’m gonna make sure you NEVER have children of your own!!”

The lowly demon: crying, shaking, and curled on the floor… “I-I’m s-sorry.. p-please, have m-mercy..”😭

Sun Wukong: … (possibly, slightly turned on)😏

Brought to you by the musings of a Pumpkin.. 🎃

I fucking love this headcanon. Your mind is a truly beautiful place Pumpkin.

Alternatively tho~ I see your reader threatening a random demon and raise you reader threatening Ao Run the Dragon King of the Western fuckin Sea:

It was no secret that after finding out that Ao Lie was essentially the dragon equivalent of a teenager you had become protective of the former death row convict. You couldn't believe that any parent would willingly send their child off to their demise over some property damage. Even if the property in question was a bunch of magical pearls.

Over time, you became something of a mother figure to the young dragon. Making sure he didn't overwork himself. Pushing him to pursue hobbies and further his education. And doting on him in general. Ao Lie soaked up every bit of praise and didn't miss a single opportunity to rub it in the other disciples' faces. Especially Wukong, who silently grew more and more jealous with every interaction between you and the prince. "Why the hell can't you stroke my fur like that," he'd pout quietly to himself.

And then one day, the group ended up in the Dragon Palace of the Western Sea, and all hell proceeded to break loose. The moment you laid eyes on the Dragon King himself you shouted, "YOU!"

"Oh no," lamented Tripitaka.

"You son of a bitch!" You pointed at Ao Run. Wukong slapped his hand over his mouth to stop from bursting out laughing while Tripitaka began to silently weep, both Bajie and Wujing gasped and stared wide eyed at you in disbelief, and Ao Lie's—who was in dragon form—jaw hit the floor.

"Pardon me—"

"Shut up," you cut off the king causing the massive dragon to scoff in indignation, and that sound alone made Wukong unable to hold his laughter back any further. Tripitaka let out a sob and fell to the floor with his head in his hands. Bajie ran to grab you. Wujing tried to apologize. Lie shrunk in on himself in look as small as possible, hoping to avoid his father's wrath.

"You bitches shut up too," you yelled at the gang and slapped Bajie across the face when he tried to clamp his hand over your mouth, "And don't touch me!"

At this point, Wukong was rolling on the floor as Bajie stumbled to hide behind Wujing while holding his abused cheek, and Tripitaka was praying to Buddha to be merciful to his soul when he meets his gruesome demise.

The young woman simply ignored her companions and proceeded to ring out the Dragon King of the Western Sea for his awful parenting methods for the next hour.

By the end, Ao Lie had begun crying and took a half human form to hug you. You gently patted the young prince on the back, glaring at his father, who was looking rather ashamed by now. The Dragon King hung his head while his entire court watched in awe as you chewed him out. The king wouldn't admit it, but you were getting heated to the point that he was worried you'd insure he'd never have another child to mistreat again.

Wukong had sat down to get a more comfortable view of the show but also to hide that he was just a little bit aroused by your protective nature. He couldn't help but wonder what your thoughts on children were.

[minervadashwood]

Daryl Dixon x gn!Reader (plus size) - Soulmate AU

Careful

Summary: You have a soulmate you've never met. When their injuries stop appearing on your body, you worry that they're dead. As the apocalypse starts, you're convinced of it. How very wrong you are.

Note: This story is a one-shot AU of the Scars and Stitches (Tumblr | AO3)  universe. I think it can be read as a standalone, but if you want to read the whole series first, go right ahead. There is one specific event referenced in the chapter "Safe" (Tumblr | AO3). You can check that single chapter if you’re curious. Huge thanks to @livingdeadblondequeen for giving me this idea of soulmates who experience each others’ injuries and pain.  This story contains: angst, scars, blood, a secretive Daryl Dixon, and a happy ending. Word count: 3.3K

Masterlist | Taglist

The first scar happened when you were only four. One day, you were playing outside, just after a summer storm, making mud pies with your little brother. There, up to your wrists in wet, squelchy mud, sudden scrapes appeared on your hands, your knees, and your left cheek. Your brother screamed for your mother, and he started weeping uncontrollably. “Y/N’s dying!” he said, over and over. But you weren’t. Each of your scrapes, including the slashing wound on your forehead that bled profusely, were treated at the kitchen sink. You bawled through it all, but back then your mother was gentle. She soothed you with kind words, a soft touch, and endless patience.

More injuries came after that. Your nose was broken in the third grade, your wrist in the fourth. Not a month went by when you didn’t get bruised or banged up. Your mom went back to work, taking the nightshift with your dad at the local coal refinery. You were racking up doctor’s bills right and left, and the insurance was better with both of them working.

When you were twelve, your mom sat you down one Friday night--morning for her--and told you about the birds and the bees, including soulmates. She explained that the reason you got hurt so much was because out in the world somewhere, your soulmate was getting hurt, too. You cried, worrying about the person who was injured so often.

After that, your own troubles started. Your parents took up drinking, and your cozy little trailer became a nightmarish prison. The first time your mother slapped you, you sent a silent apology to your soulmate. They’d been hurt so much already, and here you were making it worse.

At fourteen, a fight with your mother, who wielded a broken lamp, left you bleeding from a gash in your oblique. Your younger brother got in the family car, barely able to see over the steering wheel, and drove you to the doctor’s office to get you patched up. You had a jagged scar from that, and so must your soulmate. Every night you prayed to that distant person, telling them that you loved them and that you were sorry. Not for anything specific, but just because both your lives seemed to be filled with pain.

But the worst scars came when you were fifteen. You were in English class--your favorite--when your back erupted into a sharp, bruising pain that made every other injury feel like tiny scratch.  You wailed, right in the middle of class, falling out of your desk chair and writhing face down on the floor. You jerked as more and more pain hit you, the force of it shaking you right to your bones. Then the bleeding started. Huge cuts formed under your shirt, soaking the garment in seconds. Your teacher ordered all the students out of the room, and she called the nurse on the intercom. You were in a fog of pain and tears, and soon too weak for even that. You woke up in the hospital, laying facedown on a gurney, your little brother at your side.

More came later, bruises on your face from what you eventually realized were fistfights, once a sprained ankle. Another broken nose. Then a third. But as you grew up, left home, and got your library degree on a state scholarship, the hurts came less and less.

You half wondered, through most of your twenties, if your mate hadn’t simply died from all their hard living. But deep down, you still felt a connection to them. Whether that was false hope or something else, you weren’t sure. 

Now, you are somewhere in Georgia, staring down miles of abandoned cars. Your arm is in a sling because one of your companions put you in a wrist lock two nights ago. You have two friends here. A stressed out cop and a surly redneck. The latter keeps a close eye on you. He knows about your scars and about your mate, whom you are certain is dead.

After Shane hurt you, somehow Daryl found you. Tipsy from the liquor he’d been drinking, he took one look at you and demanded an explanation. After you showed him your arm, he wrapped it with an elastic bandage and fashioned you a sling from a pillowcase.  The whole time, you sat there and cried your eyes out. You went on and on about your lost soulmate, all the pain they’d been through--all the pain you’d been through. Daryl listened, silently, his expression sometimes tense and sometimes soft. He is a man of few words, to say the least.

(You never noticed that since that night he started favoring his left arm, and that he usually sleeveless hunter took to wearing long-sleeve flannel.)

Daryl catches your attention as the group begins to split up to search the nearby cars. “‘M goin’ up ahead to get some gas wi’ T-Dog.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll look for clothes and medicine. Maybe find something that will actually fit me.”

“Will ya try ta stay close ta the RV?”

You nod with a half smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’m one handed at the moment, and not looking to be a hero.” Daryl leaves you with a nod, and you watch him walk away from you; his broad shoulders seem large enough to carry the weight of the world. Maybe they do.

Rick approaches you a few minutes later, convinced that Daryl is the one who hurt you. You fall back on the lies you and your brother would spin after your parents had too much to drink. Lori demanded your silence, and you want to keep your promise.

“It didn’t happen to me,” you explain, “I have a soulmate. I thought they were dead, but hey, guess what? Miracles do happen.” The end of the world apparently has made you snarky. You give Rick the short version--not the weeping monologue Daryl suffered through.

“Maybe you’ll find them,” Rick says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

Getting back to your task, you somehow find a suitcase with plus size clothing. Most of it is in floral prints or with obnoxiously bedazzled phrases like “hot stuff” and “super cute” spread across the front. The other options include garish Hawaiian prints and stretched out polos. You aren’t picky. If something might fit, you grab it. 

You have a good-sized bundle when Daryl suddenly grabs you and pulls you to the ground. In doing so, he has saved your life, again. Under a jeep, you huddle with him, holding your breath as he glances around and grips a long knife in his hand. The walkers pass you by, miraculously, and Daryl helps you to your feet. Just as he did after the CDC exploded, he holds you close, his arms wrap tightly around your thick middle as he whispers in your ear.

“Ya did real good. It’s gonna be alrigh’.”  A moment passes before he loosens his arms and lets you go.

You wonder what he must think of you. Some helpless person who cried and moaned over a bruised wrist. Someone who needs constant looking after because they can’t protect themselves in this world.

Not all of your group fared as well as you and Daryl. In fact, he has disappeared into the forest. You sit with T-Dog, stitching up his arm and digging through long-lost Merle’s stash for antibiotics.

Later, as if you’re some child to be handled, Daryl demands that Glenn take you to the farm, ostensibly to take care of T-Dog. But you know better. You’re in the way and virtually helpless. Daryl doesn’t want you underfoot while he continues the search for Sophia.  You can’t blame him.

At the farm, your scant first aid knowledge isn’t much good when there’s an actual physician around. You are partially relieved. Carl has much better chances without you getting in the way.

Carol, practically a walking zombie--no, not that kind--only frets and cries. Normally, Lori would comfort her, but Lori has her own troubles.  You help organize the camp, before it gets too dark, pitching tents and making up beds for Daryl, Shane, and Carol.  After, you sit with Carol, and she tells you stories of Sophia, some that break your heart and some that make you smile. Her tirades against Rick bubble up in between the tales. You let her talk; it’s not like Rick’s around to hear, anyway.

Night has fallen long before you hear the now-familiar sound of Daryl’s motorcycle. He talks with Carol, and the woman cries and pounds her fists against his chest. The sight affects you so much that you feel pressure on your heart, the repetitive pulsing almost making your ribs ache. You watch as she cries herself out, and Daryl’s head hangs low. Unable to bear the sight, you leave to  get some food and water for him. 

Carol escapes into her tent, and as she leaves, you bring the food to Daryl. You sit next to him while he eats in silence.

You want to hug him again, like you did in his truck, like you did on the highway, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.

“Thanks fer the grub,” he mumbles, standing up.

“Sure, no problem. Did you get enough to eat? Drink?”

He nods, biting his thumbnail and looking at the ground.

You know he’s exhausted, but there is something boyish and lost in the way he stands and the drooping of his shoulders.  All at once, he reminds you of home, of family. Indeed, a wave of familiarity overtakes you, as if you have known Daryl all your life.

Ignoring the voices of your better angels, you reach up and gently draw his hand from his mouth to hold it in yours.

He lets out a long sigh and runs his thumb over your knuckles. “We got someone keepin’ watch?”

You stare at your joined hands in the moonlight, at Daryl’s thick, calloused thumb moving over your skin. His touch grounds you, somehow. Nothing is okay right now, but with Daryl next to you, this chaos feels almost bearable.

“Dale on the RV, T-Dog in the camp,” you answer. “We set up a tent for you. You need some rest.”

He nods.

Still holding his hand, you lead him to a small copse of trees, where his tent sits, apart from the others. You know that Daryl likes his privacy.  

On the way, you tell him about Carl, about Otis and Shane heading out in the morning. You tell him about Hershel, too, warning Daryl that the man is protective and opinionated. You finish just as you reach his tent, and you reluctantly let go of Daryl’s hand.

(You don’t notice how he clenches and unclenches his fist, or how he puts his other hand on that wrist, trying to dull the pain there.)

“Ya got a place to get some shut-eye?” he asks, his voice raspy and soft.

“With Carol. Don’t want to leave her alone overnight.”

He grunts, giving you a small nod. Resisting every urge to hug him, you turn and walk back to Carol’s tent. Sleep comes fast, but Carol’s cries wake you up in the night, over and over. Each time you try to  comfort her until eventually she falls asleep again.

The next day, in the late afternoon, the heat has taken its toll on you, so you find respite in a shaded part of camp, drinking from a bottle of water. The grass, soft and tempting, practically invites you to take a nap. Even without Daryl or Rick close by, you are relatively safe, so you give in.

When you wake up, Dale’s face is directly above yours. His hat askew, his brow covered in droplets of sweat, Dale’s mouth is moving, but you blink in and out of consciousness. Another concussion, you think, that would make three, now.

Forcing yourself to focus, to stay alert, you try to sit up, but Dale holds you down, his lips moving even faster now. A shadow moves above. It’s T-Dog with bandages and a bottle of tequila. His voice becomes a muffled sound, then all at once, you hear Dale saying your name, over and over, telling you to stay still. T-Dog shouts for Andrea, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha--”

“Save your strength,” Dale tells you. “We’re just trying to stop the bleeding before we get you inside.”

The throbbing in your head gives way to a white-hot burning in your belly. You hurt from the inside out, as if something has clawed its way through you and left agony in its wake.

A soft touch wipes a cloth across your brow. The blood on it catches your eye. The throbbing in your head must be bleeding.

“Was it a bullet?” Carol’s voice asks. She cradles your head on her  lap. “They must have fallen and hit their head, too.”

“Can’t be. We would’ve heard somethin’,” T-Dog replies.

Aches, bruising and intense, bloom all over you, like smatterings of hammer blows on your joints, torso, and legs. A whimper passes your lips, but the others don’t seem to notice these fresh bumps. You start praying, like you did all those years ago, telling your soulmate that you love them, to be strong, to get themselves to safety.

Consciousness comes and goes, at one point your shoulders are caught in a bruising grip, but no one is actually touching you there. Quickly, after that, new agony rips through your open wound, making you scream and moan on the ground. 

Dale’s hands are shaky, you feel the trembling at your wound. All at once the three of them turn you on your side. You can’t help the piercing scream that erupts from your mouth. 

“Whatever it was, there’s an exit wound,” Dale says. “Didn’t see that at first.”

A pair of hands press against your belly and another at your back.

The new pain has you on the verge of fainting until the disembodied voice of Andrea shouts, “WALKER!” 

“Shit!” T-Dog exclaims.

All of a sudden, he lifts you. The world whizzes by, a steak of green in your peripheral and a wisp of clouds overhead.

Something slices across your temple, a quick burst of pain that fades in the wake of your torso being shaken and jostled as you are carried across uneven ground.

You can’t keep your eyes open. The voices around you are silenced and your vision goes dark. Again.

*

“That’s two more rounds of antibiotics, Rick. Your people can’t seem to stop getting hurt.”

“I understand that, Hershel. A few of us will go out in the morning and look for what you need. For now, I need to know if they’re going to be alright.”

“They’ll need some time to recover, but, yes, they’ll be fine. Eventually. Now, I need to check on my own family.”

You hear a door slam shut, and force open your eyes. “Rick?”

The room is dark except for the light from a lantern near the table. In a chair next to you sits the deputy.

“You gave us quite the scare today,” he tells you.

“What happened?” You try sitting up, but think better of it when you realize you are shirtless under the covers. You have more scars than words to explain them.

“Daryl was tracking Sophia, fell off his horse, and down a ravine.”

You clutch the covers to your chest. “Is he okay? How bad is it?” You tremble in the bed, sick with worry.

Rick smiles and says,, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You turn to see Daryl laying next to you, his head wrapped in gauze. Distantly a door opens and closes: Rick making a quick exit.

Daryl’s eyes are watery as he speaks. “Didn’ ‘spect ya ta find out like this.”

He takes your hand and places it on your forehead. Instead of hair, your fingertips trace over gauze. You realize it's wrapped around your forehead, just like it is his.

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest, sounding in your ears like the hastened beat of a bass drum.

Next to you, Daryl slowly pulls the covers down to his waist. He has a tank top on, but it does not cover the bandage on his stomach. The white gauze has been placed on the same part of his belly that caused you incredible pain before you blacked out.

“All I thought ‘bout out there was gettin’ back to ya.  Jus’ thinkin’ of ya hurt as bad as me. I had to pull the arrow out to stop the bleedin’. I know it hurt like hell.” He lays on his side, but under the covers, his hand finds the soft flesh of your stomach and rests there. “‘M so sorry. Fer this, fer everythin’. If I knew before--” his voice cracks, but he keeps talking. “If I knew ya was ou’ ‘ere, gettin’ hurt ‘cause of me, I woulda been more careful all them years. I knew I didn’ deserve ya the moment ya told me all them times ya prayed to your soulmate, worried ‘bout him, ‘bout me.”

You take his hand and use it to pull him closer. His rough fingertips find their way to your upper back and hold you gently.

“I don’ deserve a soulmate, let alone someone like you,” he whispers.  “Look what I done to ya. All yer life you been hurtin’. ‘Cause of me.”

Tears fall from your eyes. You cup his face, stroking your thumb on the apple of his cheek. The scruff from his beard pricks your skin, but the discomfort is welcome. “You’re real and here. That’s all that matters to me. You weren’t the one to carve up my back or break my nose. The world did that, to both of us.”

You move closer to him and cradle his neck until your noses almost touch. “I’ve been dreaming of you all my life, Daryl, scars and all. Your life--our lives are told on our bodies. Every scar a story of the time before we met. I want to write a new one. Together.”

He stares at you in the orange lantern light, and a few tears fall down his cheeks. Heart in your throat, you stay silent, watching him watch you. You lose yourself in his eyes, the soft way he gazes at you, unblinking and searching.

“I wanna kiss ya,” he mumbles. “I jus’ want ya to feel somethin’ good from me, an’ not all this pain.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Daryl’s hand snakes up your back until it cradles the base of your head. The world goes silent the moment his lips touch yours. The taste of him sets off fireworks in your soul, as if part of you was not truly alive until this moment. You kiss him back, all those years of praying and crying over him coalescing so that you can forge this new path, together.

Some time later, you break apart, lips wet and swollen from endless, slow kisses, kisses trying to make up for decades spent apart.

“Was tha’ alrigh’?” Daryl asks, biting his bottom lip.

You smile for what feels like the first time in your life. “Not sure. We better do it again. Just in case.”

The end. Thank you for reading!

==Taglist==

@livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89 @green-eyedladywrites @in-this-minute @takeabreathdeath @ravendixon @gypsytraveler86-blog @xojdmasf @daisy107 @angelrenee239 @sleepyamaya @no-tresspassing @carol @taintedxkisses @bl4ckt00thgr1n @glitch0o0 @micheleamidalajedi @lonelywolfheart @jad3djay @catholicraisin @harringtonstudios @brittney69 @littlelovebug98 @aureolinb

==

[icequeenbae]

Stay the Night (m) | BBH [pt.2]

Sequel to: Lost and Found [pt.1]

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Dilf Dad!Baek, Established Relationship, fluff, smut

Warnings: explicit content, unprotected sex (it’s either dumb or strategic), mommy and daddy going at it ©, creampie, a sprinkle of body insecurity?

Word Count: ~3.2k

Summary: It’s been a few months since Baekhyun bumped into you in daycare. Your life has changed dramatically since then, and while introducing a second parent to your son was no easy task, the relationship between you and his father also remained… unsettled. So far.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: Hi darlings!! I’ve been going through some rough time lately, and it seems like it’s gonna last a few weeks (months?) at least. But I didn’t want to disappear since I got many things planned. So, as promised, this story is getting a continuation, and it’s great timing (to celebrate the 400 followers milestone) 💌 Tbh this was written around the time I posted pt.1 (if not before that…), so I hope you’re still waiting for the update~ Get a playful parent!Baek, who can charm the hell out of anyone. Especially when they are already weak for him 😷 Please enjoy this part and let me know what you think! Also, I strongly suggest that you read Lost and Found before this, it’s pretty short anyways:)

Network tags: @superm-net​  @exo-writers-net​​  @bbh-net​

It always made you wonder where kids get all that energy from.

You even questioned this now, while putting the dishes away to the dishwasher. The machine was a big help since cooking for these two was already an exhausting enough job (on top of your actual job!), and washing the dishes would just leave you with zero time to breathe. Despite being extremely stubborn, you were thankful for everything Baekhyun had done for you in the past months. Most of it was through coercion, of course; he knew you wouldn’t just pick up and move in with him ‘just because’.

Just because he owned a fancy apartment at a fancy Seoul location, for instance. That was times and times larger than the one you stayed at with Hyunwoo.

Baekhyun found a way to insist on the move – his son needed to live nearby for him to be able to see him often. And if you weren’t ready to move in with him, then he could find a nice apartment for you. That was a more or less reasonable request. He knew you couldn’t say no to him wanting his son to be close by, and at this point there was no way you could afford renting such a place.

‘You know how busy I am, and I already missed the first two years of his life. I want to spend as much time with him as I can, Y/N-ah,’ Baekhyun whispered, leaning in to kiss the top of his son’s head while the boy was snoozing in your arms. ‘He’s the most precious gift I’ve ever received.’

His sparkling eyes gave you goosebumps. The more hours he spent with you, especially saying things like that, the needier you seemed to become. You prayed that he didn’t notice how easy it was to get you all hot and bothered. But that time he only mouthed ‘thank you’ and pressed his lips to your forehead innocently.

So, you moved. To a two-bedroom apartment that was at least three times bigger than your previous one, and with everything you could possibly need. You didn’t agree to this option either, but Baekhyun already signed all the paperwork and presented you with a key, leaving you no options to downgrade even a little. ‘I want the best for my family,’ he said, and you had no choice but to comply.

It was nice. The two and a half years you had to struggle alone were very tough on you. Having someone to take care of both you and your baby boy was a great relief. Your heart was finally at ease: Hyunwoo went to the nicest daycare around, was always well-fed and nicely clothed (Baekhyun was obsessed with buying him new outfits every other week…), and had a great health insurance plan thanks to his dad. But most of all, your son was happy.

If the obnoxious brattle and giggling from the other room was any indication.

You chuckled, turning the dishwasher on. They’d been at it for at least an hour after dinner, and it was a miracle Baekhyun could even keep up with the little guy. He was great with Hyunwoo though. Easily made his son fall in love with him, and now these two were wreaking havoc almost non-stop. What a duo.

As you reached the doorway, the laughter and gasps became more conspicuous. Baekhyun was already lying on the floor, breath labored from all the running around. Meanwhile, Hyunwoo plopped on top of him, still giggling and fidgeting about, making his father grunt.

‘Ah, appa is too old for this,’ he muttered, palm hovering over his son’s back protectively to prevent him from falling over.

His neck was straining slightly from the uncomfortable position, yet he was in no hurry to change it. Your eyes lingered on it a bit longer, watching the bulging jugular vein and the slight bob under the taut skin when he swallowed.

‘Finally worn out? The neighbors are ecstatic,’ you cleared your throat, and they turned to you.

Baekhyun suddenly seemed much more energetic than seconds prior.

‘Hyunwoo-yah… Wanna chase mommy?’ He whispered conspiratorially, sitting up and holding the boy close.

‘There will be no chasing mommy, thank you. Haven’t you kicked up enough dust already?’

Baekhyun started rising slowly, and you took a step to the side.

‘No,’ you warned, but the grins on their faces said there was nothing you could do to stop them. ‘Come on, you- ah!’

You squeaked and actually began running away from them, but not far – as soon as you ended up on the sofa, you had to call a truce. They still jumped you and made you laugh with the tickle torture. Which ended in you breathing heavily too, hugging your son, who was resting comfortably on your chest now.

‘I think he’s finally tired,’ you whispered at Baekhyun, noting how your baby’s eyes were growing sleepy.

‘And he knows all the best resting spots,’ he responded, earning a mildly exasperated sigh from you.

‘Puppy, let’s go get you ready for bed,’ you placed a kiss into the soft hair on his head, and he yawned, mumbling that he didn’t want to go to bed yet.

‘I’ll take him,’ Baekhyun interrupted the exchange. ‘Finish up in the kitchen, while we,’ he took your son into his arms, ‘go on a bathroom adventure!’

‘What is it?’ A curious voice asked.

‘Appa will show you!’

You followed them with your eyes, smiling at how great they were together. It was also a relief there was someone else to give Hyunwoo all of the attention he craved. As his mother, you always did your best to show him love and affection, but he was so active these days… You’d never be able to keep up if you had to do it alone.

Baekhyun was an amazing dad, too. He easily handled any tantrums and essentially spoke the boy’s language, knowing when to reason with him and when to say something to pique his interest. Your son adored him, and you sometimes wondered if it was even fair for Baekhyun to gain this amount of love in such a short time.

Before you knew it, they were all done with the night routines, and Hyunwoo was out like a little light. When you crept in to see what was up, Baekhyun was making sure he was well tucked in before turning the lamp off.

You ended up in your room, finally sitting down to chill. He slouched on the sofa, and you took a spot on your bed. Baekhyun’s legs were spread, the way he usually sat, and he seemed relaxed and comfortable, as if he wasn’t going anywhere. For a split second, you wished that he wasn’t.

‘Wow, that’s one energetic boy,’ Baekhyun’s low laugh brought you back to reality.

‘I wonder whom he’s getting that from.’

Both of you snickered at that.

‘Maybe that’s why he loves you so much,’ you continued.

Baekhyun squinted at you from the sofa.

‘Are you… pouting?’

‘No.’

‘You are. Don’t tell me you are jealous.’ He huffed in disbelief.

Well, you decided to ignore that. Because you were not jealous at all.

‘Oh my god, Y/N. How territorial of you,’ he taunted.

‘I’m not jealous!’ You objected almost too loudly.

‘Right,’ he sneered. ‘I guess that he gets from you.’

You raised a confused eyebrow.

‘Remember how Hyunwoo behaved when I came along, the tantrums and the silent treatment? So jealous of his mommy. Can’t blame him though,’ he suddenly eyed you head to toe.

You gulped from the intensity of his stare, and he licked his lips slowly before snapping out of it. Back to his chill self.

‘He even fought me once. Fists were involved,’ Baekhyun recalled in an exaggerated tone.

‘Yes, the two-year-old beat you up. I’m sure that’s how it was,’ you responded on autopilot, fidgeting on the bed.

‘I let him win. Strategically. He wins the fight, I win the war – that sort of thing.’

‘How clever. Did you? Win the war?’

‘Don’t know yet. But at least I have a strong ally now. We’re getting there.’

A strange sensation in your chest caused you to bite your tongue.

‘How’s work?’ He suddenly changed the topic, eyes still studying you lazily.

‘Good. The four-day schedule works fine so far, my day-off is tomorrow. Will probably go to the dog café with Hyunwoo, he loves it.’

‘Runs in the family,’ Baekhyun nodded.

‘Hey, I love dogs too!’ You protested.

‘Like I said, runs in the family.’

His words instantly got you even more flustered, and you had no idea why. This happened more and more often in the recent weeks. There was no good comeback, so you just fell silent again. The crumpled sheets were suddenly more interesting than anything.

Sensing the shift, Baekhyun (likely thinking he made you uncomfortable) cleared his throat.

‘I guess, it’s time for me to-’

‘You can stay!’ You interjaculated, rising from the bed abruptly.

Somehow you both froze in surprise.

‘It’s… late, and…’

‘You want me to spend the night here?’ He clarified, taking a careful step towards you.

‘Um- There’s a couch-’

The closer he was, the more incoherent your speech became. This was relatively new. But then again, you didn’t spend this much time alone with him until recently. Maybe the cozy domestic Baekhyun was just throwing you off. He was the father of your son, after all, and seeing him interact with Hyunwoo may have affected you too. Or maybe all of this was just an excuse you came up with instead of admitting that your feelings for your ex were still there. With him close like that, you couldn’t even register the burning in your cheeks.

‘You want me on the couch?’ Your knees almost faltered when he simply touched your bare forearm, stroking up. ‘Are you blushing?’

‘I don’t want- Why are you touching me?’

‘We’re always touching each other. Why does it suddenly bother you, Y/N-ie?’

You swallowed, lowering your eyes just enough to have a clear view of his wet pouty lips.

‘So,’ his voice deepened, almost turning into a hoarse whisper. ‘Do you still want me on the couch, or…?’

Your eyes shot up, but you didn’t get a chance to respond. He didn’t leave you a spare second before he planted his mouth on yours. It ended unsatisfyingly fast. Like he was giving you a chance to back out. But once you felt his lips, you wanted more. You wanted the actual kiss, with tongue and with the lack of oxygen making you lightheaded.

And he eagerly gave you exactly what you desired. Time ceased to exist as you got enchanted by the vaguely familiar swirl of his tongue, held tightly in his arms.

‘Y/N, is this- what you want?’ He asked while you traced his jaw with your mouth.

‘Lock the door,’ you murmured.

There was his answer.

Baekhyun reached for the door, and you couldn’t resist the desire to have your lips on his tense neck. But a second later he was already hoisting you up, just to lay you down on the bed.

‘Stop fussing,’ he whispered, helping you get his t-shirt off. ‘And be quiet.’

You grunted impatiently in response, removing your top while he tugged your shorts off. A kiss on the belly made you jump. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you tensed up and met his eyes with your uncertain ones. You did lose most of your baby weight, but your body… wasn’t the same as it was before giving birth. The life you were leading wasn’t exactly dedicated to exercising, so the belly stuck around. And your breasts went at least two sizes up from hormones and breastfeeding… Naturally, those deflated a bit when you stopped feeding Hyunwoo, but that only made them sag a little. Not to mention the stretch marks.

However, Baekhyun would have none of that. He just went right back to peppering kisses around your navel.

‘I can hear what you’re thinking,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be silly. You are beautiful.’

He reached your bra, pressing on the cups to squeeze your breasts together.

‘Don’t even get me started on these,’ he dove between them, making you laugh breathlessly. ‘And the unspeakable things I wanna do to them…’

You squirmed, shifting your butt underneath him.

‘Can you feel how hard you make me?’ He rolled his hips forward to confirm.

It was enough to provoke you.

‘Baekhyun,’ you whined, falling apart as soon as his hand gripped your thigh firmly. ‘I literally haven’t had sex in years, can you fuck me already?’

‘In years, as in…’ He paused, searching your face. ‘Since us?’

‘Yeah. I was… kinda busy,’ you mumbled awkwardly. Being a new single mom wasn’t something you could juggle dating with.

He kissed you on impulse, doing a poor job at containing the inappropriately joyful smile.

‘So, I was the last person to fuck you?’ His fingers rubbed you slowly through your panties.

‘How much more ego-stroking do you need?’ You were getting quite irritated with the stalling.

‘None, I just wanted to mess with you. Sex is better when you’re frustrated.’ He smirked, removing your underwear and touching your now bare skin. ‘Because then you wanna be even more vocal than usual…’

He lowered himself on top of you again, and finished his thought.

‘…but you can’t be.’

With that, he jerked forward, covering your mouth with his right palm to prevent your surprised squeal from escaping.

‘Sh-h-h,’ he brushed his nose across your neck, pressing a chaste kiss onto it. ‘You don’t wanna wake up the entire neighborhood now, do you?’

He was just teasing – you couldn’t respond anyway. Not with the skilled maneuver of his hips, nailing you to the mattress. Baekhyun was going deep but slow in the beginning, allowing you to adjust to the long-awaited stretch. But as you moaned into his palm, he sped it up, taking it as his cue.

Finally lowering his hand, he let you gasp for air before he kissed you again.

‘Bae-k-hyun, please,’ you uttered, and he sat back, changing the position slightly.

Hooking his arms under your knees, he pulled your hips up.

‘Ow,’ you reacted to the strain, mentally cursing your lack of flexibility.

But your partner was quick to react and find a pillow to stabilize your pelvis.

‘Better? Or another one?’

‘Use two,’ he nodded and added the second pillow.

The angle he was getting now seemed perfect, so he didn’t waste any more time.

‘Shit, if this is a dream, that’s definitely the best fucking dream I’ve ever had,’ he gritted, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face. Some still stuck to his sweaty forehead, which you found incredibly hot.

‘Do you have fucking dreams about me often?’

‘Does daydreaming count?’ He huffed a laugh, sliding inside. ‘Then, every day.’

You wanted to respond, but the spots he was now hitting made it impossible to keep holding your moans back. All you could do was purse your lips and cover them with the back of your palm just in case. At some point, your head nearly blew up from how much you wanted to sound the stirring euphoria.

‘I want to hear you when you come,’ he slowed down to get rid of the bigger pillow before leaning in. With your butt slightly elevated he now had the best setting to just ram into you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

His palm assumed its earlier spot over your mouth, allowing you to let go. As you whimpered into it, Baekhyun’s chest rumbled.

‘Agh, baby, just give into it. If you don’t, I can’t promise to pull out before-’

He gasped at how tight you became, and you whimpered again, gripping his shoulder. Your watering eyes didn’t break eye contact, telling him that stopping or slowing down was out of the question. With the sound of your abrupt frenzied breaths on top of everything else, he couldn’t prevent the sensation about to explode in him.

Scrunching his face up trying to delay it a little more, he held his breath, still working his hips to get you there. It was unbearable. He waited so unbelievably long to get you back like this, and then you said you hadn’t been with anyone else since... All of this was too much for him to process.

Just as you put your hand onto his neck, where the veins were the most prominent, he snapped. Eyes locking with yours, he made the decision to quit holding back. The change in his gaze affected you instantly, pushing you right into your orgasm. And there was no stopping for him now, so he simply allowed you to take him with you.

Minutes passed as you just lay there, sweaty and completely spent. You contemplated what happened for a few moments, belatedly scolding yourself for not even trying to avoid getting pregnant again. But you had zero willpower when it came to Baekhyun.

That was most likely how he knocked you up the first time anyways.

‘Damn.’ He scrambled himself off of you and sat back, watching his cum drip out of you as you shifted. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it.’

You fussed under his gaze in embarrassment and closed your legs, but he still reached down, smearing his semen between your swollen lips.

‘Once it’s in – it’s in, you know the rule,’ he hummed. ‘Unless you want me to…?’

‘No-’ You blurted out at his suggestion.

He smiled cheekily and then licked the corner of his mouth.

‘Good call. You could never stay quiet when I went down on you.’

You only sighed at this. Why argue? That was an absolute fact. This man used to make you go insane with his tongue. In more ways than one.

‘Would you stop… staring? It’s creepy,’ you squirmed, urging him to lie down.

‘Haven’t seen your pussy for years, why’s that creepy? We’ve missed each other.’

‘You never know when to shut up,’ rolling your eyes, you threw your leg over his to get him closer.

Ignoring the ticklish sensation between your thighs, you leaned in to caress his damp face with your palm. Using the proximity, he kissed you again, slowly this time. Waiting for no longer than two seconds before spoiling the moment.

‘Can’t believe I just fucked a milf.’

You almost roared. His mouth was still great at making you go insane.

‘If I’m a milf what does it make you, a dilf?’

‘Oh,’ his voice acquired a greasy undertone. ‘You can call me daddy any time.’

‘You wish.’

He switched the lights off and lay there silently for a minute, full of himself, and then voiced another of his compulsive thoughts.

‘Are you gonna keep the bra on while you sleep?’

‘Baekhyun.’

‘I just want you to be comfortable…’

‘Will you shut up if I get comfortable?’

‘Mm-yes.’

‘Of course,’ you muttered, getting rid of your lingerie.

‘They are gorgeous,’ he whispered excitedly, putting his palms onto your breasts at once.

You cleared your throat, reminding him of his promise.

‘…and I will enjoy them silently.’ He agreed, only adding under his breath, ‘Until we move in together.’

Masterlist

A/N: Aw, isn’t he cute? Who can ever resist him??🤷🏻‍♀️ Daddy/ hubby Baek is becoming my thing, or maybe I’m just soft lol Anyways, thanks for reading! And you’re always welcome for a chat, I miss interacting with you guuuys!! ❤💔❤

[rein4r1]

I’m Getting You Out

Warning/s: Familial Abuse, Implied Depression, Sex, Not proofread

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Pairing: [MODERN AU] Eren x F!Reader

AN: I’m still practicing on writing smut I promise. English isn’y my first language so...

Eren promises to get you out of that f*cking hellhole

Statistics are numerical figures resulting from research. And statistics show that one in seven children are exposed to abuse at home.

To become a part of a whole is to be subjected in a fractional value in a case of one of many. Just another victim. Just another unfortunate case.

You have wished for nothing more but to be treated as a person, a human being. Society should have spared people like you from becoming into something inanimate. When at home, you are nothing but an object of captivity, breed to become an investment in a capitalistic dystopia.

You grew up feeling nothing but a bruised porcelain doll. They used you, in many ways you couldn’t even count. From being treated as their personal punching bag, to an insurance that is meant to project the contradicting state inside of your home whenever you face your parents’ friends.

Every moment you make is monitored by invisible cameras. That’s why they say the walls have ears, and the ceiling have eyes. Do you even get to decide for yourself? Everything you do has been regulated to their ideals. “It’s because we love you.”

You are nothing but a dumbed down version of a golden child. Used as a puppet, nothing more and nothing less. They do it because they love you. And you believe it.

You have never prayed for anything, God is nothing but a being who abandoned you. But for once in your life, you have never wished for something, and its in a form of a young handsome boy named Eren Jaeger.

The irony of wishing someone you once hated. You hated him at some point, but only because you know what he said about your family is true. That “your family is nothing but leeching bastards who even sucked their child dry.”

Deep down, Eren’s straightforward comment haunted you. And hearing it from someone so transparent, made you anxious. You needed to hear it, but the creeping anxiety says otherwise.

And because you blame yourself for being like this, you hated Eren Jaeger.

Eren was wrong, for saying it straight of the bat. He even got Armin to hit him for saying something overwhelming.

He was wrong for saying it right out of the blue, but what he said is nothing but the unequivocal truth.

He knows your parents, leechers of society. Leeching of his wealthy father. He hated them, but not as much as you do.

He saw you in the winter of his sophomore year in university. There you stood like a statue, with restrained movements. He wanted to hate you too, but seeing that you’re your parents worst victim. Made him see them as devils.

He didn’t pity you, Eren and freedom are one. He believed that you should be free of the cage that reduced you into your parents’ slave. He knows you have your wings, and you can fly. You just need help.

He talked to his therapist once, about a bird with their claws tied. He knows that the only way for the bird to fly is if they used its wings, but he wants to help it destroy its cage.

So he did, the moment Eren decides to become your friend, you felt there was something wrong. Something wrong in the status quo. Like a change in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t sudden per say, but there is a shift. And you don’t mind it.

Having Eren is like finding comfort in a state of distress, it felt like breathing fresh air in an area saturated with pollution. For you once in your life, you get to feel what freedom is all about. That you get to be unorthodox in a way your parents wouldn’t imagine.

And maybe that’s how you fell in love with him. As much as you believe that God should beg for your forgiveness, you begged him to let you be with the person you love.

The attraction wasn’t one-sided. That the more Eren spent time with you, he gets to be with the you that the universe failed to see. The you who made the mundane things in life enjoyable. The you who’s eyes light up in watching every studio ghibli film. The you who is Eren’s girl. His girl.

You have sought his heart and he is willingly giving you every piece of vulnerability. Because you are the girl that the Eren Jaeger loves.

And now he gets to say it, confessing your love under an oak tree in campus. And he gets to say it to you, whisper it to you in the secluded corner of the library where you get to share kisses in secret.

And he gets to say it out of the blue, when you order your coffee and you ask for his. “Baby, I love you so much.” And every letter and every word never fails to trigger the butterflies.

And he gets to say it with you at night, whenever he sneaks into your room. His touch claiming every piece of your skin. His kisses traveling all over your body. And when he’s deep inside you, he whispers his love to you.

“I love you baby, God I- Fucking love you. Feel so good around me.”

“You’re so- so good to me baby f-fuck.”

And you’re beautiful like this, getting lost in the pleasure he gives you. “Baby please cum for me- baby please.” And you do, he fills you of him straight after, marking you as his with his cum.

You’re his, and he’s yours. Such simplicity in complexity.

Eren is no good person, he knows he would kill for you, set the world in flames for you. But as much as he wants to fall into his instinct, he respects you so much, that he has become your loyal servant. Ready to go to war for you.

That’s why every time he consoles your crying figuring, reasons of what they had done to you, again. Everything turned red, the word “fight” repeating in his head again and again until you begged him to just take you into his arms, and fuck you until you forget the horrors of in the form of the people who gave birth to you.

But on this particular moment, something was off. Seeing the bruises on your skin has completely set him off. God forbids he sees your parents, because he will become a criminal you’ll hate.

But you don’t want him to kill for you, because killing means he’ll be dragged away into some worn down prison, and you fear for him. But you fear for losing him the most.

He place his hands on your cheeks wiling away the tears that continue to betray your godly eyes.

“I promise to get you out of there baby fuck- I PROMISE” And he embraced you once more, because this time he’ll forcefully open the cages to your prison.

He kept his promise, because two days after that, you left everything behind. Destroyed all your photos that tells of your life in this hell. They don’t get to remember who you are. They don’t deserve that.

And from that day, the bird flew with its wings. Claiming back its freedom and happiness. Now with the person you love.

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 13 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of brutality described in previous chapter, mentions of strained breathing, curse words. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 4.5k

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

or            

 “  curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

K.M 12

taglist : @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts  @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @bralessmermaid @minhoseyeliner

In the silent room, the sound of taeil's shoes reverberated as he paced back and forth. Of the seventeen men standing in the living room, most had their heads hung low while some paid side glances to Jaehyun and ten as they fell prey to Taeil's anger.

"Last time!" Fingers pointed in the air, taeil asked in a dangerously calm voice, "don't make me repeat myself. Who left the door open?"

Messing his hair, jaehyun began,

"We didn’t know she was still there in the basement. Usually she’s out by-

“just answer me already.” Taeil shouted in exasperation.

“we don’t clearly remember. Me and ten were busy interrogating him.'' Jaehyun's voice was barely above a mumble but it still managed to reach everyone in the parameter.

Taeil turned to ten, furiously rubbing his forehead, impliedly asking for a reply but he merely shrugged in shame.

“Since when you have been butchering people with doors ajar for everyone to see?” the volume of his voice sent shivers to each and every presence in the room. Taeil never lost his calm, this was, after all, his metier. But he knew when to let go of his usual demeanor and nobody plucked up the courage to question him either.

“we didn’t do it deliberately. It was a mistake. An accident. Why are you drawing this so much.” jaehyun daren’t raise his voice above a whisper but his words were alarming enough

“You all need to recall the rules we stand by. What if jisung had gone down? Would you throw the same lame excuses even then? Won’t you be sorry if he or chenle or sungchan had seen a human being cut open like that? you and ten are both equ-

“we are ready to apologise to her okay. I’m not running from responsibility here. Nobody i-”

“Accepting a mistake is not even the bare minimum. We don't need your hollow apology if you don’t mean it. just because she’s understanding doesn’t mean the blood would leave her head. There’s a reason those rooms are forbidden for some of us here.”

Jaehyun’s unexpected raspy chuckle earned multiple gasps from the room. Taeyong was about to reach him but taeil stopped him by a show of his palm.

Jaehyun pinched his nose before barking,

“when jisung and chenle are told not to enter forbidden areas, they actually do listen but your pretty sweet y/n never does that. she’s just reaping the fruit of her own reckless behaviour again. it’s not my mistake that she’s so damn nosy all the –

“WHAT IF IT WAS NARA AND NOT Y/N JUNG JAEHYUN? WOULD YOU HAVE SPILLED SAME BULLSHIT IF IT WAS HER?

Taeil knew he shouldn’t have said that. Jaehyun’s darkened eyes calmed Taeil instantly as he realised he too had crossed a line.

as he angrily took a step forward towards taeil, jaehyun was abruptly halted by johnny and taeyong as they kept the two men apart. The reason for the argument left Jaehyun's mind, the mere mention of nara was enough to blow his fuse. He was furious yet he didn’t resist the boys and let his sharp breathing convey his message to taeil.

“Stop it you both. Go back to your rooms everyone.” Johnny announced, hands still holding Jaehyun's arm and torso, almost hugging and shielding him from taeil. “let it go jae. Just calm down. Please.”

Everyone remained glued to their feet, too afraid to make any noise. Huffing loudly, Jaehyun pushed Johnny away. Jaw clenched, chest heaving in rage, he furthered himself and instead of going for taeil’s neck as everyone has thought, his hand reached for the vase and the very next moment, the beautiful curved glass met the ground, shattering into innumerable pieces, right where taeil stood.

“JAEHYUN”

Taeyong roared watching younger and the older staring each other down.

“never compare nara to her.never!” With a perilously low voice, jaehyun glowered at taeil. “measure them up on the same scale again and you won’t be alive to regret again!”

Jaehyun stormed out upstairs. Soon after, without saying or expressing anything, taeil left too, masking his emotions just like usual times.

“when are they going to talk this out. It’s been three years already.” Johnny mumbled more to himself but everyone heard him and each and every presence in the room understood him.

Sleep despised you. Even sleeping pills had turned their back on you. Sprawled on the bed, you prayed to some magical being to descend and help you but no matter how humbly you pleaded, there was no end to your misery.

"He was a drug supplier, one of the accomplice of importing life threatening drugs in korea. He had it coming when he refused to tell us about other handlers. What you need to know is we have done a favour by taking his life."

Taeyong's words were seeded into your head. Your fear was fine, he had told you. He also said you’d forget about it in no time but he couldn’t mark when the “no time” would end. The vision of what you witnessed was quite blurry by now but the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach chose not to leave you yet. From what taeyong explained, that man was a mere pawn. A hidden syndicate was exporting deleterious drugs and they were just trying to find out the people behind it.

The only thing you had gathered was that just like every normal entity, criminals like neos weren’t fond of any sort of competition. With a pack of sleeping pills given by xiaojun, meant to help you sleep through the night, you were dropped at your house by dear Mark who kept stuttering explanations while driving. They have never killed anyone innocent, Mark said and kept it repeating in different possible ways a sentence could be transformed into.

You weren’t sure if you believed him yet. But even the mere thought of getting used to the brutality was horrendous than what you had seen once.

Two days later, at black neos. 9: 50

“when do you want us to sue them y/n?” mr. jung questioned, rotating his walking stick by the wooden head.

Sitting on the sofa, just beside him, you wondered why you were always so conscious of all the eyes directed at you. or maybe you were distracting yourself from answering the man. Among all the things, his way of showing his care was not settling in.

one amusing revelation was that Jaehyun's father, mr. jung or senior jung, as hyuck called them, was the only person with the capacity of putting a noose around all the valiant necks that were ever present in the house. The wrinkles of old age held enough authority to shut each and every young mouth, including yours even though you kept your quiet.

And he adored everyone, johnny, yuta and haechan among his favourites of course. He was also persistent and you were struggling with coming up with an answer because of this very trait. He kept asking you and your eyes remained transfixed on the papers bunched up in your hands, that were shoved into your hands upon your arrival. They opened the chapters you always had doubt about but no corroboration.

You had no home, the reason you were sent into that orphanage in the first place. The little kid that witnessed her parent’s death in front of her eyes didn’t understand why her parents took so long to wake up or why they never did when she waited for so long hiding among strangers or despite having a home, why she was sent to a place where she knew no one. There was no answer to why you never saw your uncle and aunt again and why they never came to take you back. As you grew up, you gave up on them. the car crash had crushed every relation you had with the home you once dearly loved and now you were conflicted with the new information that was thrown your way. your uncle and aunt were under illegal possession of the house that allegedly belonged to your father and after his demise, to you. but what would you gain by going back? Bricks and cement could never compensate or alleviate the pain that you had learned to live with. Even with law on your side, tormenting them would be of no benefit to you. So you said what you had decided years ago.

“I-I don’t want to sue them.” you replied meekly, eyes still fixated on the thread holding the legal papers together.

A sound of disapproval caught your ears as mr. jung spoke against your decision,

“no y/n. Those leeches abandoned you to rot in an orphanage and are living comfortably with insurances and the house that belongs to you. all that money could have been used for your future. You don’t need to be afraid of them. kun would provide you the finest lawyers and within two hearings, they would be in jail for committing fraud and trespass. And as a lawyer yourself, you should know better than to let them go off like this.”

Everybody heard but no one spoke.

“no.” you raised your head to face him and swallowed hard before continuing, “I do not want to meet them”

“don’t you want to go back there? that’s your home.” Somewhere from your left, Johnny spoke.

“never.” You refused immediately. “the people who live there were never my family. They never wanted me a part of their family. I’m clearly not their blood. The people who adopted me are not alive anymore. Those who loved me left me years ago. For a ridiculous sum of money, they didn’t even say their goodbyes to me. I was left there thinking that maybe one day someone would come. But money wins over love. It always does. And i don’t give a shit about them. I have learned to live on my own. I never needed their love. And I certainly don’t want more of their hatred.”

Inhaling sharply, you spat your speech in a single breath. Your words weren’t emotionless still you didn’t feel them like others did.

“I think we should bury this matter.” this time your voice was polite.

They nodded.

Mr. jung, however, wasn’t done.

“Okay so no one would mention this but keep these papers with you. you never know when this might come handy. After all, you are the sole owner of those properties your father left. Now you see, we grease the palms of officers so we can escape the shit we create for ourselves but people like your family are worse than the devil hi-

Multiple coughs halted his train of words. His breather was immediately fished out of his pocket and handed over to him. once he regained his senses, he begin again,

“never mind. Family must be protected y/n and those who fail to do so slaps the most precious value away from them. it’s not necessary that you should cherish something when it’s really out of your reach. at least i can die peacefully knowing that you all would settle down finally. If yuta can leave his chaser personality to find love, there’s hope for everyone here and speaking of yuta, when he’s arriving?”

“in two hours”

Your eyes widened and a hiccup escaped your throat. You voiced out a hum of surprise, gathering everyone’s attention.

“You weren’t told?”

You football sized eyeballs told mr. jung that you certainly weren’t aware.

“I guess I just spoiled a surprise then. Forgive me, I'm old and I am also hungry. Show some courtesy to your guests and feed me and y/n.”

Hyuck jabbed at him before they all got up to run for their seats in the dining room. “You are old. Why do you even need to eat anymore. Go to himalayas, eat snow and acquire some peace. That’s what old people should do!”

Everyone seemed too occupied with their bickering to pay you any mind so you dragged a reluctant taeil to his room, demanding answers for the latest drama they had launched in your name.

"I'm so sorry about that. The day after reception at the office, uncle suddenly asked about your family and that got me curious too so I ended up searching in deep and that led me to this whole discovery. I swear i never meant to breach your privacy y/n." Taeil pleaded in a low whisper as he locked the knob.

"Why would he do that though?"

"He's just too sensitive when it comes to families. He even told me to find your real parents but I got no luck there because you were adopted from an open adoption center from a different country. I found no information on them but I'm sorry about that." His ramble was again reduced to a murmur..

Playing with your fingers, you signed heavily before replying,

"Thank you for your effort but you should have asked me first.”

"Did you perhaps know anything about their schemes?"

"Right since I learnt about the adoption laws. I couldn't have been adopted without a security registered under my name. Maybe that property was the house where they are living right now"

"I'm sor-

"When were you going to tell me about that little whiny bitch? He's coming back in a few hours? I have to live with him again? " Scrunching up your nose in disgust, you bellowed.

"Yeah. He and taeyong had a long love chat yesterday. He was indeed being dramatic so i wonder what happened between them that he agreed. But he's coming back yeah. It was inevitable anyway. I don't know how you want to approach this but I'd say don't choose conflict. Eventually you have to live together so why try to break each other's necks. I've said this before and I'd say it again he-

"He's not that bad? I don't understand how easily you forget that I'm in this predicament because of that man. How can you expect me to make peace with that fucking piece of shit who had his gun pointed to my head since very first day?"

"Are we that insufferable?"

"Don't change the topic"

"I'm not changing it.You said predicament. We are also part of it right. Do you really hate us that much?"

Your eyes softened, reflecting his tone. No, they were just mildly bearable. And no, there wasn't any need to admit it either.

"Taeil, you sound like the voice of reason here. Taeyong seems fishy too but he's too unpredictable. He's like a chameleon. Others don't seem to have any power in your stupid hierarchy I've come to notice so it's you right? You are the one who told taeyong to marry me to that poopface and spare my life. It is definitely you.” staring him right in the eye, you pointed your forefinger at him.

"Please do me a favour and don’t use your brain too much y/n. I already have too much on my plate. I don’t need another one. If you don’t want our uncle to die due to a heart attack caused by your and yuta’s actions, stay shut. Now let’s eat before they gobble down everything.”

Our uncle! Yeah sure, you thought.

14:00

Standing alone in the kitchen, fidgeting with your hands, you tried your best to eavesdrop but nothing coherent met your ears. You indeed expected the army of men to have a party when their estranged soldier would arrive but the welcome outside sounded more like a hue and cry. The screaming indicated anything but happiness.

Your dilemma ended when you heard your name being called, the voice belonging to senior jung. You couldn't understand why he loved shouting when clearly his lungs couldn't take anything in higher volume.

Walking into the living room, you saw everyone seated in a very civilian manner but their conversation was difficult to hear amidst the babble.

“Come sit” Mark, who had gone to fetch yuta from the airport, spoke.

As you took the seat next to taeil, your eyes fell on the raven haired man and met his own. If his blonde hair shrieked peril, the black softened all the darkness his previous hair projected. Mayhaps, it was the black rimmed glasses he wore. You didn’t even know he had eyesight issues. He looked different.

He might have looked non-barbaric for a few seconds but his intense eye roll with the twitched lips upon meeting your eyes caused you to scowl. That’s when you noticed the elbow crutch on his left arm leaning against his outstretched leg. Nothing seemed wrong. You sized up his both legs with a crease of confusion forming on your forehead. You might have been looking too hard for your unasked doubt was answered by none other than yuta himself.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

You scrunch your nose at the politeness that dripped from his lips, the honeyed words clearly in contrast from the uneasiness he felt while uttering them. Though the words were directed at you, he never regarded you directly and you weren’t sure how one was supposed to act in such a pretentious setting.

“No, definitely not a scratch.” Mr. Jung interrupted your internal unrest, interpreting your silence to be worry for the boy. “His left thigh is bandaged so it needs a lot of care. You might need to take some days off given how much movement hurt him. and you! I know you don’t want to worry her but lying around won’t work. she can’t tend to you unless she knows where you need care.”

He mildly instructed him as you found yourself staring at yuta’s brown cargo pants which hid whatever injury was being mentioned. The said words were dodged by your ears even before they’d have entered. The problem laid with the response that was expected of you. you couldn’t have possibly replied to him your true intentions that included ducking every wifey duties you were supposed to fulfil but like everyone else and as taeil had explained, you didn’t want the blood of an old man on your hands so you just played along.

“yes.”

That was enough for playing, you decided. Your quietness, for the first time won't be subjected to judgement as the dejection was expected.

“I think you both should go home now. I have some business to sort out here.” he got up and walked past you, not before petting your hair lovingly. He also smacked yuta on his head and mumbled something on the lines of how he should have enjoyed his last overseas trip and whatnot.

Once he, taeil and taeyong were out of sight, chatter started again. hovering over yuta, they dropped questions like he was in some interview and you remained seated, waiting for their next request they were possibly going to annoy you with.

“did you like france?”

“what the fuck! you didn’t tell me about the hair colour. Now I want to change mine too!” that was ten.

“why are you wearing pants if your thighs hurt?”

“I’m sorry for laughing at you earlier.”

Right when you thought you were specialising in drowning the sounds, Johnny's voice caused you to jerk your head towards them. Not the voice, maybe the question he asked!

“dude! Where did you exactly fall from? The room is on the ground floor and your work didn’t even require you to switch places. How can you break your leg while monitoring the local cells?”

Only two sentences were needed for the laughter to escape the confines of your stomach and the realisation that you actually thought about a bullet or a knife being the reason of the harm only elevated the amusement you felt. understandably, you became the center of their attention.

“who the fuck are you laughing at?” yuta sneered.

“you.”

The twisted bitter smirk on yuta's face told you that he still needed some good time getting used to your unfiltered tendencies but by the suppressed snickers that chenle and hyuck let out, their voices recognisable to you by now, you were sure at least a few of them were enjoying your jabs as much as you did.

"Fuck off." He finally barked, breaking the harsh eye contact.

"Happily!" You remarked, raising yourself from the cushioned seat.

"Where are you going y/n?" Intersected jungwoo.

"Home. Tell mr.jung that college called. It's Saturday so I've to visit the library anyway."

"Wait I'll drop you both."

Glaring at Johnny, you wordlessly challenged him to repeat what he said.

"Yes. You and him are not leaving alone. Uncle is still here. God forbid if he decides to stay the night, we won't have answers for him." He rather whispered to you.

"That sounds like a problem for you. My pact was over as soon as I saw that face. And I can guarantee you the feelings are more than mutual from that side too." Rolling your eyes towards yuta, you said.

"No no no! You can't do that yet!" Johnny came closer and continued his whispering, "please y/n. I promise he'd behave. Uncle did so much for you, can you help us this one last time? And yuta was returning anyway. If not today, then four days later. Please? You'd do that for me right?"

Sometime while talking, his fingers had found your hand and you weren't sure if he was aware of it or not.

But you were. And that had caused a little temperature problem in your whole body as you felt warmness enveloping your whole being.

And it seemed like your ears had stopped working too.

"Y/n! Are you hearing me?"

"Are you fine?"

His hand on your cheek broke your trance and your eyes darted away to look at his eyes, finding the same worry in them. Why was he so genuine, you thought.

"Are you sick?"

He questioned again, to which you only stuttered.

"No. I'm fine john. What were you saying though?"

"I said yuta needs to go back home. Please. He can't stay here even if we don't want him to be alone."

Somehow, you found yourself mindlessly nodding at his words. A cheeky contagious smile appeared on Johnny's lips, your own slightly curving on both sides. He backed away after caressing your face, the action more noticeable to others than he probably had intended.

"Let's get you home baby boy." Johnny snickered at yuta earning a slap from him.

"Fuck off bitch. At least feed me something before I leave. I'm hungry!" He screeched, hitting Johnny's leg with the end of his stick.

"What about the jjajangmyun you had in the car? How can you still be hungry?” Mark chirped up innocently.

"Oh come on. Don't make excuses.I'll bring some food in the evening." Johnny offered when yuta was busy giving a stink eye to mark.

"I too need some compensatory food john.”

“What the fuck do you mean compensatory? You live in that house because of me! Don’t imply yourself as the owner of that place!” you rolled your eyes for the nth time at yuta’s words, dismissing his words with the action.

“Why dont you donate your eyeballs to someone like me who can actually make better use of them. Instead of rolling them to the back all the time, I shall happily play tennis with them.”

“If my habits annoy you that much then why are you going back to breathe the same air as me. I’d be more than happy if i don't have to see your cursed face daily!”

“Stop you both.” Johnny's back shielded your view as he spoke. “He’s still here! Renjun, go and run a checkup for him and tell me how bad his leg is in actuality or is he just crying like a baby.”

In defeat, you sat down again. Fifteen minutes passed and despite being sleepy, you tried your best to listen to donghyuck’s ramble of something that jeno did the other day. All you heard was how jungwoo and jeno had a fight over piggyback rides and after that every word was transformed into a chant of word sleep as it hit your ears. Though it was early afternoon, the whole week had been nothing but tiring.

Once again your relaxation time was robbed off by none other than yuta. Maybe this was the end of your peaceful days.

Hopping off, you hurriedly whisked away before Johnny and Jungwoo could say anything to you. Two men were enough for towing the baggage.

As you stripped yourself off your jeans, an exhausted cackle left your lips when Johnny's words echoed in your head. During the car journey, he gave you some instructions in case of some emergency. That emergency being yuta! Not that you were going to put up with any of yuta’s demands, you listened to them anyway. Amusingly, yuta wasn't injured due to falling from stairs. He was getting drunk on the roof of a random building when he had launched himself into a sharp edge of a railing that gave him stitches all over his left thigh. Now he was as good as an exhausted car freshener.

As they settled him down, you didn’t bother going out even for a second. Choosing sleep over your much needed trip to the library, you tucked yourself into white sheets as the light breaths from air con lulled you to sleep.

17:00

Sitting in the library, your fountain pen ran along the plain pages like you were writing a well known story and not your thesis. The words were flowing like water and you felt no difficulty as you finished pages with the speed of light. Everything was going smoothly. You felt happy. And suddenly your hand stopped moving. It was glued to a single point, the nib leaking out on that spot. Next moment, your thoughts were muddled and a distant shuffling distracted you. The more you tried to move your wrist, the more forceful the noise became. Your breathing got heavier and your body jammed, the whole weight punching onto the weak muscles of the hand.

Your attempts never stopped but the noise did and it transformed into loud thumping coming right from your heart.

You tried to inhale but something stopped you.

Then you heard the calls of your name.

Rapid and loud.

Your body jerked forward and your breath finally returned as your eyes opened.

You had woken up from a dream. You were still in your room and the loud thumping was the loud banging on your door.

“y/n! Are you sleeping?”

Registering his words, you replied in a groggy voice.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your phone. I left mine in the medical room. I need to call Mark right now.”

Whining loudly, you fell back on the bed. It was only due but flailing your arms and legs like a kid in a toy store, you let out a screech full of annoyance, cursing on your fate.

Were you really going to babysit him now?

****

Stay safe everyone. 2021 is just 2020 with a change of pajamas😑wear your mask and force others too🌝

[myrwritesfootie]

Accidents Happen - Jack Grealish

Who: Jack Grealish x Reader Words: 711 Writer’s Notes: So even tho the previous one shot was with Kai Havertz who got requested the most, I decided to give the others who were picked a little something as well. Please let me know what you all think of this one! Disclaimer: I’m not personally involved with Jack Grealish nor do I know him in person.

It was the first time that Jack was going to meet my parents and to say that I was nervous, was probably an understatement. I was someone who got along with my parents perfectly, nothing special. But my father had always been someone who was rather protective over me, no matter how many times I had told him that it was not necessary and that I would be able to look after myself.

I was just about to leave my place to walk over to my parents - who only lived a few blocks away - when my phone rang and I saw Jack’s name on the screen as a sign that he was calling.

“Hey babe, I was just about to leave for my parents, I’ll meet you there, right?” I asked him, my voice cheery simply because I was talking to him.

“I’m so sorry love, but I’m going to be a bit late. I was on my way back home to get ready and I got into an accident.” Before I could react - something he knew that I was about to do - he continued speaking. “I’m okay, no one got hurt. Except my car. And his car. Insurance will sort everything out but I haven’t been home yet. So I’m going to be half an hour late, I hope that’s okay?”

My voice was worried as I spoke again. “Sure, that’s okay. I’ll let my parents know. Are you sure you are okay?” A chuckle sounded from Jack’s side of the phone. “Yes, I am. Really, don’t worry about me. I will see you in a bit, okay?” I agreed with him and after we exchanged a quick ‘I love you’, he hung up.

~~~~

The walk over to my parents place went by quickly and I rang the doorbell. It was my mother who opened up the door. I greeted her but before I could tell her that Jack was going to be a bit late, it was my mother who started talking nearly straight away.

“I’m going to warn you straight away, your father is in a bad mood. On his way home today he got in a small accident. Just some damage on the car but he keeps going on and on about it.” I felt myself pale and nodded slowly. How big would the chance be that Jack and my dad would’ve been in two separate accidents? I was praying that was going to be the case, hoping for it desperately was maybe a better description.

When I entered the room, my dad was indeed ranting about how ‘kids’ needed to learn how to drive properly and even though they were driving a fancy car, they still needed to know how to use it. After a while he seemed to be done with his rant, calming down slightly as he fully took in that I had arrived at that moment.

“Hi dad,” was all I could say, simply because I was still dreading the fact that there was a possibility that it was my boyfriend who he had collided with. I turned to face my mum as well. “Jack is going to be a little late, he was… He was running late from his previous commitment, unfortunately. He should be here in thirty minutes.” Saying that he had gotten in a small accident as well, didn’t seem like the right way to go.

~~~~

With every minute that had passed and that brought Jack’s arrival closer, the knots in my stomach tightened. When the doorbell rang, I shot up so I could be the one opening up the door. I knew that my parents would probably follow at a slower pace, so I only had a short amount of time to update him that there was a chance that he had met my dad only a while ago already.

I opened up the door and a smiling Jack was standing in the doorway. Before he could say a word, I started rambling. “So, turns out my dad was in a car accident today as well and there might be a chance that it was…”

“YOU!” It hadn’t been on purpose but my dad had finished the sentence perfectly. “You are the guy who hit me today.”

Oh shoot.

[synmorite]

War and Peace

Summary: You just wanted to be there for Dean. But sometimes it isn’t meant to be.

Word Count: 1549

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, language, show level violence, character deaths, sacrifice, TW: Suicide

A/N: There will be a part 2 to this. It will be posted once I have written it.

~~~

It was always a fight. You knew that deep down, Dean wanted it all. He wanted a normal life with a wife and kids and the whole “apple pie life” as he called it. He just didn’t think he deserved it.

You blamed John for that. You’d only met him a few times when he came to drag Dean back with him. Dean would have a particularly bad hunt where he lost people to whatever ghost or creature that he was ganking that week. He’d show up at your door, eyes dry and face hard, but you could feel the inner hurricane inside him. The guilt and fear boiling inside. Without any words spoken, you’d hold your door open and let him in. You’d both go to your room and lay down on your bed, Dean’s head resting on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and your fingers running through his short hair. He’d drift off to a nightmare free sleep in your embrace. Then John would show up within a day or two and destroy your peace.

He’d drag Dean from your house, berating him for going to you instead of finding another hunt and saving people. He’d told Dean that any lives lost from when he could have gotten there and when he actually got there were on Dean. You’d tried to stand up to John for Dean’s sake once, but Dean asked you to stop. You held your tongue after that only because he asked.

After a difficult hunt in New Orleans with a voodoo priestess, Dean showed up at your door like usual. You pulled him in, tended to his cuts and bruises, and then brought him to bed. He spent the next week with you before you both realized that John had never taken this long to show up before.

“Maybe he’s finally letting you go.” You suggested, but you both knew that wasn’t the case. John had spent the last 22 years hunting for the thing that killed his wife. He’d trained his young sons to be soldiers in his war. He’d already lost Sam to college, he wasn’t going to let Dean go without a fight.

Dean tried calling his father, but he kept getting voicemail. He called around to other hunters, but no one had seen or spoken to John.

“I have to leave. I have to find him.” Dean said, green eyes filled with worry.

“You shouldn’t go alone, Dean. I know I haven’t hunted in a while, but let me come with you.”

“No, Y/N. You haven’t hunted in 10 years since your mom died. You promised her that you wouldn’t hunt. I won’t help you to break that promise.” He sucked in a small breath. “I’m gonna go get Sammy. He’ll help me.”

You tried to hide your doubt at that, but Dean looked away.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can, Y/N. Be safe.”

“I will, Dean. I’ll keep calling around to see if anyone’s seen him.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiled at you before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours softly. Then he turned and left.

~~~

He called you when he and Sam reached Jericho where John was supposed to be. He called you when they ganked the woman in white and he was bringing Sam back to Stanford. He called you when Sam’s girlfriend was burned to death on the ceiling just like their mother had been. Slowly though, the calls stopped. He was on the road with Sam, trying to find his father. He didn’t have time to stop by your house anymore. While you were not an active hunter, you were still in the network. Others called you and gave you updates on what the boys were doing. But no news on John for months. Then you heard that John and the boys had faced a demon in Chicago. Then they split up again. A couple of months later you heard that Pastor Jim was killed. You tried to call Dean, but he didn’t answer your call. Pastor Jim had taken care of you and the boys sometimes when your parents went hunting. He took you in when your mother was killed. You knew Dean had to be hurting as much as you were. It only hurt more that he didn’t answer. Another call from another hunter, and you were told of Caleb’s death.

You had just hung up the phone, when there was a knock on your door. You opened the door slowly and frowned at the young blonde woman on your porch.

“Can I help you?” You asked politely.

The woman grinned brightly. “Depends. Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes. May I ask who you are?”

“My name’s Meg. Friend of John’s.” Then her eyes flicked into inky pools of blackness.

Demon.

You had never encountered one yourself, but you knew that’s what black eyes meant. You slammed the door and ran for your closet where you kept a shotgun loaded with rock salt. You didn’t get far before your door blew inward and a large chunk knocked you to the ground. Your head slammed into the floor and you dazedly tried to get back up to your feet. You heard Meg’s boots clicking on your hardwood floors as she approached you.

“Now, now. No need to fight or run. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.” Meg taunted.

You felt a hand in your hair as Meg gripped it and slammed your head into the floor. The world went black.

~~~

When you woke up, your hands were tied behind your back and you were laying in complete darkness. You could feel a rumble under you that meant you were in a car and the darkness meant you were in a trunk. You twisted your wrists around to try and escape from the ropes, but they were too tight. After a while, the car slowed to a stop, and you heard two car doors open and shut. The trunk popped open and you blinked into the sudden light. A dark haired man loomed over you before grabbing your arm and yanking you from the trunk. You stumbled out and fell to the ground as your legs failed to hold you upright.

“C’mon, you stupid bitch.” He growled at you. He dragged you into a decrepit warehouse. You could hear the female demon speaking to someone and heard a low voice answer her occasionally. The man yanked you along with him until you saw Meg standing with none other than John Winchester himself. John’s eyes widened briefly when he saw you and you saw hesitance in his stance before his eyes hardened and he looked back at Meg.

“What’s she doing here?” He asked gruffly.

“Gotta have some sort of insurance, don’t I, John?”

He didn’t relax. The male demon pushed you to your knees in front of him and held a blade to your throat.

“So I suggest you give us the gun.”

John’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two demons.

“NOW!!!” Meg shouted.

John handed a gun over to Meg who took it carefully.

“This is the Colt?” She asked. John just looked at her and she handed it to the male demon. “What do you think?” She asked him. He took it with his free hand, but kept the knife steady at your throat with the other. He turned the gun a little in his hand before cocking it. You tensed, expecting the shot before it happened. What you hadn’t expected was that it was Meg he shot.

She stood there stunned before exclaiming, “You shot me! I can’t believe you just shot me!”

The male demon tossed the gun to the side and said, “It’s a fake!”

Oh no.

You understood John’s hesitance at first now. He knew it was fake. And he knew that his actions would most likely result in your death now.

“You’re dead, John. Your boys are dead.” Meg said as she approached him menacingly.

“I never used the gun, how could I know it wouldn’t work?”

You had to give him credit. He was trying at least. His eyes flicked back to yours and you could see the guilt in them.

“I’m so not in the mood for this. I’ve just been shot!”

“Well then, I guess you’re lucky the gun wasn’t real.”

“That’s funny, John. We’re gonna strip the skin from your bones, but that was funny.”

You felt the knife press into your neck and met John’s eyes again.

“Don’t tell Dean what happened here, John.” You said and he nodded. “Now run!” You pushed your neck forward and along the knife. The demon was holding it so firmly in place that it didn’t budge as you slit your own throat on it. The demon dropped the knife in surprise and Meg turned to you at the sound.

“You stupid little bitch.” She growled.

You saw John turn and bolt out of the room. You fell to the ground as blood poured from your neck. Meg came over and kicked you in the stomach in anger. Through your fading eyes, you saw Meg and the male demon follow after John. You prayed that he was able to get away with your last breath.

Part 2- Time and Patience>>>

[recollins]

On Three (Spencer Reid x Reader)

You’re strapped to a bomb and Spencer stays with you until they can get it defused.  Pairing: Spencer x Neutral Reader Words: 5,383 Content: Angst Warnings: Bombs/explosives  A/N: I know exactly nothing about actually defusing bombs. I did as thorough of a Google search as I could but don’t hold it against me if this isn’t totally accurate.  Masterlist

--

This is the last time I ever stop and offer to help someone after I clock out, you think bitterly, cursing the engrained manners you’d been brought up with. Man, if you got the chance, you’d make sure your parents never heard the end of it. Yeah, they had a point – being polite definitely had gotten you somewhere in life, but this is not where you’d ever wanted to end up.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Shane sighed, tightening the strap on the vest he’d just wrestled onto you. Your vision was still swimming from the hit to the head he’d given you, but fear had you blinking away the blurring and struggling to sit up.

“Then let me go,” you croaked, voice still raw from screaming as he’d dragged you through the halls of the office you both worked at. Shane tsk’d and gave a placating pat to your cheek. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, [y/n], we are,” he agreed, sitting back on his haunches to study his handwork. “And this is what friends do. Help each other out.”

“Friends don’t blow each other up!” you snapped, and instantly the fear was bubbling in your chest again. Fresh tears started to fall as you look at him desperately, reigning in the panic to try and appeal to the human side of him you prayed was buried underneath the heaping pile of batshit crazy. “Please. I’ll – I’ll give you whatever you want. I have some money saved up, I can withdraw it –“

“Don’t insult me. I don’t want money,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed to his feet. “I want all of you sons of bitches to pay for thinking you could fire me. Fire me. I hold this damn company together. And you see? Now it’s all gonna fall apart. Literally.”

The cold, heartless edge to his words set your stomach churning, and the sharp glint in his eye confirmed what you’d been fearing: he wasn’t letting you go.

“I didn’t fire you, Shane. What did I ever do to you?” you whispered, dropping your head back against the railing he’d chained you to. Shane simply shrugged, scooping up the duffel bag at your side and stepping over your legs as he slung it over his shoulder.

“You screwed me over, and then you stripped me of my job. Been here ten years, [y/n], and that’s what you’re gonna do to me?”

“Shane I didn’t do that. I - I’m just the secretary! I just transfer the calls and order takeout!”

“Now you can add bomb-holder to that embarrassingly short resume. For the brief time it’ll matter.” As you met his eyes, honestly not believing he could be this sadistic this effortlessly, he leaned down and hit a button on the front of the vest and instantly it started ticking. The sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Shane gave your shoulder one last squeeze before he started off into the shadows. “Like I said, [y/n], I’m sorry.”

You sat in petrified silence for several long, tense moments after you heard the door close down the hall. Completely alone now, desolate fear and despair began to rise up, crash over you like waves breaking relentlessly over the unsuspecting sand. With each pass they grew stronger, colder, threatening to drag you down into the dark depths they rose from.

No, no. You couldn’t let yourself sink right now. Deep breath, [y/n]. Come on. Okay, granted, you were just the secretary for a small insurance agency, and you had no idea how to diffuse a freaking bomb, but you had to do something. There was no way you were just sitting here letting yourself be a victim.

Desperately, your shaking hands tore at the vest, careful not to disturb the mechanism on front. From this angle you couldn’t see if there was a timer, couldn’t see the wires to even begin to pretend like you knew what to do if you found them… maybe the straps? Your fumbling fingers felt around your sides, and there! There was the buckle! For several moments you tried to pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge. Another few moments went to trying to twist yourself around just to see…

Your heart sunk. Shane had tampered with the buckle, managing to secure a padlock through it that, of course, connected to the chains that held you in place. You and the vest were all tied together in a pretty metallic bow. Fucking fantastic. The guy couldn’t figure out how to properly fill out his damn timecard, but he could apparently MacGyver a homemade bomb vest to you.  

Okay, new plan: the vest wasn’t coming off of you, so you’d have to come off the railing with it. You could do that. Right? Experimentally you moved to the chains. Shane had connected you to the obnoxiously solid railing that lined the walkway above the first floor, looping it around your upper arms so tight you couldn’t lift them up. You tried shimming your shoulders to work them up, but with how he’d attached the chain to the vest, all you were doing was wearing yourself out.

Fine, new new plan: you’d just fucking rip yourself either out of the vest or off the rails. You couldn’t really get your feet under you for leverage, but damn if you didn’t throw yourself forward, praying the bars would bend, or the straps of the vest would break, or you’d knock loose a secret key he’d left stashed on your body he’d forgotten about…

Nothing. You weren’t budging. Seriously, couldn’t you catch a break and find a loose railing you could snap off? Maybe the lock could jimmy loose if you tugged enough, or maybe you’d find a way to untangle yourself, get free… something! Couldn’t you catch a fucking break? I mean come on, you paid your taxes! You’d switched to a reusable water bottle instead of plastic ones! You made so many donations to the zoo last year you’d earned a membership –

You stilled at the thought and slumped back against the rails, ragged breath catching in your heaving chest. Your membership. You wouldn’t get to use your membership. Out of all the things running through your mind, that’s what finally broke you. God, that membership had been something you’d been working for, something that you’d been building up to all last year. As dumb as it was, you were really looking forward to using it. You got free admission all year long, you got a free meal with every visit, you got a cool little badge you’d pinned proudly to the visor in your car…

Now it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You would be dead before you got your official membership card in the mail. You were going to die on the floor of this godforsaken call center, chained to a fucking indestructible fence, in a jerry-rigged bomb vest, completely alone. Your sobs echoed around the empty building painfully loud, bouncing back as if they were mocking your last moments, nearly drowning out the click of a door down the hall.

Wait. Door.

DOOR.

“H-hello?” you called, voice pathetically small in the wake of your still-echoing cries. You saw a figure coming around the corner to your right and your heart leapt up. Had Shane come back?! “Shane? Is that you?”

The man that stepped into the dim light of the walkway was definitely not Shane. He crept slowly down the hall, gun held in front of him, making a slow progression towards you as he studied the surroundings. It was dark enough you were probably no more than a lump on the ground,

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’m with the FBI,” he called to you, and instantly you struggled to sit up straighter. FBI? How the hell – “Are you alright?”

“Um, no,” you admitted, and as he started to close in on you, you realized he had no idea what he was walking towards. “Wait! No, stop, you – you should stay back. It’s a bomb.”

Dr. Reid paused just ten feet from you; the light from the lower level was just enough you could make out his features. He was admittedly handsome: short, tousled brown hair, a chiseled face with full lips and a killer jawline, all packed onto a tall, lean frame… in any other setting you’d be blushing and smiling and desperately trying to see if he was interested in drinks Friday night.

Right now, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, have someone there with you, all you could do was stare up at him as tears ran down your face.

“Is anyone else with you?” Dr. Reid asked, squinting further down the hall as he started towards you again. Had he not heard the thing about the bomb!?

“No. I’m alone,” you whispered. “Shane – he, uh, he put this on me. He went out the way you came in. Everyone else was gone for the night.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, relaxing his stance as he reached up to his vest to say quickly, “Morgan I’ve got a hostage strapped to a bomb on the second floor. We need bomb squad.”

As he tucked his gun into the holster on his hip you sniffed and repeated,

“You should get back. I – it’s been ticking for a while now. I don’t know how long it’ll be until it just –“ you cut off as another sob caught in your throat. Instead of listening to you, though, Dr. Reid closed the distance between you and sunk down onto a knee at your side.

“The bomb squad is on their way, and we’ll have you out of this soon,” he said softly. You looked up at him, tear-filled eyes flicking between his own, unable to understand why he wasn’t running the opposite direction. I mean, yeah, he was an FBI agent, but it was just the two of you. No one would know if he just turned tail and ran; you wouldn’t even hold a grudge at this point.

“If they’re on the way, you don’t need to stay. You’re in danger here with me, Dr. Reid,” you reminded again, trying to urge him to go. There was no point in letting both of you die. Dr. Reid studied you for a few moments and then asked,

“What’s your name?”

“[y/n],” you whispered; he smiled and rested a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You can call me Spencer, okay? And I’m not going anywhere, [y/n]. I’ll stay with you until the bomb squad gets you free, okay?” when you continued to look up him uncomprehending, he added softly, “I wouldn’t want to be strapped to a bomb all by myself, and I have a feeling you don’t want to be either.”

“No,” you admitted, another tear rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

Spencer quirked a smile, hand coming off your shoulder to tug a flashlight out of his pocket. He shone it on the vest as he tenderly poked and prodded the contraption Shane had activated.

After several moments of quiet investigation over the entire setup, Spencer sat back on his haunches, lips pressed together. Instantly you shifted under the chains as you struggled to sit up a little more. 

“How bad is it?” you asked softly; Spencer shifted and folded his legs underneath him to sit in front of you.

“There’s no timing mechanism I can find, so I can’t say how long we’ve got,” he admitted, lips turning up into an apologetic smile. “Bomb squad should be here in a few minutes, though. We’ve just got to wait.”

“And what if it goes off before they get here?” you pressed, the knot of worry in your chest forcing the words before you could stop them. You were really trying not to be so negative, but could he blame you?

Spencer simply shrugged and said,

“We’ll deal with it if we get there.”

Despite the situation you let out a snort that dissolved into shaky giggles, rolling your eyes up; you caught a wry smile from the FBI agent in front of you. 

“Sorry. That’s not funny. None of this is. I shouldn’t laugh at that,” you snickered, shaking your head. Spencer gave a toothy smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Laughter’s a completely normal reaction under intensely stressful situations. It enhances your intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates your heart, lungs and muscles, and increases the endorphins that are released by your brain.”

Huh, cute and smart. Okay, for your last moments, you’d gotten pretty lucky. To your surprise, Spencer gave you an apologetic smile and ducked his head.  

“I’m sorry. Facts and statistics are a passion of mine and I know they’re not comforting to others like they are to me.”

“No, I liked that,” you assured quickly. “I like learning new things, and I’m not exactly doing anything else right now.”

This time is was his turn to laugh, which got another giggle out of you. As you both fell quiet again he cleared his throat. 

“You asked if I was Shane. Is that who did this?” you nodded quickly. “Shane Michaels, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“My team and I, we’re the Behavior Analysis Unit within the FBI. Our job is to profile criminals in order to catch them. Shane Michaels was on the short list of suspects -”

“Wait. Were you... this is tied to the bombing at the truck driving academy, isn’t it?” you asked slowly, brow furrowing; Spencer nodded, watching you piece it together. “I’m a secretary here. We do commercial insurance for truckers mostly, Shane’s one of the sales agents. He... oh, god.”

The realization of what you’d just fallen into the middle of hit you hard enough to take your breath away. You squeezed your eyes shut, nausea and fear ebbing into your stomach, making you physically ill. A timid hand reached out and rested on your knee, getting your eyes to open. 

“[y/n]?” Spencer coaxed, ducking down a hint to catch your eye. 

“He uh... Shane had lost a lot of commission off of them but our agency refused to let him drop the company unless they wanted to. Or...”

“Or they were no longer in business,” Spencer finished, and you nodded as you swallowed hard. He saw the look on your face and you asked softly, 

“Why’d he do this to me? I - we were friends, I thought. We’d worked here for years together. I know our boss was firing him for losing us money, but I was always nice to him. Why me?”

Spencer sighed, eyes dropping down for a moment like he was considering if he should answer you. His hand was still on your knee, and you managed to shift your arms enough to rest your fingers on top of his own to get his attention. When he lifted his gaze again, his expression softened. He could tell right now you wanted answers more than anything. 

“Shane’s a classic narcissist. For him, the attempt at firing him was more than just the loss of a job. It was a direct blow to his ego, and he couldn’t let that go. Bombing the trucking company was just rage, just an outlet for his immediate anger. This agency was his main target all along. I don’t think he was specifically after you, I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I helped him do his stupid timecard every day,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I ordered him extra egg rolls with lunch. I - god. Instead of just walking past him tonight I stopped to help him carry his bags. I thought he was just cleaning out his desk, and then...” your eyes opened, more tears rolling down your cheeks. Spencer’s face was soft, gentle, filled with a deep understanding that somehow made you feel even less alone. He truly knew the terror you were in, the sadness, the confusion... “I should’ve just gone home. Just walked past him, driven straight home, heated up my leftovers.”

Spencer hmm’d and raised his brows. 

“What’s for dinner?”

He was trying to take your mind off it all. Distract you. Keep the panic at bay as best he could when there was a chunk of explosives resting on your chest. 

“This weird meatball casserole thing,” you started, the face you pulled unable to be helped at the memory of it. He laughed at the look and you explained, “I’m not the best cook, but I wanted to be creative. It’s... well, if I’m in a pinch I could probably use it to fix holes in my drywall.”

The honest, toothy smile he gave you got another unexpected giggle from you. 

“I’m not that great of a cook either,” he admitted. “Usually I resort to take-out. I’m not adventurous enough to try my own creations.”

Now you were both giggling, the sound thankfully drowning out the incessant ticking for a few moments. When he met your eyes again, you found yourself admitting,

“Usually I do take-out too. I’ve been trying to save up money, though, so I’ve been getting ingredients on sale and then pretending I know what to do with them.” Spencer made a face and you nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s about how well it’s working out.”

“What are you saving for?” he asked, tipping his head to the side when he caught the instant embarrassment that lit up your face. “If it’s personal you don’t need to answer -”

“No, no. It’s... I like animals. A lot,” you admitted, clearing your throat. “I just earned a membership to the zoo, and... they have this program where you can sponsor an animal. Ever since I was little I really wanted to do something like that. I don’t make a ton here, so it’s been a slow process, but I almost have enough.”

To your surprise there was genuine intrigue on his face, and he studied you with what almost looked like admiration. Seriously, if you could get the eminent death device off of you, you’d really need to find out if he ever got some free time away from bombs and weird animal-obsessed insurance secretaries. 

“I think that’s really neat,” he admitted, without a doubt pulling a blush out of you. “What animal do you want to sponsor?”

You gave a shrug of your shoulders and explained, “I can’t decide. Actually, I was gonna go to the zoo this weekend to look at them all. But now I...”

You cleared your throat and fell silent; the ticking seemed to get even louder just to mock you. Spencer’s hand, still on your knee, gave a gentle squeeze. You hadn’t noticed your lip was trembling until you tried to speak and only a whimper came out.

“We’ll get you out of here,” he promised, the assurance in his voice soothing the tight ache in your chest. You went to answer and without warning, the steady ticking of the bomb stopped. 

You actually gasped, going completely still, eyes flicking between Spencer’s own startled gaze and the vest. The unearthly silence you’d plunged into brought on a wave of hope, and then loud, frenzied beeping began. 

“What that? What’s happening?” you gasped, hands flying to the contraption on your chest in panic. Spencer was on his knees instantly, catching both your wrists in one of his hands while he leaned closer to study the vest. 

“I don’t know - [y/n], hold still. Take a deep breath, okay? Let me look,” he instructed, voice gentle but commanding, putting the brakes on your alarm as you struggled to suck in a ragged breath. He was mumbling under his breath, soft brown eyes flicking over the vest, lips finally pressing together as he lifted his gaze to you. 

“Please tell me,” you begged him; when he still didn’t answer, you managed to twist one of your hands over in his to squeeze his wrist. “Please.” 

“The display is flashing red,” he described, leaning back a hint. “Nothing else has changed, but -”

“But this isn’t good,” you finished, fresh tears forming. Fast beeping? Flashing? It had to be about ready to go off. “Spencer, you need to leave. This is gonna go off and you’re -”

Spencer let go of your wrists, and before you could miss his warmth, his hand took firm hold of one of yours. He sunk a little lower in front of you to meet your gaze with a resolute, unwavering stare. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.” 

You clung to his hand, managing a nod, sucking in another shaking breath. You really didn’t want him to get hurt, but... you really didn’t want to be alone. Maybe that was selfish. I mean, this guy could die because of you, but the thought of having to sit through this alone was almost more frightening than the bomb. 

Almost. 

Spencer has his phone out a moment later, and he popped it onto speaker as it rang. Not a moment later it picked up and the person on the other end instantly said,

“Squads three minutes out, kid - what’s that beepin’?” 

“It just started doing that,” Spencer rushed. “And it’s -”

“You’re still in there? Reid, Hotch told you to evacuate -”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to you and then back to the vest a heartbeat later; you caught sight of the headset he’d radioed in on earlier. He’d been told to leave, and he was still with you?

“Morgan, it went from ticking to beeping, and now it’s flashing red. I need you to walk me through what to do.”

“What?! No, kid, just wait for the squad. Do you know how dangerous -”

“I don’t think we have time for the squad,” he admitted, and instinctively your hand tightened on his. He met your eyes instantly and said softly to you, “Morgan’s studied how to defuse bombs and he’s the best chance we’ve got right now.”

“Spencer he’s right, you need to leave,” you begged, guilt and fear swirling inside of you. You tried to pull your hand free and his own tightened. “Just go. Why are you staying? You don’t even know me and this is gonna kill you -”

“It’s my job to protect those who need it,” he told you firmly, voice low with resolve. “I told you I’m staying, and I meant it. We’re going to figure this out together and you’re going to go to the zoo and find which animal you’re sponsoring. Okay?”

All you could manage was a whimper; Spencer squeezed your hand as he pressed, 

“Okay, [y/n]?”

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding and sucking in a shaking breath. Morgan gave a heavy sigh through the phone. 

“We’re really doin’ this... okay. Kid, do you see any wires?”

“Just two, both feeding into the right side of the display. It looks like they attach to the explosive packs.”

“Okay. This is really important. [y/n],” he said, and your eyes fell to the phone on the floor between you and Spencer. “Do you know if there was a remote detonator, or a manual switch?” 

“He - he pressed a button before he left,” you said quickly.

“Can you show Reid where it was?” 

“Um, I couldn’t see, really, but...” you shut your eyes and tried to picture where his hand had been. “Is... is there something on the upper right side?” 

“Yes, two buttons. Morgan, one’s yellow, one’s black.”

“Alright. [y/n], do you know if he pushed the top or bottom one?”

“I don’t, I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. Morgan instantly said, 

“Ay, that’s okay, sunshine. Kid, yellow one’s on top, right?” Spencer made a noise of confirmation. “Okay. We only got one shot at this. You sure you’re good doin’ it?”

Spencer met your eyes again, giving a small smile as his hold tightened around your hand. 

“I am. Tell me what to do.”

“You’re gonna press that yellow button down and yank that top wire out. As soon as it’s out, you do the same thing with the bottom button and bottom wire.”

“That’s it?” Spencer asked in surprise. 

“It’s a direct connection trigger,” he said quickly. “Disrupt the connector with the signals and it shuts itself off. As long as he matched the position of the wires with the buttons that’s all it takes.”

You hated to ask, but you needed to. 

“What if he didn’t match them up?”

Spencer pressed his lips together; you already knew the answer before Morgan said softly, 

“It won’t really matter past that.”

“Right,” you whispered; Spencer went to pull his hand free and you instantly tightened your hold. “I - I can press the buttons for you. Just - please don’t let go.”

Spencer gave you a soft smile and nodded. “I won’t. Here -” he shifted hands briefly and then positioned your free one against the pack, putting your pointer finger on the top button and your middle finger on the bottom button. “Alright. On the count of three.”

“On three,” you agreed. Spencer’s fingers entangled with yours in your lap as his own free hand came up to the wires.

“One,” he said softly. You took a deep breath. “Two...”

You and Spencer locked eyes, giving each other small smiles as you whispered together, 

“Three.”

--

“Miss [y/l/n]?” one of the officers asked, pausing at the back of the ambulance where you were sitting. You glanced up from watching the paramedic wipe off the handful of superficial wounds along your arm as he said, “there’s someone that wanted to speak with you, if that’s okay.”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded and sat up a bit. The paramedic, taking her cue, murmured something about checking on you in a few minutes before excusing herself into the back of the ambulance, giving you as much privacy as she could. 

Curiously, you looked around the busy parking lot; it was packed with police cars, the SWAT van the bomb squad had (now unnecessarily) shown up in, and a handful of black SUV’s. As the bomb squad had escorted you out of the building, you’d locked eye with Shane in the back of one. 

The fury on his face seeing you being let out of the vest was something you’d hold onto for a long, long time. His plans had been ruined, all thanks to you - and the handsome FBI agent that came around the corner of the ambulance. You were genuinely surprised to see him - moments after you’d pulled the wires out, the bomb squad had rushed the scene. Spencer as practically swept out of the way, and you’d assumed he and his team had left. 

Admittedly, you were really glad he was still here. Like, really glad. With all the life-or-death peril out of the way, you hadn’t stopped thinking about all Spencer had done. He’d stayed with you, against orders, and comforted you with a ticking bomb on your chest. And, instead of taking off when it was getting ready to detonate, he put his life on the line to take a chance at saving yours. 

You weren’t a romantic, but come on this was kismet. You couldn’t deny it. 

Spencer’s full lips pulled into a wide, honest smile as he took in the sight of you.  You couldn’t help but smile back, butterflies fluttering in your chest as he stepped closer. 

“I’m glad they got the vest off with no problem,” he told you; free of his own vest he’d been clad in, you couldn’t help take in his outfit. A fitted, dark sweater vest over a dark plaid shirt, and a dark tie pulling it all together. His dress pants fit him illegally well, and the converse peeking out from under them confirmed your suspicions from earlier: he was undoubtedly attractive.. 

“Yeah, a few scrapes on the way out, but I’m in one piece so I’m not complaining,” you joked, and to your surprise he stepped forward. He was as close to you now as he had been earlier, but this was different. This was Spencer standing crowded up against your legs, leaning over you, hand coming out to take yours. 

His fingers curled around yours for just a heartbeat as he lifted your arm, turning it over gently to study the marks. The butterflies surged at his touch, and when he lowered your arm and went to pull away, you quickly grabbed hold of his hand. Spencer’s smile faltered into an unexpected shy turn of his lips as you said softly, 

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did. You didn’t have to stay, and you risked your life for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, smile quirking a little more; his hand gave a squeeze and he didn’t try to pull away. The feeling of his fingers tangled with yours was a comfort you had never experienced before. Maybe it was because of the whole held-your-hand-through-a-near-death-experience thing, but Spencer was comforting. 

He was a shimmer of warmth against the cold night, a breath of calm in the chaos of the last few hours. He was the boat navigating the waves, keeping you afloat, guiding you to the safety you’d been desperate to reach. 

In that next breath, you felt the air shift between you and Spencer, a new intensity sparking between the two of you. His soft caramel eyes held you in an unwavering gaze; his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip tightened as he shifted minutely closer. 

Normally, you weren’t one to be bold, but hell. After being strapped to a bomb, what was so hard about taking a chance?

“I’d like to try,” you said softly, eyes flicking between his as you slowly leaned forward, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to. Instead, Spencer shifted impossibly closer and you took your chance, leaning up and pressing your lips softly to his. 

Instantly he kissed you back with a power you hadn’t expected from him. Your lips brushed slowly against one another as his free hand came up, cupping your cheek to hold you in place. Your own hand rested against his chest and he stepped into your touch.

His hand slowly slid back into your hair to pull you against him, silently asking to deepen the kiss. Your tongue swept against his lower lip and his mouth parted instantly, his own tongue darting out and brushing your own. His soft, almost imperceptible moan wasn’t lost on you and you swallowed the noise hungrily. 

A horn honked across the parking lot and the two of you jumped back, staring at each other in surprise before dissolving into giggles. You felt your face turn six shades of scarlet as Spencer glanced back towards the black SUV now flashing its lights at the two of you.

“I, uh, I think it’s time to go,” he chuckled, clearing his throat as he finally stepped back and pulled his hand from yours. He was still smiling, though, and he peeked up at you hopefully as he asked, “but um, I don’t live too far from here. And if you wanted, maybe you and I could, you know...”

An idea popped into your head and reached back into the ambulance, grabbing a pen off the clipboard you’d used to fill out some paperwork. You took Spencer’s hand - reveling in the feel of it briefly - and scribbled your number on the back of it. 

“If you’re not busy this weekend, I wouldn’t mind some company at the zoo,” you teased, enjoying the grin that took over his face as he nodded quickly. “You and your FBI profiling skills can help me find the animal I want to sponsor.”

“I’d really like that,” he said as he gave you a wide, honest grin, tongue pushing against his teeth as he ducked his head. 

Okay, okay. So maybe your parents might’ve had a point. Turns out being polite had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be - on a date with the sweet, undeniably handsome Dr. Spencer Reid. 

Next time, though, you could really do without the explosives.

[waywardbeanie]

A Man of Letters - Chapter Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough? Word Count: 3538

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings) a little meta Chapter Warning: Violence, assault, humor (Is that really a warning?) and a little bit of sweet.

A/N: This series has been rattling around in my head for a while. It would never have made it to the light of day if it was not for my beautiful group of friends with whom none of this would be possible! You know who you are and I love you all!

Thank you to my beta @winchest09​​ without her none of this would be possible. If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE: **Make sure you check out the playlist, it is updated every chapter and an essential part of the story**

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

This series is ongoing!

No Gif’s are mine

“Weird,” Y/N huffed looking out the front window of her Main Street photography studio, “Photos That Rock”. That same black muscle car has passed by her shop window at least five times today. She feels like she should recognize it, but it is just out of reach. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail she began to straighten up around the studio. Last night was a late night, then tossing and turning all night thinking about Mr. Tall, Dark and Plaid. It was an early morning today with a full schedule of studio time and then she was set to go back to The Zoo for Blues night. “Thank God it’s Friday!” she thought.

Tomorrow she opens at 11:00 and only for a few hours. During the summer, the hours are reduced with people being on vacation or just busy. The last thing they want to do on a Saturday is to come in and have their picture taken. She had editing to do, but she could do that on her laptop at home barefooted, wearing shorts and a T shirt.

Y/N locked the door as she flipped the closed sign around. Walking to the back of the studio she grabbed her garment bag off the hook and proceeded to change clothes. She didn’t have time to go back to her house. Besides, once she went home, she wasn’t leaving.  Finding that charming little 2-bedroom bungalow was a blessing. 

Thinking back, she remembered driving around quaint little neighborhoods when Y/N saw the “For Sale” sign being put out. She pulled her black Jeep over to the side of the road and jumped out, clad in jean capris, her favorite white sneakers with a black  ZZ Top “Tres Hombres” mugshot picture on the front, hair in a ponytail and large sunglasses adorning her face.

 “Excuse me,” she said politely, as she approached the elderly woman trying to pound a sign into the hard dirt of the front yard. “May I ask you about the house?”

The old woman peered at her over her glasses. “Ya by yourself?” she almost shouted.

 “Yes ma’am.” Y/N smiled.

“Ya like strong coffee?” she questioned again, “it’s the only kind of coffee I make,” she mumbled. Y/N nodded her head agreeably.

“Well, come on then, come in and look at the house. You can have a cup of coffee with me and I’ll tell ya about it.” Y/N followed behind the slowly shuffling woman with slide slippers and a faded blue house dress.

Within 2 hours, Y/N learned that Hazel had lived in this house her entire married life. Her husband Everett built it when he returned from the Pacific after WWII. The house was a little run down she explained because she had a hard time taking care of things after Everett died 18 months ago. Hazel was ready to move into the senior apartments where all her “widow friends” live. By Y/N's second cup of coffee, she and Hazel agreed on a price and that Y/N could have the house in a month. They agreed to meet at the lawyers in town the following Monday. She had a bounce in her step as she returned to her Jeep after hugging Hazel goodbye. Her step stuttered as a somber smile pulled at her mouth. “This was the first good thing she could use her parent’s life insurance for.”  

Y/N shook her head to clear her mind of the past. Glancing at the clock she noticed that she needed to be at the bar in 30 minutes and it was 15 minutes away. She quickly stripped off her T-shirt and jeans and shimmied into her black leggings and pulled on her knee high, 5-inch heeled boots. Pulling her grey sleeveless flowing top over her head, tugging it down, it skimmed right at her mid-thigh. Focusing on her reflection, she quickly touched up her makeup and added lipstick. Yanking out the hairband, she returned it to her wrist, finger combing her hair.

“Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get today,” she said to herself. Turning around, she grabbed her backpack and keys and ran out the back door to her Jeep, praying she didn’t hit traffic.

The Jeep careened into the parking lot of The Zoo, throwing gravel as “My Kinda Party” by Jason Aldean blaring from the speakers. She made it with 5 minutes to spare. The bar was busy already, so she had to park on the far end of the lot. She grabbed her backpack off the seat and sprinted to the front door just as it swung open.

Stepping inside it was apparent it was going to be a different kind of night. The place was packed just about shoulder to shoulder. People weren’t here to dance, they were here to have a few beers and listen to great Blues music. Y/N snaked along the edge of the crowd to the bar, carefully removed her camera from the bag and handed the backpack to Travis. Surveying the crowd she knew she would get the best pictures by positioning herself on the edge of the stage.

Painstakingly she made her way to the front as the band rambled out. . She motioned to one of the members to confirm she would not be a distraction and he gestured for her to join them while grinning at her. “Make sure you get my good side.”

As they began to jam, the crowd surged forward and Y/N was glad she wasn’t on the floor tonight. She focused on the band and the front of the crowd for their first set, capturing ecstatic faces as the music rose and fell. After a hasty break the band began their second set with “Got My Mojo Working” by Muddy Waters. Y/N steadied herself on the side of the stage and began to scan the bar through her lens, capturing bits and pieces of the enthusiastic and eclectic crowd. The camera halted at 2 men that didn’t belong. They were leaning against the back wall with their arms crossed in front of their chest. They were tall and seem to tower above the crowd. Even this far away they seem pasty and unkempt.  Y/N chucked to herself because one has a John Deere hat on and the other a Caterpillar hat, direct competitors. As she studied them, both snapped their heads up simultaneously. The look on their faces was so murderous that her stomach tightened, and she began to quake. Trying to settle herself her camera moved on instantly. As she wrapped up her shoot at the end of the night, she could still not shake the pit in her stomach.

She talked to the band for a few minutes as they were packing up their instruments and the crowd began to clear out. Jumping down off the stage, she went to the bar to gather her things.

“Thanks so much for tonight Y/N,” Travis pronounced handing her the backpack. “Do you need me to walk you out?”

“No, I’m good.” Y/N shook her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for the second blues show.”

Smiling, Travis toasted her with the glass he was polishing.

She hefted her backpack over her shoulder and with her head down, she headed outside.  En route to her parking spot, she observed a group of men congregating close to her Jeep. Slowing her pace she began eyeing them closely, spotting immediately the 2 men in ball caps that creeped her out earlier.  Giving them a wide berth she dug her keys out of her bag, kicking herself the whole time that she didn’t already have them in hand.

As she drew closer, the group began to watch her, making lewd remarks and vulgar gestures. She ran the rest of the way to her Jeep, jumped in, cranking the engine almost simultaneously. Y/N jammed it into reverse, throwing gravel, then ramming it into drive in one fluid motion, putting as much space between her and the group as possible. Her heart was thundering in her chest while her entire body began to quake. Her breaths came in short bursts as she propelled down the road, putting a few miles between her and the bar.  Y/N began to talk herself down, trying to remember her yoga breathing as she berated herself for thinking of yoga at a time like this.

Steering closer to her house she began to compose herself. As she pulled into her driveway, she put her Jeep in park resting her head on the steering wheel, breathing slowly, in and out. Yanking her keys out the ignition she threw them into her bag. Taking one last calming breath she hoisted her bag on her shoulder and got out, slamming the door behind her.

She had taken three steps when a vice like grip wrapped around her bicep swinging her around and slamming her against the side of the Jeep, hurling the bag out of her reach and knocking the wind out of her. Y/N was momentarily paralyzed, the disbelief so profound. A large hand gripped the back of her neck, pulled her away from the Jeep and crushed the side of her face into the driver’s side window.  He clenched her neck tighter as he pushed her face into the window. Tears are running down her face and she strains to hold in cries of pain and fear. She feels the weight of his chest press into her back, feeling his sticky hot breath on the side of her face.

“Did you think you could run?” he seethed. “Did you think we would not fucking find you?”

“W-W-What are you talking about?” Y/N choked out.

Spinning her around by her arm and tossing her back against the door, Y/N hit it like a ragdoll, sliding down the side of the vehicle as her fear incapacitated her mind and body. Looking up, she recognized her assailant from the bar with the John Deere hat. He gripped her by the throat, dragging her back up the Jeep. Y/N feet dangled off the ground, her right eye already swollen shut blood dripping from the side of her head and lip.

“Bitch, we’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he sneered. Y/N tried to shake her head back and forth.

“NO!” she struggled, “I don’t know you!”

He laughed as she tried to focus her one good eye. An index of faces flipping through her mind like a rolodex. He bent down, his fingers digging into her throat, leveling eye to eye with her.

“Oh, but we know you. You were supposed to be in the cabin with James and Diane. We should have been able to take care of all of you at once.” His mouth twisted, “Instead, we had to chase you ass across half the damn country.”

Uncontrollable tears were rolling down her face, blood pounding in her ears. The stranger straightened, his hand slightly loosening around her neck, feet still inches off the ground. “We usually like to play with our food,  but those fuckin’ Winchesters are in town. I’ve messed around enough.”

Y/N could not make sense of anything this lunatic was saying. He knew about her parents’ cabin?  He knew she was supposed to be there? Play with their food? Maybe she was blacking out from lack of oxygen. Winchesters?

She could feel herself weakening. She could hear screeching tires and yelling but it was so far away. She was opening her mouth to scream but only a raspy moan escaped. A look of panic crossed the strangers face. He looked at her, his features began to change. Sharp pointed teeth emerging from his gums. Y/N began to blink rapidly, attempting to process what she was seeing. She began to kick her legs in terror. Her brain was telling her what she was seeing was a hallucination, but her body was peaking at the fight or flight mode. The stranger's mouth was agape as a hiss left his throat. She stared at his mouth with what looked like hundreds of teeth made of needles

She opened her bloody lips to attempt to scream for the last time while looking into his eyes. His head completely disappeared, releasing his hold on her neck in which she crumpled into a heap on her driveway, gulping for air. She heard metal clattering on the cement and from her one working eye, saw a large hand grab the stranger’s body and toss it into the grass. In a flash, two strong hands grasped her shoulders and her flight kicked in. Thrashing around and trying to get away but he was holding on tight saying her name over and over, attempting to get through to her oxygen deprived brain. Shaking her shoulders as gently as he could, drawing his face closer to hers

“Y/N, Y/N look at me, just listen to my voice and look at me, look at my face.”

She peered up at him, the adrenalin beginning to dissipate as the tremors convulsed her body . She was trying to focus on what she saw but it was irrational. She felt like she was trying to put a puzzle together but none of the pieces fit. She squinted at his face and moved her lips to speak but nothing came out.  She stuck her tongue out trying to moisten her lips wincing as she swallowed. Trying again she croaked, “Hot Flannel Guy?”

Chuckling Dean gathered her to his chest, “That’s right, sweetheart, it’s me, Hot Flannel Guy.” He picked her up, as if she weighed nothing the uninjured side of her face rested against his chest and she could feel the rumble of laughter against her cheek. She closed her uninjured eye and tried to breathe deep. He smelled clean and woodsy with a hint of sweat. “A sexy smell for a hot man,” she thought. She remembered she had caught a hint of that same smell yesterday when they danced.

“Where are we going?” she whispered her head foggy, feeling so tired.  Dean started for her front door, Sammy not far behind. “We just need to get you in the house sweetheart”

“We only got three of them, the other two made it to the pickup and took off,” Sammy informed his brother, looking over his shoulder. 

“Damn it!” snapped Dean “We can’t fucking leave her here now.” 

Sam was juggling the machete, a bag and a first aid kit. “Let’s just get her in the house and then we can make a plan. It’s not like they are coming back tonight.”

Dean looked at Sam then at the front door. “Not to be a dick Sammy, but that door isn’t going to open itself.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. He looked at Y/N in Dean’s arms and immediately felt bad. “Right.” He dropped the armload of stuff behind him on the large front porch and opened the screen door. There was a keypad and a doorknob and sighed. “What’s the code?”

Dean carefully jostled Y/N in his arms. “Hey, Y/N?” he asked her softly, “we need to get in the house, what’s the code?” 

She had almost forgotten where she was, she hurt all over and could not stop trembling, but she was taking a small comfort in the feel of Dean’s arms around her. 

“Let me down,” she croaked, starting to struggle, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just let me down.”

Dean’s arms tightened around her. “Sweetheart, just tell Sam the code, we’ll get you in the house, THEN, I‘ll put you down.” She slumped back against him huffing 

“8675309,” she rasped in the best sing song voice she could. Dean threw his head back and laughed as Sam smirked. “Jenny’s number? Your code is Jenny’s number?”

“I couldn’t help it, it’s the only number I could always remember.”

Still chuckling Dean leaned against the house as Sam entered the code. He pushed off, his elbow hitting the doorbell just as the door swung open. Robert Plant’s voice wailed from inside the house.

“Hey, Hey Mama said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Y/N’s face. “Woah, Zeppelin? Seriously?”

One side of her mouth tilted up. “Nobody wants a boring doorbell.”

Sam shook his head as he gathered the things off the porch, holding the screen door with his foot so Dean could carry Y/N in the house. He was beginning to feel like he was stuck in some kind of kismet thing between those two.

As Dean entered her home, he looked around trying to figure out where to lay Y/N down.

“No way does a Dude live here.”

All the walls were white with dark grey trim. The furniture was white in the living room with grey throw pillows and a turquoise throw on the side of the couch. The floors looked like they were finished in a weathered grey tone and it opened up into the airy white and grey kitchen. Different sized vases filled with fresh daisies and framed black and white photographs were placed throughout the area. With all the white, one would think that it would feel sterile but something about it gave off a cozy, comfortable feeling, like a breath of fresh air.

Sam strode into the kitchen and placed his armful of gear on the kitchen Island. He turned to Dean pointing to the couch.

“Nope.” Dean shook his head and looked at Y/N, “no way Sammy, it’s too clean in here.”

Y/N began to wriggle in his arms. “Lemme down,” she whispered. He had held her in his arms for so long she began to feel embarrassed but Dean tightened his hold around her. “Shhhh,” he said looking around again.

“Dude!” she yelled, shocking all three of them. “PUT. ME. DOWN.”  Dean set her on her feet and her legs started to crumple from underneath her. He caught her again and hoisted her back up in his arms.

“Now what?” he ground out.

Sam pulled out one of the grey upholstered bar chairs from the kitchen island, “Put her here.”

 He opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Setting them on the island he walked over to the sink, tore some paper towels from the roll and saturated them with water.

Dean deposited her, none too delicately in the chair. Sam made his way back to her, walking around the island to stand next to Dean to face her. Her right eye was swollen shut and the right side of her top and bottom lip were busted covered in drying blood. As she looked up at her savior, they could see the purple handprint developing around her neck.  Looking directly into Dean’s steely green eyes, she visibly flinched at the barely contained anger. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she spoke quietly.

“Who are you?”

“Oh yeah, that,” Dean smiled. “I’m Dean and this,” he motioned towards the other man, “is my brother Sam.”

He raised his hand, “Hi.”

Y/N studied both of them. Her good eye ping ponging between them until she finally landed back on Dean expectantly raising her eyebrow with a grimace of pain.

“Winchester.” Both spoke at the same time.

She huffed out a breath. “Of course it is, that creepy dude said he couldn’t play with his food because of the fuckin’ Winchesters. But I think I must have imagined stuff from lack of oxygen or something because after that, it’s all a blur and isn’t rational.”

“Well,” Sam hedged, reaching for the wet paper towels, “why don’t we try to get your face cleaned up and you can maybe take a shower. After that we can explain it all to you.” He reached up to start to blot her battered face.

“Dude, I got this!” Dean hip checked him, knocking him off balance. Sam scowled at him. “Sammy, why don’t...you know…” he motioned with his head toward the front of the house, “handle that other thing we need to do.” Sam looked at him incredulously, sarcasm flowing. “Great, yeah I’ll take care of that right now.” Spinning around he headed out the door.  Dean knew he was going to hear about that later but he really didn’t give a damn. 

Turning his attention back to Y/N he grabbed the damp paper towels off the island counter and started to dab her face. Wincing she pulled back. “Dean,” she murmured 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he began reaching around lightly, holding the back of her head so she would stop drawing back. “I need you to hold still for me for just a few minutes so I can get you cleaned up.”

She reached up, grasping his hand, meeting his eyes. Her bottom lip began to tremble, tears shimmering. “Thank you,” she breathed, “thank you for saving my life.” 

He tenderly touched his forehead to hers. “I’m just glad we made it here on time.”

“Me too,” she choked out.

Chapter 4

Tags: @winchest09 @katehuntington @whatareyousearchingfordean @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @superfanficnatural @deanwanddamons @janicho88 @talesmaniac89 @anathewierdo @compresshischest09 @supernatural-bellawinchester @jensengirl83 @this-is-what-im-reduced-to @ellewritesfix05 @moron225 @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @unicornqu33n17​ @swinchester27​@4fareader @deans-baby-momma​ @squirrelnotsam​ @clumsy-nerd104​ @sarahbaker2010​ @supernatural-love14​ @akshi8278​ @lyarr24​ 

[youngnari]

My Love, My Home // Kim Dongyoung

—Notes : This is a rewrite from my first scenario I posted in the past and I thought the whole plot suits the man I love so dearly, i just had to dedicate it to him. I hope you all will enjoy this plot and please drop me a feedback or be my friend?

—Wc : 9302 words

—Warning : contains profanity aka swearing in some, and mentions of sexual tension

—Pairing : ceo!Kim Doyoung x female!reader

—Genre : 5 spoons of fluff + pinch of angst

—Summary : With the challenge of finding a stable job, you found it hard to achieve your life long dream on settling into a place you can call home. 

Where home doesn’t always means a place you lived in, but a person

Home; under its roof, you are always protected.

It is a place you grow up in, where you seek warmth; a home is your haven from the brutal world. You could say that you spent almost your entire life in that one house you shared with your parents, because even when you moved out for college, that was the only place you ever wanted to be. You always had the urge to come back; even when you were out for holiday or a school camp and sleepover, nothing felt right but your own home.

There were many memories in your home. From the first day you entered primary school, high school graduation, stressing over your college application and praying so hard to be accepted, until the day you officially moved out for the first time into a mini version of the home you had lived in for so long.

Changes; that’s what everyone said. Your life had to move on, from living under your parents’ roof to dealing with the reality outside of your own comfort zone. You moved out of your home country and had to face college.

In that time of your life, you kind of downgraded a little. You remembered struggling to cope with your roommate, a person who was the direct opposite of you. Hence, it was hard for you to welcome her into your small bubble. But that wasn’t all, you missed home-cooked meals from your parents. You regretted not taking your mom’s offer of teaching you how to cook, resulting you to depend on campus meals on weekdays and toast with instant ramen on the weekend. You remembered breaking down, crying because of how homesick you were. You could have cared less if people thought you were weak, vulnerable for not being able to deal with the change. At that time, you wanted nothing but your home. You missed it.

But life went on, and in a snap, you were out of the college dorm and moving into a new home. A rundown apartment you thought was ready to collapse if someone accidentally sneezed on it.

When you graduated from college, you struggled to find a stable job. Every job opportunity you found you poured out your heart and soul on the resumes and during interviews. You only hoped for a job that could pay you above minimum wage, at least to give you the assurance to pay your rent and monthly needs every month. Often you found yourself stressing with bills and fees, splitting change and cash for food and groceries. Your parents always encouraged you to go through life like it’s nothing, and once you can see through your own capabilities it will get better.

It was tough, but you went through it all. For him.

A stable job which paid you generously, often you find it hard to believe the paycheck you received every end of the month. You moved to a more decent apartment where you could live comfortably, without being too paranoid about your life and having to use your life insurance. But also, a boyfriend.

And it started with a stupid, all too good to be true accident at your previous job.

2 years ago, you struggled to find a stable job. Every company that rejected you often said you were too slow, clumsy, and not good enough to work under the company. You were mad, ready to burn down the whole association, but you knew better. You walked out of the glass doors, screaming at your thin-walled apartment, and got filed for causing a disturbance in your floor.

That lead you to having to pay a fine, leaving you to spend more money that you didn’t have due to your own carelessness. So, you did what you had to do. Take any opportunities of any random job you could find, you ended up as a barista in a small café near the downtown area. It didn’t pay you enough, just barely for you to survive. But you still did it anyway, since you couldn’t find a proper job you had to do anything to continue to survive.

That café quickly become your new home.

The coffee shop opened at 8am and closed at 9pm, and you had a full time shift. You couldn’t consider the café to always be crowded; there was a decent handful of customers and they were mostly regulars. And amongst those regulars was your boyfriend—well, soon-to-be boyfriend.

You were wiping the tables and aligning the chairs on the floor to keep the whole space neat. You did all the cleaning and prepping for the shop before it opened. Right as the clock hit 8.10AM, you hear the bell chime from the door, signaling a customer had arrived. Every morning, without fail, it was the same man.

He had sleek black hair and sharp doe eyes, lean and tall. Whenever he walked into the shop, he gave off an aura of dominance and integrity. Always dressed formally with a suit, tailored specifically to fit his figure. You would be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated. But you couldn’t deny, that man was gorgeous, beautiful, and coffee deprived.

“Hello, welcome back!” You smiled enthusiastically, greeting the all too familiar stranger.

He had his eyebrows furrowed, looking at you like some outer being not from earth. How does one look so happy and jolly so early in the morning, he had thought a few times. But he wasn’t going to voice his question, as he had better things to do. His eyes scanned the menu board behind you, displaying all the beverages that were available. His gaze traveled to the display glass presenting all the baked goods, from sweet pastries to savory sandwiches.

“Today’s special is the breakfast croissant, we made a few fresh batches at the back if you are interested.” You said, catching his attention once again. He looked at you in a stoic manner, then he nodded curtly.

You took his order, ready to ask for his payment but he was ready to interject. He didn’t tell you about what coffee he wanted. You saw him hesitating, debating if it was appropriate to argue so early in the morning. You smiled.

“Americano, right?” You asked him. He snapped his head up to look at you, eyes widening in surprise.

“Americano with no sugar or syrup, extra shot. The usual?” You asked once again. He stood there for a while and nodded, and that was enough to send you off to make his order.

He watched you as you worked, hands gracefully pulling each machine together to make a cup of coffee. He was impressed, he didn’t need to spare you any word and you already knew his order. Without much thought, he had a small smile plastered on his face. But it was soon wiped away when you came back around the counter to give him his order, packed in a paper bag.

Silently, he gave you the money and you took it gratefully.

“Here’s your ch—” You didn’t have the time to give him back the change as he rushed out of the door just as he slid the paper bill.

“Thank you for dropping b—” and the door closed with the sound of the bell, his figure completely disappeared.

Thus was the pattern of your morning routine in the coffee shop. You wiped the tables and aligned the chairs when you finished mopping, and just right on time around 8.10AM he was back inside the café. Often you expected him to make small talk or even give you a small audible thank you, but he never did. You would quietly make his cup of coffee and pack the daily’s special in a paper bag for him to takeaway, then he paid you far too much from the actual total and rushed off like nothing ever happened. You weren’t complaining, but it was weird. You had your fair share of regulars coming in, often making small talk with you, even to the extent of complementing you at how well you remember their order and details despite you only working there for a few months. You smiled at them politely and went back to continue your work, closing the shop when you are done.

Walking down to the bus stop you often found yourself thinking about him and the generous tip he always left. Maybe that’s how he says thank you, you thought. You smiled a little remembering how surprised he always got when you prepared his order, it was as if you knew him personally.

But one morning, he didn’t show up.

You didn’t hear the bell chime when the clock hit 8.10AM, he didn’t come. You had his order made, the fresh batch of the daily’s special and his coffee; you waited. The clock hit 8.30AM and he still wasn’t there, did he run into traffic? You felt the paper bag getting wet due to the steam from the goods, now becoming cold. His coffee grew colder as each second passed, but you still waited. It was stupid for you to expect the appearance of a stranger, but to you he wasn’t just any stranger. He left you a bigger impression than any of your regulars, you didn’t know how to put it together. He had become a part of your routine, to the point it carried into your mind so deeply when he didn’t show up.

But he did come, late.

When the clock hit 8.55AM, the door harshly slammed open causing you to wince. He was there, panting like a wild man. His hair for once was a mess instead of the usual sleek slicked back style, blazer gripped in his hand, and his tie just hung lifelessly around his neck. You were stunned; by shock, confusion, but also happiness.

Just as you were preparing, you heard shuffling from behind the counter. You took a small peak and caught him fixing up his appearance. He moved gracefully; from the way his hands worked on the loose fabric around his neck, to him tucking in his shirt and putting on the blazer. And in no time, you saw him like how he always looked, neat and proper.

You slid the paper bag and coffee across the counter, giving the fresh order for him. He didn’t immediately pay, his eyes lingered on the untouched cup of coffee and damp paper bag at the counter behind you. You followed his gaze, cursing at yourself for not taking it to the back like you planned to.

“Sorry, that was uhm… your usual order.” You explained. His eyes turned towards you, looking at you with the most intimidating stare ever.

“Why?” He asked.

Your heart jolted at the sound of his voice. Was it possible to feel nervous yet enamored from someone’s tone? The way his word slipped from his lips; they were smooth but with a hint of seriousness at the end. You swallowed the lump in your throat, clearing it as you tried to speak again.

“Because…you always come as soon as the shop opens. And I thought you might have some important things to do at work? I didn’t want to waste your time.” You whispered out, but it was enough to be heard in the empty shop.

He smiled a little, looking at how pure you seemed. He had woken up late that morning due to him finishing a project for his company, causing him to sleep later than his usual 1am to a 4am. He woke up abruptly from his co-worker, demanding his whereabouts are. He mouthed a small fuck under his breath, noticing he was late for work and a meeting that was happening in half an hour. So, he dashed out like a madman.

The thing is, he was already late when he came into the café. He could’ve made it just in time to the company if he hadn’t made any random stops. But he did, at the café he goes to every morning. This time, it was no exception. He parked his car at the shop beside the café and went in. He winced when he looked at himself in the glass door, he looked like a mess instead of a CEO. But all the stress he had soon disappeared the moment he saw your figure jolting as the bell chimed, your eyes widening when you noticed it was him.

He smiled at your effort, liking the way how you still waited and prepared everything for him despite him being late. He couldn’t help but feel warm and soft inside and he let out a small smile. You stared at him in surprise, your mouth ajar as you heard the words coming out of his mouth. He checked the time on this Rolex and internally sighed, he was later than ever.

He quickly took his order in his hands and slid the money over the counter to you. But just as he was going to leave the shop, he gave you one last nod. This time with a smile on his face, seemingly in a good mood so suddenly.

“It’s Doyoung, by the way. Thank you.” He said, motioning towards the paper bag of pastries and coffee. Then he was out, leaving you more shocked than ever.

***

The last encounter of your so-called home during the fifth month of you worked in the café, around closing time. You were busy mopping and cleaning the empty space, ready to turn off the lights and lock the door, it wasn’t until you heard a light tap on the door that you halted all of you actions.

You spun slightly, not expecting any more customers as you had flipped the open sign to closed by then. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Doyoung.

You looked at the clock, it was past 9 at night and you were more than confused as to what brought him here so suddenly. You walked towards the door and Doyoung pointed at the closed sign by it, seemingly asking you permission if he could come in. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in at that point, but he looked different that night. He looked drained, there wasn’t any light in his eyes. So, you unlocked the door for him.

He sat on the pick-up counter, not wanting to sabotage the chairs you had just lined up. You didn’t complain, fetching him a hot drink to ease his ongoing nerves. For once you saw Doyoung in distress; his hair a mess, shirt not buttoned properly, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie hung loosely on his neck. You placed the warm mug near him, which he took gratefully. He took a sip, and he felt the sweetness coating his taste buds. He let out a small groan as he pulled his lips away from the mug, examining the brown warm substance in it.

“Hot chocolate,” you said, smiling at him.

He furrowed his eyebrows, squinting at the mug in confusion. This was not his usual coffee; it was thicker, sweet, and had the aftertaste of bitterness. Oddly enough, he liked the change. He looked at you, catching your gaze full of wonder.

“I know you usually come here for coffee. But do you seriously expect that I’ll give you caffeine when it’s already nearing 10PM?” You asked him, a tint of sarcasm lacing your tone which caught him by surprise.

“It’s good.” he said curtly, causing you to smile wider.

“Right? This is one of my favorite drinks ever!” you exclaimed, now giggling like a child.

Doyoung continued to sip the warm drink. He could feel a tingling sensation all over his body due to the contrast of flavors of the drink. Doyoung wasn’t a big fan of sweet things, he cringed whenever he thought of having to inject extra amounts of sugar in his body. This, the hot chocolate you made for him, he had to admit it was amazing. It was sweet but thick, and once he took a small gulp down this throat, he could taste the bitter aftertaste that lingered around his mouth. He had thought, coming here wouldn’t do much for his stress due to his work. You proved him otherwise, and in return he received a sweet treat.

He watched you as you cleaned the remaining dishes, not even complaining you had to serve him so late at night when it was way past closing time. You could feel there was tension on his shoulders, weight in his eyes. It was hard for you to completely ignore him and lock him out at night. You turned around, looking at his figure sitting on the counter, his eyes locked on the mug which was now empty but still in his grip, not wanting to let it go.

You went closer to his side, slowly taking the mug from his grasp. That was enough to get him to snap back to reality, his hands flinching when he felt the small touch of your hand. You paused, afraid you might had triggered him, or hurt him. But the abrupt force he caused sent a shock wave down your nerves, causing both of you to lose grip of the white porcelain mug. It fell, following gravity before smashing onto the floor. The shards flew, spreading across the shop’s front area. There were a few remaining sips of hot chocolate which splattered onto the floor.

“I am so sorry!” You said, looking at Doyoung frantically as he stared at you, equally in shock. He shook his head a little, his eyes saddened as he felt like he was the one at fault, not you. Quickly you tried to collect all the shards, careful not to scratch your hands. Doyoung jumped down from the counter and knelt beside you to help, you tried to argue but he only gave you a stern look causing you to eat your words up.

It was silence for a few seconds, all you could hear was his breathing coming from right beside you. You sighed a little, there goes a little part of your paycheck.

“Do you always work here, morning to night?” He asked, his voice small, a little hesitant.

“Yea, I took the full shift.” You replied him, tossing the broken shards in a bin once you collected enough. Doyoung nodded in acknowledgement, finally noticing how often he saw you every time he passed the shop on his way home, catching your figure closing the shop and walking away from it.

“Do you like your work?” He asked again, a little more confidence in his tone now.

You smiled sadly in response. Doyoung caught how your eyes dimmed a little, not quite knowing what he had expecting when he asked the question.

“I do like it. But I feel like I can do better.” You said, whispering the words as you reached the end. That was enough to spark up his interest more. He looked at you, waiting for you to continue but you quietly stood your ground. You grabbed a mop, quickly mopping the liquid before it dried up and became a sticky mess. Doyoung didn’t do anything much but stand on the sideline, watching every action you were doing in a daze.

“My life has been about me moving from one place to another. I identified every place I stayed as my home; from my parents’ house that I grew up in, to my college dorm, and now I live in a rundown apartment where this café is my only source of income to continue living.” You said

“Is it enough?” He asked again, his tone softer than usual with a hint of sadness at the end.

You smiled and shook your head a little, letting him know that you are barely surviving.

“My degree didn’t help me much. I applied here and there in hopes I would be hired for at least one company of my choice, but I always got turned down.” That caught his attention.

“Why?” Doyoung took another step closer, catching how your figure jolted awake by the question. You didn’t face him, afraid you might break down while recalling the harsh words that had been spat at you during every interview. But Doyoung could see, he knew your struggle was almost the same as his.

“Because I wasn’t good enough.” Your voice cracked at the end.

Doyoung wanted to fight that argument, but he didn’t know if he was in the right position to judge those people for you. He rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you an awkward pat in hopes of comforting you. Doyoung looked at his own action in confusion; he wasn’t always the best at comforting people, but he tried. You willed yourself to stop crying and hurled around to face him, and that was the moment things started.

Doyoung didn’t know what went into his mind at that moment. But when he saw the look on your face, your cheeks wet from tears and eyes still glistening, he thought you looked ethereal. Doyoung’s breathing hitched, not fully understanding the odd feeling inside his stomach. Yet, he knew what he wanted. Without a second to waste, you were caught off guard once again by this unfamiliar stranger in front of you.

His lips found their way onto yours, fitting perfectly as they molded together. You couldn’t consider it a hot make-out, it was a simple heartwarming type of kiss. You felt him pull away, almost wanting to whine, immediately missing his warmth. Doyoung wasn’t done, he pulled you in once again straight after he took another breath. His hands wrapped around you, one gripping on your exposed skin on your waist and the other around the back of your head. You could feel his grip, it was strong but not enough to hurt you, his fingers tangled through your hair, desperately trying to pull you close. You gasped a little, and he found his entrance. You swore you felt like your head might explode, the whole feeling wasn’t entirely new to you, but it felt so surreal. You find yourself gripping on his shirt, balling it up in your fist, causing him to groan into the kiss. You could taste the remains of the chocolate, it tasted sweeter than usual. You could taste him, and you wanted more.

He pulled away once again, lids heavy as he stared at your face. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew you couldn’t read Doyoung, the man was too unpredictable for you to read. He dipped his head back down for another kiss, this time much softer and slower. You smiled into the kiss, feeling his own lips twitch to form a smile, but he resisted.

That night, Doyoung waited for you to get your things and he helped you close the shop. He took your stuff in his hand, using the other to open his car door for you to sit. During that late-night drive, with the light emitted from the traffic lights, you saw him smile softly.

“Did you call your boss?” he asked, tone almost a whisper. You nodded.

“Good, your shift starts tomorrow at 8.30AM. I want to see coffee and breakfast on my desk before I arrive, Y/N.” Doyoung demanded, without a single glint in his eyes. He was serious.

He didn’t let you wave him  goodbye nor did he watch you get into your apartment; all he did was unbuckle your seat belt, rushing you to get out, and he drove away in full speed.

That night, he became the reason of your on-going journey, having to settle down in a new home.

***

You could say just like that, your whole journey to seek the perfect home stopped. You finally got what you wanted. Or so you thought, almost.

Doyoung was the one who helped you along the way. That one meeting was enough to send you into a spiral of unending expectations. Because of him you finally had a stable job working under his label. He helped you find a more decent place to settle down, now living like an actual normal human being. And he is the guy of every girl dreams, he is simply too good to be true.

But, Doyoung is a great liar.

You had no idea Doyoung held up a title in the company he worked in. He had told you that night that he was a simple worker in the Kim industries, always on the edge to finish up projects on the latest technology to be released for the government security. You thought it was impressive: a man so young given such a complex duty. He lied.

He wasn’t a normal worker he said, he was the goddamn CEO. And you learnt about his title the hard way.

When Doyoung told you that he wanted breakfast, you obliged. You brought the familiar paper bag containing some pastries and his usual cup of coffee. The problem you faced that early morning was to figure out which floor he worked on. But since you were new, you had to ask the lady at the front desk at the information counter.

“Can I ask which floor Doyoung works in?” You politely asked.

Her slender fingers stopped typing on the keyboard, her eyes traveling from the monitor up to your figure. She looked confused, you could tell by her furrowing eyebrows and small frown.

“Mr. Kim?” She asked back.

You blinked innocently at her, tilting your head to show your ongoing confusion.

“He uh…just told me to bring him breakfast.” You said dumbly, but that was enough to ring a bell on the woman’s head.

“Ah! I shall assume you are Mr. Kim’s new secretary.” She concluded.

The next thing she did was escort you towards the lift, press the highest level of the building, and gave you a wave of goodbye and a pleasant smile for good luck.

And she meant it when she signed good luck.

It had been 2 weeks since you started working for Doyoung, and you thought he was out to kill you. Every single morning after you delivered his breakfast, he asked about his schedules and meetings, then the human labor started. He would send you off running from one floor to another, demanding each department for files and documents, preparing the meeting rooms by copying each file in hard copy, to answering his unwanted calls from nosy companies who kept demanding either updates of his recent projects or just an invitation for a party.

It was nearing lunch break, and you thought your legs were about to give out. You slammed the glass door open, stumbling in to slap the file in your hand on his glass table. Doyoung looked up at you through his reading glasses before lowering his gaze down again to finish reading the spread before him.

“This is the copy you wanted, and the tech department said they are going to give you the whole proposal by 5pm the latest.” You huffed, letting out a sigh.

Doyoung smiled, nodding his head a little at your report.

“Too long, tell them to finish it by 4pm or I’m giving everyone extra shifts on the weekend.” He said casually, giving random commands as he pleased.

Doyoung had expected you to blow up or get irritated by his bossy behavior at the very least. But you did nothing aside from giving him a slight nod and mumbling a small, “Noted”

“C-Can I rest for a while?” You asked, whining at the end.

Doyoung looked up from his documents, a hand running up the side of his head to scratch it. His eyes stared at you lazily, but also with a hint of disinterest. You swallowed a lump, not fully knowing what to expect from your boss. Doyoung was always so emotionless, it was to the brink you could no longer understand his moods or behavior. You sighed, dragging yourself towards the door.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t stay here.” Your whole body jerked awake, not expecting him to speak. You turn around slowly, looking at him for confirmation or if he was only playing with you.

“Come here” he commanded. His tone was different from how he usually gave out orders or asked you to finish a task, it wasn’t the usual harsh strict tone; that was gone. He wasn’t showing his dominance or giving you his typical stern look that he gave his employees, reminding them who he was and why they were chosen to work in such a prestigious company.

No, it wasn’t. His tone was small, soft like he was singing a lullaby. He seemed like he was whispering, afraid if he hitched up another octave in his voice you would break. He looked at you, seemingly needy, wanting you. That was enough to pull you to his side.

His hands were gentle, very gentle. He caressed your exposed arm, sending a jolt of electricity through your system. Then, slowly, he pulled you down. His force was enough to cause you to tumble down, but not fall harshly on him. Doyoung positioned himself to make room for you to sit more comfortably on his lap. His arm easily circled around your waist, securing yourself so you wouldn’t fall. His other travelled up from your arm, to your shoulder, neck, finally resting upon your cheek. You shivered under his touch; it was as light as a feather. Doyoung smiled at the reaction, slowly pulling you down for a kiss.

Gentle, he was so very gentle. The kiss was light, feather-like kiss on your lips, but it was enough to show how passionate he was. You sighed in the kiss, thinking how his whole living being was too good to be true. This man, right in front of you was yours. Yours, completely yours.

When he pulled away, he gazed at you in adoration. Doyoung had expected you to break in a few days from the pressure of the job, but you did such an amazing job, far better than his past secretaries. He was a proud man, his heart bloomed at the sight of you so vulnerable and hypnotized under his touch. He loved it.

He remembered the first few times you entered his office, you were fuming with embarrassment. Hiding your face in your hands, you complained about him.

“You didn’t tell me you were the CEO of this freaking empire!” You groaned out.

“First of all, it’s an industry like the name says here.” he said calmly, tapping on the metal nameplate on his desk that read ‘Kim Doyoung’ as a title and ‘CEO of Kim Industry’.

“Tell me, what did you do?” he asked. You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel offended by his accusation or impressed by his assumption.

“Did you realize how embarrassed I was when I ran to each department demanding documents and designs, then being dumb and saying ‘Oh! And Doyoung wants this done by 3!’. They were looking at me like I was mad!” You grumbled.

“I did tell you I work in this company.” he said calmly.

“Yea! But you literally own this whole building! What are you? Real life playboy, asshole, billionaire Tony Stark?!” Your voice rose the more you ranted.

Doyoung only looked at you unamused, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Okay, maybe not an asshole.” You defended. But he was still not impressed.

“…or a playboy?” You stopped, hesitating at your own description of him.

“Are you a playboy?” You asked, this time serious with concern laced around your expression. That one sentence was enough to send him into unending laughter. One sincere pure laugh that rang around his office.

Doyoung always laughed whenever he thought about it, you were simply too pure.

He had hesitated to take you in knowing how harsh the industry could be, especially since everyone saw him as a competitor. It was true Doyoung started the whole company, but he was very young back then. No one acknowledged his capabilities or ideas when he first entered the business world, everyone saw him as a child. But Doyoung proved them wrong, because he knew his own capabilities. And he used it to his own advantage, starting small and with nothing but scraps, he continued building his father’s company, completely taking it over. That was when people began to notice him, not as a kid but as someone whom they should fear.

“Go back to work, Y/N. You need to remember this is a workplace.” He said, pushing you out of his lap coldly. You looked at him in shock by the sudden change of behavior.

Your eyes rested on his figure once again, lingering on him but he didn’t respond. You sighed, tired by his sudden push and pull behavior; it was going to take a toll on you sooner or later. You didn’t argue with him any further. You simply nodded, bid your goodbye, and left his office.

When he saw the glass-door close from the far corner of his eyes, he leaned back in his seat and sighed. I’m such a dick, the words lingered around his head, pounding against his skull.

He hated himself sometimes.

Having so much pressure at such a young age did take a toll on him. Doyoung had this mechanism of pushing people away from him, from the snobs who just came to him for business opportunities, females luring him for one night stands, it exposed him to how disgusting people could get once they locked targets to settle a business for their own benefits. It disgusted him to the core.

His problem regarding issues with peoples caused him to shut off from socializing further than a few close friends and business associates. Others he pushed away as if they were nothing. The whole self-defense mechanism to protect himself didn’t just cause him to push those he doesn’t trust away, but he also pushed away those who sincerely cared.

You were no exception.

Doyoung adored you, he loved you dearly. But he was still hesitant which frustrated you to no end. You tried to understand him. You knew that he was a very hardworking man, always so passionate and enthusiastic about his work, and you adored that side of him. You thought that was one thing that made him special.

You couldn’t blame much on him. Well you wanted to, especially since the affection and compliments Doyoung spared you were close to none. Or the fact that both of you never actually went out as a normal couple. You took it in, hoping that it would all be okay. Especially since his whole empire was slowly becoming a bigger part of your life, another home.

***

You had your first argument when you passed the 8 months milestone. The reason being Kim Doyoung.

You remembered that morning you rode up the elevator to his office, carrying his usual breakfast. But as the elevator door opened, you were welcomed by the sight of him in his usual neat style, wrapped up in his suit and a suitcase beside him.

Doyoung greeted you with a small nod, proceeding to type on his phone once again. You walked closer to him, wanting to peek at whatever he was doing, but he simply turned towards you and hid his phone in his pocket. He casually took his coffee and bit into his sandwich, humming in what you thought was approval.

“Are you going somewhere?” You asked him. Doyoung only nodded, still ravishing the food in the paper bag. You could only watch, not knowing how to push another on-going question that kept wandering into your mind.

Suddenly, the elevator door dinged open, catching your attention as Doyoung stayed unbothered. He sipped on his coffee, waiting for the newcomer to come over to his desk. You stared at the man in curiosity; he was as tall and lean as Doyoung, but his facial structure was much softer compared to Doyoung. He smiled widely at Doyoung, startling him by pulling him into a hug.

“Look at you! You’ve grown so much!” He said. Doyoung only nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Thank you again for coming to replace me whilst I’m gone, brother.” Doyoung replied.

“Don’t mention it, go kill those meetings! When you come back, I’m expecting an extravagant meal!” He said, making Doyoung chuckle a little.

Doyoung turned around and faced you, nodding curtly at you once again. He took his suitcase in his hand, pulling it closer to his body as he looked at you, eyes stern.

“I am off for a business meeting overseas for a few months, for the time being my brother is in chargs. Be sure to follow his orders and I expect no damages or flaws in this company whilst I am gone. Do you understand?” He interrogated, his tone pressed more firmly at the question, expecting you to answer him with a yes no matter what. You nodded, not trusting your voice if you tried to speak out.

“Good.” And he was off.

Your legs were rooted in place, scared that if you were to move an inch it might trigger a bomb in Doyoung’s mind. You let out a sigh when he disappeared. You gazed sadly at the missing male, not fully excited by his short goodbye. No kisses, no hugs, nothing.

Doyoung was still Doyoung.

“I’m Kim Gongmyung,” you snapped out of your daze, looking at the other figure present in the room.

“I’m Doyoung’s brother.”

You gaped at his statement. Doyoung had a brother? You were struck in awe. The more you looked over his features, you could see the similarities between him and Doyoung. You extended a hand for a handshake, but he only waved it off with a laugh.

“No need for such formalities, Y/N. I know you, Doyoung told me about you.” You didn’t know what got into your mind when he said that, Doyoung talked about you to his brother. Was it a sign for another step between you and him then? Or did he just tell his brother about your position in the company, merely there to serve?

“He did?” You asked.

“Well aside of mentioning he’s seeing someone, he did also say he took a new secretary in the company, which I shall assume either one is you. Congratulations, you are the only secretary who ever lasted this long with that short-tempered guy.” He remarked, tone filled with amusement.

He was very different from Doyoung. Doyoung was winter, always so cold and curt, never once showing any signs of softness, laughter or even smiles. His brother was the plain opposite; he was warm and welcoming, his face set in a permanent dazzling smile. You were very surprised and impressed by how different the two proved to be.

You sighed a little, a little part of you wanting Doyoung to be able to express himself rather than being the cold and strict boss everyone perceived him as.

Gongmyung had noticed your behavior, often looking down and sighing like a puppy being kicked. He thought back to a few weeks, how Doyoung had called him during the middle of the night. The younger had ordered him, or what Gongmyung would like to call his brother begging him to take over his company whilst he was gone. He knew Doyoung could only trust him as they grew up together, hence it wasn’t so hard for him to say yes. But the other reason for Doyoung to do this was also so there would be someone supervising you.

He had listened to Doyoung’s rants about his workplace, filled with people complaining about life and their work despite how they wanted it. But you were the one who never once let out a whine or a sigh about your work, causing Doyoung to favor you more than his other employees, regardless of your relationship. Doyoung was scared to leave you alone on his trip, he thought you might hinder him from his work. So, he asked his brother to keep his trip a secret.

Now, his brother was staring at you in amusement. You hadn’t shown any discontent with the lack of love and enthusiasm in your relationship with Doyoung; you simply accepted it.

Gongmyung had dauntlessly scolded Doyoung to not be so cold to you, to give you an exception since you were his lover. But Doyoung shrugged him off, mumbling ‘it’s not any of your business, shut up’. He wouldn’t try to argue with him, merely shaking his head in disapproval and clicking his tongue before giving him the same old speech:

“Don’t take her patience for granted, Doyoung. I can genuinely see how she really cares about you. Treat her, take her out on a date. She’s human too and she’s yours.” He would say as an opening but Doyoung always chose to ignore him.

“She’s different, Doyoung. Wait till you lose her, you will regret it.”

Those words had left Doyoung in a daze for a few days, thinking if the way he had treated you was considered fair. But the thought soon got thrown away, as he was a man dedicated to his work.

Each day went by slowly, and you hated how the time slowly slipped away.

Gongmyung was similarly strict, but not as strict as Doyoung. He would often give you tasks, orders but often leave you a question of ‘is it too much?’ which always caught you off-guard. You would often dismiss his question, quickly finishing the papers and passing them back to Gongmyung for a final check. You were proud to say that you probably left him a big impression of you.

But truly, that’s not what you wanted.

Your whole routine by then was obvious. Finishing copying files and paperwork, submitting it to Gongmyung as a final draft, and then checking your phone for any updates or replies from Doyoung. You did this for around two months, and you would shamelessly admit so far you had heard barely anything from Doyoung.

In a span of three months you came to learn his pattern of keeping in touch. He would text you approximately three times a day to ask about work: how was the company doing, and why were you always on your phone. Others such as phone calls or video calls were short and abrupt, with you calling him to check up on him and mostly being rejected with him replying ‘I am busy right now’ on text and leaving you unread for an entire day. But, if you were lucky, he would pick it up and let you talk about your day while he was fully immersed in his own world; doing his work, reading his book, or just typing madly on his laptop.

“It feels odd having to order people about my breakfast every morning, usually I have you to prepare it.” Doyoung mentioned during one of your calls. You perked up when he said that, thinking it was a way of him saying that he missed you or indicating that he did need you in his life.

“Do you miss me?” You asked him shyly. He didn’t answer.

“I’m getting used to the changes.” He finally replied, and that was a slap in your face kind of answer. You didn’t reply or continue the conversation, because you didn’t know how to.

In the end, when he noticed you weren’t talking or replying to him anymore, without a proper goodbye – he ended the call.

You didn’t know how things went downhill; the spark simply vanished.

You remembered crying over the phone, each word painful as you pulled them out of your throat. You were tired, exhausted because of him. It only started with one question, and it ended with both of you arguing.

“What am I to you?” You had asked him, examining his features through the grainy screen of your phone. You did miss him, a lot.

He paid no attention towards you, eyes glued on his papers in hand. Doyoung had noticed your change in behavior, suddenly becoming more confident and each question you threw at him becoming bolder. He glanced at his own screen, your eyes attached to his figure. You were waiting for his answer, like you always did.

“Don’t ask such nonsense right now, Y/N. Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?” He quipped.

You didn’t say anything at first, but you were done. You didn’t get any updates about his work and when was he coming back, you knew nothing. Both of you never went out as a normal couple, he never even treated you like his girlfriend. You were confused, but mostly you were tired of being pulled in whenever he needed you only to be pushed away like nothing.

“You don’t care about me.” You mumbled out, but it was audible enough for him to hear through the speaker of his phone. He got irritated; it was a very prominent expression imprinted on his face.

“What are you talking about, I do care.” He said strictly.

“Since when? Where? You always leave me behind like a clueless child. You do nothing for me, Doyoung. You pull me into your bubble just for me to end up being pushed away like trash. Do you seriously think I’m dumb enough not to notice?” You fumed, voice raising in volume.

“I’ve tried everything, I try to understand you, to support you in your work and in your life. What have you ever done for me? It’s always been me who tolerates your ego and obsession with your work, yet I never get the same from you! You never regard me as your lover, there’s nothing for me to gain in this relationship!” Every single word you threw out burned your throat; it felt dry as your eyes glistened. You didn’t care if he was still listening, you were tired.

“I love you, Doyoung. I truly do— But I don’t think you feel the same way and I’m tired.” You whispered.

“Y/N…”

“You’re right, I should get back to work. I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Kim.” And like that, his screen turned black.

Doyoung groaned loudly, a hand running through his hair in frustration. Great, he did mess up. He sighed, knowing texting or calling you again wouldn’t be a good idea. Doyoung swore he could see Gongmyung judging him, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I told you so.” He would probably say to irk him, but at this rate could Doyoung even blame his actions?

“Kim Doyoung, you are such an asshole.” He sighed.

***

You ran away from the company. Well, took a few weeks leave.

You came in to Gongmyung’s office a mess, explaining your whole mental state wasn’t to continue working. Gongmyung , understanding what had happened, gave you a smile and a wave, ushering you out of the company with nothing in exchange.

“I’ll call my secretary in as a temporary replacement, come back when you feel better!” He had said as he waved you goodbye.

It had been 3 weeks since your whole argument with Doyoung and he still hadn’t contacted you. You stare at your phone in defeat, there was not a single call or text message from him. You gave up, it was officially over. At this rate you would have to move out again and try to hunt down other jobs available. You had thought to go back to working at the café you identified dearly as one of your homes, but in the end, you crossed it off your list. Knowing too well that if you worked there again, there was a bigger chance of you seeing Doyoung, and you didn’t want that.

You sighed, walking down the pavement with your groceries. You thought again, how long did you have left before your bank account dwindled down to nothing? You stared at your groceries with a saddened gaze, things were changing so quickly.

You unlocked the door of your apartment, putting the bag on your kitchen counter. You went into your room for a change before heading back downstairs to put away the newly bought goods. You were halfway done when you were interrupted by a sudden knock on the front door. You paused, was it your landlord? But you remembered you paid that month’s rent two days ago. The knock came again, this time more rapidly. You walked towards it, peeking out the peep hole to reveal the intruder. It was Doyoung.

You gasped loudly, slapping a hand over your mouth. Your heart drummed, not wanting to face him just yet, why was he back so suddenly? It was fine, he probably didn’t hear you. You could just act like you weren’t home and he would go away; everything would be okay.

“I know you’re in there, Y/N. Open up or I’ll kick this door open.” He ordered.

Your eyes widened in shocked. Did he just threaten you? No, he wouldn’t. And you knew for a fact Doyoung was not a man who solved his problems with violence, he wouldn’t knock your door down just for this.

Before you could think for too long, you heard a click on your door as it swung open. You stared at it in surprise, not expecting the wooden door to open up so easily. You stood rooted in your place, gaping at the sight as it revealed Doyoung standing at the end, his face unimpressed.

“Didn’t I tell you to never hide your spare key under the doormat?” He hissed out with a venomous tone. You scowled at his greeting, not fully enlightened to be welcomed back by his attitude.

“Why are you here?” You mumbled.

Doyoung stopped, his irritation pausing. Then, he let out a heavy sigh.

“To apologize,” He said simply. You scoffed at his answer and Doyoung knew all too well you were not in favor of him right now.

“No, really. I am here to say I’m sorry.” He insisted. You didn’t react, you stood there waiting for him to continue.

“Look Y/N, listen,” his voice was soft, pleading for you to not push him away. Doyoung stared at you with a broken gaze. For the first time you could sense his desperation, a part of him showing how much he longed for you to be back. When you still didn’t react, he took a few breathers and continued.

“I have this defense mechanism I’ve used since I started my company, and that is being an asshole to everyone. I don’t deal with people well and I trust only so little, I do not welcome people easily in my life. I kept living that way knowing how toxic and dark the whole business world could be, especially since I’m carrying my family’s name. People come, take a few things they want, and then they disappear.” He said.

“I wasn’t so sure when I first met you, but you made our first conversation so bloody memorable I just couldn’t help but go back!” He chuckled. That one chuckle was enough to let you know he was coming out of his own shell, slowly but surely.

“There wasn’t anything much for us to start with, just a simple exchange of breakfast and coffee and I was off. But that one night, when you let me in even so late after closing time was enough to tell me that I could trust you. Because no one who I ever encountered even would give me a glance if I walked in homeless in their doorsteps. I just couldn’t help it; I fell in love just like that.” He sighed a little. You smiled at his little confession, remembering how one mug of hot chocolate was enough to give you a home and a stable job, everything that you have ever wanted.

“I always seems like I don’t care and act like I barely give a shit, but I do. I care too much to the point I didn’t need you to send me in your resume, because I wanted you. I cared so much that I told my brother about you, my family, because I know I’m aiming to go further in this relationship with you. And now, I care so much that I still come back running to find you.” He said.

His face was flushed, you could see the visible streak of pink across his face. Doyoung tried to hide it with his hand, turning his face away, but it was too obvious he couldn’t do anything about it. He sighed.

“You still didn’t warn me about having that business trip of yours!” You exclaimed.

“Because I knew you would be worried! And give me some credit, I came back two months earlier than planned. Did you know how much work I crammed in these three weeks to get an early leave?” He shot back.

You smiled a little at his effort, slowly understanding where you stood in this relationship with him.

“Still doesn’t give you an excuse to abandon me for work all the time.” You sulked. This time, Doyoung smiled.

“Because I’m planning to buy a house, a proper house for you and me.” He said.

“W-What?”

“I want you to move in with me, Y/N.” he softly said, every single raw emotion he put in that one sentence.

“M-Move in?” You gaped at him.

“You always talk about wanting to have a proper place you can settle down, a place you can finally claim as your home. I thought long about it and I’m sure on my decision. I am serious right now; I want you to move in with me. I want you to be mine.” You shivered at his words.

Doyoung took a few steps into the house, closing the gap between the two of you. Then he pulled you into his embrace. It didn’t take you too long to feel his warmth, but it wasn’t his warmth that you longed for. You longed for his familiarity around you. You missed him in general, all aspects. His glares and short-tempered mind, his orders and demanding tones, his laughter and smiles. You longed for his scent of strong musk and coffee, to be wrapped around his arms and pampered by his love. You wanted him to make you feel special, to be his.

“I want to be a part of that home of yours, Y/N.” He whispered; lids heavy as his head dipped down towards yours. Soon you felt his lips on yours, the butterflies and rapid heartbeats. You missed him.

You had always associated home to be a place you stayed, a place you could call your small bubble. But as you grew older, you slowly realized that a home could also be a person. You understood from that day, anywhere you went could be called home as long as it was with someone you loved.

That’s what home truly was, him. He was your home.

When he pulled away, he looked at you with the softest gaze he ever laid upon anyone. It didn’t take him long to pull down for another kiss, this time more desperate. You could feel his both breath against your cheeks, your skin. You thought you had reached cloud-nine. He pulled away ever so slightly, lips brushing against yours. He rested his eyes around your face, feeling himself grow warmer at the sight of you so vulnerable under his touch.

“You have no idea what you are capable of doing to me, Y/N. You are mine.” He took you in once again, this time showing you what it meant to fully become his.

[littlemisskookie]

Loveless: Chapter 4

Loveless: Index Ship: Reader | OT7 Description: Spy/Men in Black!AU | You worked at an institution that dealt with aliens- aliens that were the fictional creatures we were told were from fairy tales. The job entailed love only for it, and nothing else. That’d all change when a mission goes wrong. Warnings: Smut in next chapter, Nightmares, Angst, Death, Slight Gore descriptions, Violence, Comedy, Reader says yeet ironically Word Count: 5,115

Tonight was the night that Jeon Jungkook would die.

Tonight was the night when Agent Z would be born.

Tonight would be etched into his brain for the rest of his short life.

Jungkook watched in the rain as his house went up in flames, knowing all of his pets and family was out. They'd have enough insurance to replace everything, and anything truly of value, personal or financial, was in a fire-proof safe in the basement.

He would be the only one who didn't make it out of the fire.

It was perfect, really. A gas leak would've come about, and Jungkook was in the house when the stove came on. However, the police would figure that bit out was up to them. Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with any of the consequences. How could they question a dead man?

It was foolproof. Jungkook still didn't know how they managed to make a replica of his skeleton, even making it where the DNA would match. Bits and fragments of bone, more accurately, were left at the scene. After all, no matter how hot, usually there would be bits and pieces of bone that were left uncremated, refusing to melt away along with the flesh. There would be no hope for the family to see their son once again.

Paramedics, firefighters, police, and people from all around the town surrounded the house as it slowly began to crumble, falling apart as it made its way to becoming ash. Jungkook could hear his own mother's screams among the chaos, yelling for her son, praying that he had gotten out. After all, they had yet to go in and search for the fake corpse.

Jungkook only wore a blank stare, his suit sticking to his skin as it poured heavily, the rain still refusing to douse the house of its flames. He soaked in the feeling, committing the feeling of the rain pounding on his shoulders and head to memory.

He knew, though. Sure, his family would weep for his loss, but more likely the town wouldn't grieve. Word would get around about his underground boxing, and even fewer knew about his dealings in the black market. They always assumed his strict family was what drove him to his delinquent ways, from his tattoos or many ear piercings or whatnot. But they couldn't blame anyone for this. It'd be labeled as an accident. The most they'd be able to say would be, "Good riddance."

He choked down tears, a lump still prevalent in his throat.

Suddenly he felt none of it and looked over to see you on your tippy-toes, holding an umbrella high above your head in an attempt to shield him from the pouring rain. "Agent Z?"

"Oh. Agent Q..." He should've figured his tutor would be here to make sure that the job was done. That he didn't fuck this up the way he had in his past.

What you said next surprised him, though.

"It's not too late, you know." You look up to him, a sincere look on your face. He couldn't tell, though. He'd believe anything you wanted him to believe, your specialty after all. "I mean, I won't blame you. Lots of agents wish they had. You can come out there unscathed. No way they can get in the building to check. You can hide the fake body easily."

"Is this a test to see if I'm loyal or not?" Jungkook questioned, skeptical.

You shook your head. "No. As I said, this is what most agents regret: leaving their family behind. I just don't want you to regret your decision. We always make this decision when we're young and dumb, hating our family because of our restrictions. What you want may change in the future as you mature. I know no one would blame you. I most certainly wouldn't."

Jungkook thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I'm sure about this. There's not much I can offer other than disappointment and criminal records. At least in the EAA, I can serve the world. Do something positive for a change. I know it'd do a lot of good for my family, too. I'm better forgotten."

"I don't think you'll be forgotten, Agent Z. There wouldn't be so many people here if you hadn't made some sort of impact."

"You know how people are. They stick their noses into other people's business."

"Perhaps. But human nature is what makes us human, isn't it? I like to see them as small quirks of our species. You'll come to learn how many others lack curiosity."

"What about you? How was it when you went through this stage of initiation."

You let out a huff of air, thinking about it for a moment.

"It wasn't easy, to tell you the truth. I definitely regretted my decision for a bit after. I had faked my death through the agency I was a part of. They got a message that I had served my country well as a spy or whatnot, not that it made it any better. My parents ended up splitting after my death. Seeing each other reminded them too much of me, apparently. But it got better. I still see them, even if they don't see me. My mom remarried and is pregnant, and my dad is traveling in Europe. Both seem to be really happy, and that's all that really matters in the end. They miss me... visit my grave on every anniversary. I like listening to what they have to say. It helps me move forward to do what I do. Who knows? Maybe I'll disguise myself as a babysitter and tell my little brother tales of fictional creatures and the spies who ran with them."

Jungkook took in that piece of information, looking over to his mother, who still drowned in her sorrows. His father's arms wrapped around her as she wept, burying herself into him as she could no longer bear to look at the fire. He wondered what would happen to them if they'd end up finding happiness even after his death.

"So why'd you join?"

You smile a bit at that, chuckling to yourself as though it were an inside joke. "That's a personal question, kid. Ask me once we're closer and you're done with your training. There are some other agents here who don't even disclose that kind of information. Like Agent C? I'm pretty sure that guy has at least five families. Wouldn't be surprised. He'll fuck anything on two legs."

Jungkook couldn't help but laugh at that, feeling a bit more at ease. "Does every agent have a dark back story?"

"Most, but not all. Stories like those are to be earned."

"You promise you'll tell me yours?"

You smile. "I promise, kiddo. Though I'm sure you'll find it rather disappointing. Agent A and D have the most interesting stories in my opinion, though those are from the ones I know."

There's a moment of silence between you two. You simply stare at the scene before you. Jungkook didn't know if this would end up being the last memory of his family. He'd have to treat it like it was.

Your hand wrapped around his, fingers woven as you squeezed his palm. "They'll be ok. One way or another. They aren't right now, and might not be for a long time, but that's ok. Without moment like these, we won't have anything to compare the truly good things in life to. The highs and lows are what give our lives character and depth. A life that was filled with nothing but happiness holds no meaning."

"Those are wise words. Perhaps you should've been a writer," he comments.

You simply snort at that. "Put me on a holiday greeting card, why don't you? But seriously, don't worry. You'll always have a family. This one and the one at the EAA. We've all gone through the same thing, and we can all sympathize and support you throughout this process. No one said it was going to be easy, and truth be told this is the hardest part of the job."

"I hardly know the people at the EAA, though. I've barely begun to get to know you."

"I'm simple, there's not much to me. What you see is what you get," you smile. "And the guys- the higher up agents- have a bit of a soft spot for you. Don't tell them I said that, though. I guess they see something in you that they see in themselves- you know, behind that buff baby exterior."

Jungkook genuinely laughs at that, and you pull at his hand, gesturing for him to move with you. "Come on, you shouldn't stay out here too long. Might catch a cold or something."

Jungkook got what you meant. It'd shatter him further, whether or not he cared to admit it, to stick around for much longer. And so he let you drag him along as you shoved the umbrella into his hand, dragging him to a local coffee shop.

To your surprise, he got some grande peppermint frappuccino.

To his surprise, you took it straight black. "Like my soul," you cheesily joked.

Jungkook didn't know why that memory came to his mind at a time like this. Was it because it was the first time he felt truly loved? Not unconditionally, but with genuine care? Affection that wasn't obligated or used to benefit one's own purposes?

He couldn't help but think back to the woman that night. How different she seemed from the near-corpse on the hospital bed.

"Are you just going to stare at her? Let's get moving!" Yoongi hissed, head poking out from the vent.

Jungkook snapped out of it, quickly getting you out of your bindings and lifting you into his arms. He tried not to think about how light you were, instead turning to Seokjin, who laced his fingers together and bent down. Jungkook jumped on his hands, getting boosted up into the vents with Yoongi. Seokjin managed to climb his way up after.

You began to stir from your sleep. "Is it time for shots already?"

"It's not 5 PM here yet, Agent Q," Yoongi snipped, already leading the way through the tunnels. "We can celebrate once we get you out of here."

"My knight in shining armor," you say sarcastically, still groggy as you try to bring your wits together.

"You'll thank me once you're awake. Let's get going, nuisance," Yoongi grumbled, making a quick left, navigating the system quickly as Jungkook followed. Yoongi must've spent days memorizing the interior of the ventilation system.

It's only after a few dozen turns that you stop at a vent, Yoongi quickly undoing the

"Why isn't the security system going off?" you questioned, blinking to get used to the new lighting.

"Agent B's hacked into the mainframe and the system will be down for about five minutes before it reboots. Sort of the reason we're in a rush," Jin mentions.

"You always rush things, don't you?" you reply, a snarky tone as you chuckle to yourself.

Jin merely rolled his eyes. "Who would've guessed that you'd find a way to insult me even when you're out of it?"

"I try my best."

"I've got it," Yoongi says, moving the scrap of metal to the side to reveal the hole. "Jimin, Hoseok, you down there?"

"Yeah. Hurry up, time's ticking," Hoseok reminds the group.

Jungkook places you down near the hole. "Hoseok and Jimin will catch you, just ju-"

"YEET!" you shout, slipping through the hole into the awaiting arms.

"Did she really have to do that?" Jin questioned, rolling his eyes.

"She wants to relate to the youngin's, I believe," Yoongi sighs, slipping down as well. Jungkook follows, as well as Jin's.

The moment Jin lands, however, sirens go off, lights flashing as lockdown prepares. You could already hear the sounds of footsteps from down the hall, ready to doom you all. The loud blaring of the sirens gave you a headache already, ringing in your ears as everything before you was illuminated in the same shade of red.

Code black. Code black. Code black.

Hoseok tosses you a gun, looking over to Jungkook. "Agent Z, you'll have to carry her on your back."

"On it," he immediately, hoisting you up as he holds onto you with security and strength.

"What's the plan?" you question, cocking your gun as everyone takes aim.

"Complicated. Kill anyone who isn't us," Jimin replies.

It's at that moment when aliens and humans alike flock the sides, blocking the exits. Your team moves as one, killing one enemy after another while diverting the bullets. Even when half awake, you had better aim than them, even managing to get a bullet through two skulls with a clear shot. You weren't getting as many kills as Hoseok, but you weren't one of the top agents for a reason.

Damn, I'm good.

Yoongi tosses you another weapon the moment you hear the familiar click. You catch it in one hand with ease, recognizing it as one of the handheld lasers. One of the best weapons save for what little juice it runs on. You had two options- shoot beams at the enemy with precision, perhaps ten shots at best, making you the most legendary player at laser tag, or sweep through them for a solid two seconds, cutting many in half and drilling the beam even into the wall behind them.

You choose the second, immune to the screams of agony.

Despite how your life was in mortal peril, with every bullet that whips your hair behind your face or the fact you were in a weaker state, your heart rate doesn't do so much as accelerate. Sure, there was comfort knowing that the others were with you, but truth be told you had learned to suppress adrenaline long ago. Sure, it enhanced ability, but after becoming so used to these sorts of situations, always moments from death, you were desensitized. Besides, adrenaline could make it hard to focus, or more accurately hyperfocus on simple survival. As a spy, you had to focus on a million things at once.

And one of the things you had to focus on was the man beneath you.

Jungkook did well to dodge the bullets, making sure to block you from the onslaught of ammunition as well as avoid jostling you around. You held up well, though, gripping on tightly to him as you swung your weapon to aim at another agent.

"Ah, fuck," Jungkook hissed, crumpling on one knee beneath you.

"Agent Z? Agent Z are you ok?"

"Just shot just- fuck, keep shooting," he grunted, pressing your body closer to his as he tried to rise again on both feet, though he was shaky in the process.

You cursed under your breath, cursing yourself for not being more useful in the situation, what with your weakened state.

"Dammit, Agent S! I really liked her," you hiss under your breath, eyeing one of the corpses on the ground as your group made for one of the cleared exits.

"I didn't. Bitch kept stealing the brownies I packed for lunch," Seokjin grunted.

"C'mon, we've killed about ten out of fifteen out there. Who knows how many more are on their way," Hoseok commented, covering the group as he hid behind a corner, reloading as quickly as he could. "I'll cover and meet up. Jimin, you'll have to carry Agent Q to the van. Jungkook's injured and Jin will have to take care of him for the time being. We'll slow them down for you until we can meet up."

"Yoongi comes along as well, then," Jimin says, quick to get you off Jungkook's back and into his own arms as Yoongi runs along with the two of you. "Yoongi, cover me for the time being. You too, Y/N, even if you're a bit injured."

You didn't need to be told twice, but still, you were uneasy. "We aren't leaving them there, are we?"

"They'll catch up."

You had no choice but to let Jimin carry you off, remaining in his arms as you took aim at potential threats. Yoongi did most of it, though, as stealthy as could be as he shot down whatever was in range. It wasn't long until you stood at the front doors, barricaded in advance.

The sirens were giving you a headache.

Code black. Code black. Code black.

Agent gone rogue. The most dangerous kind.

In this case, it was eight.

Jimin placed you on the ground, helping Yoongi with the code box near the entrance in order to get you through the barricades. Yoongi was busy yanking out wires, trying to rearrange them, while Jimin was getting out the different tools that were brought.

"Fuck, I hear some coming already," Jimin hisses. "How much time do we need?"

"Give me thirty seconds- it won't last long though. Perhaps ten seconds for it to open before someone gets it to close again. No doubt someone's back in the mainframe trying to prevent us from wrecking their shit," Yoongi replied.

You try to right yourself up, feeling an ache in your body as you brought the gun up. You felt so drained, but you had to push through. For them. You couldn't have them waste all of this effort only to be met with failure.

"I'll cover you two," you grunt.

"Y/N, when it opens you'll have to crawl underneath as soon as it opens enough. We won't be able to follow but Namjoon and Taehyung will be waiting in a car outside to take you. You'll have to tell him where you want to go, we know you'll figure it out. We'll meet you there once we're in the clear and escape the agency."

Your eyes bug out. "You're not coming with me?"

Jimin frowns, "Agent B and V will be with you. You're in safe hands."

"I don't want to leave-"

"Stop worrying about us for once and hurry, it's about to open in five seconds. Also to your left."

You turn to the left, immediately sending a bullet between the brows of the enemy at hand, attempting to sneak past and catch you by surprise. At that moment the barricade creaks, the metal groaning as it lifts. You follow orders, rolling under, and the moment you're outside it closes behind you.

You still weren't out of the clear, though.

You hid in the bushes, crawling through and trying to spot where Namjoon was. Your getaway driver was nowhere to be seen, however. Right when you were considering just making a run for it on your own two feet you feel someone bump into you. A hand is placed over your mouth, and you're barely able to make out Taehyung's face.

"C'mon, let's bounce."

"Are you sure you're just twenty-three?"

You hurry to an old, discreet car that was hidden in plain sight- a crowded parking lot. It was inconspicuous, a worn-down Kia, the kind a suburban mom would drive. It's when you hop in that you recognize all of the usuals- secret compartments to hide weapons both human and alien. Namjoon takes off, the sirens sounding off even outside, and other cars making their way out. Before you knew it you were speeding off.

"Agent Q, I need you to tell me one of the CIA rooms from your time. Any information you have."

Ah, that's right. The CIA had multiple rooms that were rented year-round, prepared with anything a typical spy would need. Predesigned disguises that did nothing to flatter and everything to blend, secret compartments filled with bombs, guns, and poisons, and etc. They typically didn't change the rooms, only required once someone or one of the maids accidentally stumbled upon the true purpose.

You tried to remember one of the bigger apartments, spitting out the location and room number. Thank god for the flashcards you had used when you were younger.

Namjoon put the digits into the GPS, the phasers beneath the car starting as the wheels were swiped out, and before you knew it you were floating in the car-turned-hovercraft. You wondered if Namjoon would be able to handle this. After all, he was rather prone to motion sickness. Still, he seemed to be in control, hyperfocused when it came to navigating it, making sure no other hovercrafts had caught wind of your direction in hopes of tracking you down. You had no doubt the others had dismantled any tracking devices from it, as well as stocked it with the various amounts of food, weapons, and first aid kits that were hidden in the secret compartments.

"Agent Z's injured. Got shot," you murmur, lips pressed tightly together in frustration.

"Is Jin still in there?" Taehyung questioned.

"Yes."

"Then he'll be fine. Jin will patch him up in no time. His specialty, after all."

"Hoseok was covering them."

"Gives them more time. I saw him kill ten men with one bullet, you know."

"Jimin and Yoongi were left at the entrance."

"I'm not worried about them. Yoongi scares the dickens out of everyone," Namjoon chimed in, chuckling.

Still, you were slowly getting more irritated. "Shouldn't we be going back to get them? We can't leave them there. They'll get killed."

"They aren't the top agents for no reason, Y/N," Taehyung assured you. "I'd like to see them try. The guys are practically invincible."

"Still, they need help-"

"No. We all agreed on this plan. They'll meet us at the hotel room anyway. Once we land I'll inform all of them. They'll only be able to receive it once they're in the clear, so we don't have to worry about someone finding it if they're kidnapped or killed."

"You can't possibly say that," you say, flabberghasted at Namjoon's methodical approach. "We can't abandon them! The sooner we help the faster it'll go."

"I can assure you we've got it under control. You're our priority."

"Why?" You blurt the question out, anger and venom now lacing your tone. There's a hush in the hovercraft, save for the low hum of the engine and phasers beneath.

Taehyung cuts through the silence, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You mean too much to us. We couldn't live with ourselves knowing you were stuck in a lab being tortured every day because of our mistakes."

"It wasn't your fault, though. It was mine," you admit. "If not then it couldn't have been prevented. If you have to blame anyone, blame Jashwi."

"We do blame her, but when you think back we all found something we could've done differently. There was no guarantee it would've changed the course of events, but there was a possibility," Namjoon sighs.

"I don't want the rest of you to pay for it either, then."

"We won't," Taehyung assures you, squeezing your shoulder a bit tighter for comfort. "We planned all of this as quickly as possible, but it was efficient. We've got you out, don't we?"

"You should've left me there."

"No. Don't even think like that," Namjoon scolds. "To us you mean... Look, forget even thinking like that. We wouldn't have stopped until you were out of harm's way from the EAA, and we'll continue to do so."

"Aren't you going to do the same for the others left in the building then?" you huff, infuriated.

"They agreed to this and know what they have to do to get out. So far everything's been going according to plan."

"Jungkook's been shot!"

"He's been through worse," Taehyung reminds you.

You couldn't argue with that.

Still, tears well up in your eyes. "You don't get it, do you? We have to go back. We have to save them. We have..."

"Agent Q?" Taehyung's eyes showed both surprise and sympathy as you broke down, tears streaming down your face. "Y/N?"

"I can't leave them. I can't leave you guys. I don't want you guys to feel the way I did down there. Cold. Alone. So, so alone. I thought you guys had left me down there for good. I thought you were done with me and figured I wasn't worth the trouble. I thought you had forgotten about me and didn't care and you were going to let me rot down there with the needles and the dark and-"

Taehyung wrapped you in an embrace, petting your hair as you broke down into chokes and sobs, shaking in his arms. None of them had ever seen you this frazzled. Namjoon wished he could console you as well, wrap his arms around you and protect you from the world. Unfortunately, his hands had to remain on the steering wheel.

"Shh, shh, it's ok. We won't leave them, ok? We'll go back once you're safe. If they're in trouble we won't hesitate to rescue them," Taehyung assures you, holding you securely and tightly against his chest, placing his chin on top of your head. You breathed in his scent, the cologne helping calm you down once you were reduced to mere sniffles. "You're not alone anymore, ok? We're here. All seven of us. We aren't letting you go again. You're safe now, you've got us. We aren't leaving you, and we never will, you hear me?"

"B-But-"

"We never left you, Y/N. We had been searching and the minute we found you we began planning. We couldn't forget you if we tried- we couldn't live with ourselves," Namjoon assures you from the front of the car.

"Y-Y-You just feel guilty..."

"No, not just that. We love you, ok? All of us."

You weren't able to truly process his words, however, the crying effectively lulling you into a deep sleep.

You wake up in a cold sweat, your breathing accelerated as well as heart rate. You scramble, your nails scratching and searching for whatever was near, only to find sheets. It feels good to wake up without bindings, but still, you're frazzled, tormented in your slumber with images of your colleagues dead in the agency's halls, their blood coating the floor, spilling around them. Abandoned just as you thought you were.

You clawed at your hair, feeling how lifeless it was as you dragged your nails over it and to your face, feeling the protruding bones that threatened to cut your skeletal fingers. You couldn't wipe away the images. Jungkook scrambling, dragging his body through his own and his friends' blood, inching away slowly. Hoseok's mouth filling with blood as he gagged on it, a bullet embedded in his throat. Jimin and Yoongi, crushed beneath the door in a feeble attempt to escape. Jin watching all of his friends die, knowing no number of bandages and medicine would be able to bring them back.

You couldn't stay alone in this room any longer.

You wander about, recognizing it as the apartment you had informed Namjoon and Taehyung about. You must've slept all the way through it. Based on the lack of light from behind the curtains, you assume it's still dead of night. Namjoon must've let you sleep through all of it, but it wasn't long enough, seeing how sleep still clung to your mind.

You open the door, surprised to see Taehyung there.

"Y/N? You should be sleeping."

"Oh, Agent V. Surprised to see you here. As for why I'm up I...I can't. It just... I want to but I can't." You press your lips together, clear that you don't want to elaborate any further.

Taehyung purses his lips, sympathetic. "Do you need company?"

"Yeah... Why are you up though?"

"Keeping watch until the others are back."

Your heart sinks. "They haven't returned?"

"No," Taehyung confirms, frowning. "It's not all bad, though. I'm sure they're on their way. Last I heard Jin had moved Jungkook someplace safer and had finished patching him up."

"How long ago was that?"

"About an hour after you fell asleep."

Your heart sunk even lower.

Taehyung offered a sympathetic hand, rubbing your shoulder in a feeble effort to console you. "I'm sure they'll be here within the hour, Agent Q. You can't give up hope. Look, Namjoon's sleeping in the bedroom down the hall, two doors to the right. He'll keep you company if you can't sleep. I'll be sure to tell you as soon as I get any more news, alright?"

You offer a weak smile, glad to have Taehyung by your side. You give him a hug, ignoring how his breath hitched at how frail you felt around him. Like dying ivy, straining to wrap around a tree trunk, stretching as far as possible for a sliver of light. "Thank you, Tae."

He coughs, his face a bit red. "Yeah, no problem."

You follow his directions, finding yourself at Namjoon's door. Once you're hovering over his bed you shake him lightly, seeing as he jolts upright. He must've been tired for him to have slept so heavily. You would've suspected he'd be wide awake the moment you opened the door.

"Agent Q? Is everything alright?" he questions, his voice low and gravely.

"Is it ok if I sleep here tonight? Next to you?" You go ahead with the question, not bothering to dance around it. Examining his perplexed expression, you continue. "I had a really... bad dream, needless to say. I just don't think I can handle being alone right now, what with the nightmares and the guys still out there and-"

"No, no it's ok, I get it. You're more than welcome to sleep next to me," Namjoon says, assuring you.

You let out a sigh of relief, climbing in once he lifts the covers, scooting to make room for you. "I think it's just been so long since I've had physical comfort, you know? Back in the lab, they weren't allowed to make skin on skin contact with me. Just rubber against my skin, what with their latex gloves. Hell, I think the last time I was held was when I still lived with my mother."

Namjoon chuckles at that, and you curl into his side, breathing in deeply in an effort to memorize the scent of him. He seems tense, unsure of what to do.

"I won't try anything funny, trust me," you assure him. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Like I said... it's just been a while since I've been physically close to anyone."

"I understand," he nods, offering his arm to tug you a bit closer. You're happy with it, resting your head on him as you feel his heat envelop you along with the sheets, a warm hug. "It's been a while since I've been close to anyone, admittedly," he confesses, his voice a whisper.

"Mhm," you hum, eyes drooping. You were already beginning to sleep again, and you could only hope it would be dreamless, uncorrupted. You wanted to see the faces of the men smiling, not in agony.

But you could only hope.

[xmagicxshopx]

😈 Secret Admirer 😈 Pt 1

Genre: fantasy adventure, romance, angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: mild violence, mild language, angst Pairing: Jungkook x reader Notes: demon!jungkook au. Private Investigator Jungkook. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: Okay so I lied. I’m gonna try to break this up into two parts XD I have not proof read this so be warned!

Summary: All you’ve ever known is struggle. You fight to survive every day and you’re grateful for the little things. But one night, when you make a wish at 11:11pm on the 11th day of the 11th month…….your whole world gets turned upside down.

Pepero Day. Such a beautiful day. Love and kindness everywhere. It really did warm your heart. But for you, it was just another day. Couples were wandering the streets, clinging to each other and living their best lives while you yourself was stuck in the same old rut.

It wasn’t all bad, though. You at least had clothing on your back and a roof over your head. That was more than some people had. The harsh reality was that if you didn’t get more hours, you could very easily lose that roof. You tried not to let that thought linger too long. Life was already hard enough.

Life was hard. You barely made enough money to stay alive. Any clothing you possessed came from shelters. You didn’t own a phone or a car so you mostly either walked to work or used as little money as possible for a bus ride. Most times you had enough money left over to buy some cheap noodle cups but there were those few occasions where you ended up going to local food pantries and trying to cut some kind of deal for food.

You couldn’t remember how you wound up in this kind of predicament. Struggling was all you had ever known. Your family had been poor while you were growing up and both your parents had passed away due to illness that they didn’t have the insurance to cure. No financial stability meant college was out of the question so you felt no choice but to take on as many jobs as you possibly could.

The idea of buying a box of pepero sticks was swimming in your mind but the fighter in you told you it wasn’t a good item to spend your money on. You needed that money for things like rent and electric. Pepero sticks weren’t going to be of any use to you in the dark. So you quickly tossed the idea aside and resumed your journey home.

It was night time and incredibly cold. You had just finished one of your cleaning jobs and was more than ready to head home and maybe get a couple hours nap in before your neck job. Your night job was being a janitor for the local art museum. Naturally, you would always come home smelling like bleach and other cleaning chemicals. It was terrible for your lungs and skin but money was money, right?

The next time you stop at the shelter, you needed to see if they had any coats that perhaps you could purchase. Granted, the staff had become quite familiar with you and would often give you clothing free of charge and you’d take anything, no matter the size or condition it was in. Just like money was money, clothing was clothing. You weren’t exactly in a position to be picky, after all. Hugging yourself to try and warm up even just a little, you kept walking only to hear something to your left.

“Well hello there, sweet thing. You look cold.”

Oh boy.

If you weren’t already cold before, you definitely were now; chilled with fear. Your breathing became uneven and the puffs of clouds coming from your lips said as much. A bulky looking man came from the shadows of an alley that you just happened to be walking past. Great. Just great. However, you put on your best smile and nodded a little.

“Yeah. It’s pretty chilly out. Well, I’ll just be going now---”

“I don’t think so, sweet thing.”

Oh no.

With a scream, you suddenly felt yourself being jerked forward and being reeled in by those strong, bulky arms. This guy was way too strong for you to ward off. Hell, you were almost skin and bones as it was. You could only pray in your mind as he started to drag you down the alley back into the shadows from which he came.

‘No! Please! God, help me! Please! Send someone! Anyone! I’m not ready to die! Not like this!’

Prowling the night life like a black cat, Jungkook made his nightly rounds looking for any kind of new work. Being a private investigator didn’t make him nearly as much money has he would like but he was still able to live comfortably. That was mostly due to his......other job. Walking along the rooftops and jumping from one to the other with grace, a faint scream reached his sensitive ears.

Turning his head in the direction the sound came from, he could clearly see with his bright, demon red eyes the sight below. A man three times the size of the poor female cowering beneath him with her trapped between his two arms. Most times, Jungkook would just shrug and move on. Not his business. But there was something about this girl.......about you.......It was like an itch that he needed to scratch.

And so he did.

Jumping from the rooftop and landing with the same amount of grace as before, he blinked and suddenly reappeared behind the overgrown male. Jungkook was no runt, far from it, really. But this dude was huge. Still, Jungkook’s strength was greater. Grabbing the male from behind, the younger was able to easily lift him off you and flung him to the side only for the bulky body to land in an open dumpster.

You should have ran. The moment you were out from under the male’s arms, you should have made a beeline for the streets and out of the dark depths of the alley. However, you were too frozen with fear. Why? Because your rescuer looked twice as deadly as your captor. Dear lord, maybe you were meant to die in this alley.

“P-Pl-P-Please. I d-don’t ha-av-have anything-ing.”

Despite only being able to see from his nose up, you could tell the hooded figure was a male. He was dressed in almost all black. Save for the white graphic printed on his mask. He appeared to be dressed in a black hoodie with black skinny jeans to match. His hood was up but it appeared that his hair was just as dark. Those eyes.......they weren’t black. They were a bright ruby red.

You looked absolutely pathetic and it intrigued him. His first thought was to steal your soul and trade it for money. Hence his other job. Very few people knew, but Jungkook was a demon. A demon who’s job was to swipe souls and send them to his boss in exchange for money to live here on Earth so that he may continue his work.

But you.....there was just something about you. Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were bags under your eyes and your face looked sunken in; making your wide eyes full of fear pop out even more. The gauntness in your face made you appear a bit bug eyed. Your teeth were a mess and he could tell you rarely took care of them. Your clothing appeared to be three sizes too big for you; practically hanging off of you.

Without a word, he swiped your purse from your shaking hands and he watched you beg; begging for him to give it back. Good lord you really were pitiful. Paying you no mind, he tugged something out of his back pants pocket, a wallet. Fishing around inside the folds, he found a bit of cash and transferred it from his wallet, into your purse. After tucking the thing away back in his pocket and tossing you your purse, he crouched down and spoke softly but in a deem and commanding voice,

“Run along home now, little one. It’s dangerous out here.”

As if in a trance, you did exactly as you were told and ran. You ran as fast as your poor legs could carry you. So much for that nap you were going to take. There was no way in Hades you were going to get to sleep now. Not when all you could see in your mind’s eyes was.......bright, ruby red eyes.

Meanwhile, Jungkook still got a soul. A soul fitting for his boss. The bulky male from the dumpster wouldn’t be assaulting anyone anytime soon. With his job done and payment received, the young male left the alley as if nothing had ever happened; resuming his nightly patrol of the city streets.

Freezing. You were absolutely freezing. Your shoes that were nearly falling apart didn’t help matters and your clothing was so baggy that air was easily flowing up under your sweatshirt and up through the sleeves.

But you weren’t going to complain because the shelter was kind enough to give these clothes to you and it was the only size they had. You were grateful for what little you had because you could be stuck with nothing at all. At least you had a roof over your head and clothing on your back. Said roof leaks but still. You were grateful.

Now you found yourself waiting in line in a cheap convenience store to buy even cheaper coffee. Warmth and caffeine. Those were the two things you needed most right now. If the heavy bags under your eyes were anything to go by, it was more than obvious that you got little to no sleep or rest. With all the side jobs you worked, sleep wasn’t much of an option most of the time.

Not only was it clear that you got little sleep, but it was also more than evident that you were malnourished. Your collarbones stuck out like sore thumbs as the collar of your sweatshirt hung low from the large size on your skinny body. Honestly you probably looked homeless.

Underneath all that garbage, you were a good person. A really good person. You paid your bills and your rent on time every month. A smile was always on your face despite your heavy misfortune. Your soul was pure despite the horrible hand the world had dealt you.

Dark eyes watched you from down one of the aisles full of convenient snacks. A young man wearing a ball cap. He appeared to be investigating a bag of chips but really his eyes were on you and your sad, pitiful form. He could see the money in your hand and was pleased to see you using it for it was he himself who had handed it to you just last night.

Lucky for Jungkook, he didn’t have any current cases to work on. This gave him all the time in the world to watch you. Why? Because you fascinated him beyond comprehension. You weren’t like the other mortals here in town. No. You were special.

You were going to be his next big case.

Then you were walking out the door with cheap coffee in hand. Cursing himself for getting distracted, he quickly tossed the chips back in their place and made a dash for the door. Walking back out onto the streets, he tried to find you. Tried to sniff you out; quite literally. You had smelled like you bathed in bleach and not everyone smelled like that. Getting a whiff of cleaning chemicals, he was able to spot your pity poor form just up ahead to his right.

You were much easier to spot now that he knew where to look. Everyone else was sporting shiny, healthy hair while yours looked like colored straw. It was.....sad? Was that this feeling that was making his chest feel tight? Nah. Couldn’t be. Jungkook the demon didn’t know how to feel sad. It wasn’t in his vocabulary. Nah. He just really really pitied you was all. That’s all it was.......Right?

Regardless, he followed. With the help of his colored contacts, the male blended in just fine among all the mortals of the city. Yep. He was just another citizen walking the streets of the early morning heading to work. Dark eyes watched as you sipped from your coffee and hugged yourself tighter. You needed a coat, for goodness sake. Did you seriously not own one???

After walking for what felt like hours but was really only about 20 minutes, Jungkook watched you approach what appeared to be a diner of sorts. Hmmm. Perhaps you bused tables there? The demon stood there on the corner debating on whether or not he should step inside. On one hand, he might get lucky and you’d be his waitress. On the other hand, he’d risk you recognizing him by either the upper half of his face or by his voice.

Softly cursing under his breath, he decided to wait it out. It wasn’t like he had anything else better to do. As much as he wanted to venture in and take a look around to see what exactly you were doing there, he didn’t want to risk getting caught. So many things could go wrong there. So many things. Besides, maybe you were just grabbing a bite to eat? But he highly doubted it.

With a heavy sigh, you made your way to the back of the diner where all the employees were kept hidden by a swinging door and put on your apron. A dishwasher, that’s what you were. Due to your hands already being a mess as a janitor, you tried to salvage what skin you had left and put on some thick, long rubber gloves and dove right in. It would appear whoever had been in charge of closing last night.....conveniently forgot to do the dishes.

Alas, it was job security and that’s how you were going to look at it. Secured job equaled secure money in your mind. With that positive thinking in mind, you felt your lips take on the form of a small smile and began cleaning. Life was hard but it was also okay.

While you worked, you couldn’t help but think of the man with the bright red eyes from the night before. Who was he? What was he? Perhaps he was just a guy who had a thing for colored contacts? But they seemed awfully bright. Very vivid, even. His voice. Even just thinking about it had you shiver a bit. It had been so deep and....commanding. And yet....Soothing. Did that make sense?

“I need two plates and two bowls A-SAP!”

During his job as a private investigator, Jungkook had lived his fair share of steak outs. But this was nuts. After a couple of hours, it was clear that you definitely hadn’t gone into the diner seeking food. Any time he’d pass by the windows to see if you were serving tables, you were no where in sight. In fact, there was a moment where he wondered if maybe you had slipped through his fingers and he toyed with the idea of trying to follow your scent.

Then, around lunch time, you came out. Ugh. Finally! Staying out of sight and blending in with the crowd, he watched you walk back towards the convenience store you had visited earlier that morning to grab your coffee. Hmm. How could a mere mortal pique his interest like this? Part of him felt silly, honestly. As if he were a dog looking for a new master. Let’s get one thing straight......The only master around here was Jeon Jungkook.

Following you back into the convenience store, he watched you walk down one of the aisles till you stopped at the section containing cupped noodles. The cheapest food in this city and probably just as unhealthy. Seriously, with how thin you looked, how were you even still alive at this point??? Jungkook took to busying himself in the next aisle over but made sure to keep your scent within his reach.

Turns out you bought a bowl of noodles and a bottle of water and was already back at the register. He once again noticed you using some of the money he had given to you last night. You were a strange girl......That’s for sure. Strange and yet extremely interesting. A force that reeled him in. Hook, line, and sinker. Perhaps he was more of a fish than a dog.

You waited in line patiently till it was your turn and smiled politely at the cashier. Handing them your items for purchase, you were a little less stressed when you handed over the funds necessary for payment. Red eyes popped in your head again and you couldn’t help wondering if you’d ever meet again. A menacing figure but expressed kindness through his actions. It made no sense to you.

Walking out of the convenience store, you started making your way towards your next job. The plan was to head straight for the break room so that you could eat your lunch and begin work. You had roughly an hour to get there and eat before your shift started. Hopefully you could make it there on foot.

Jungkook followed you like a shadow as he watched you leave the store once more. Good lord did you ever slow down? How were you this fast when you looked like a breeze could blow you away? His expression was hard as he thought about little things like this. But the bigger question was......Why did he care? You were just a silly little mortal who’s soul he could snatch up any time he wanted.

“Little human.....what are you doing to me?”

Thankfully you didn’t have to spend money on a bus ride to your next job and you still had just enough time to gulp down your lunch. Of course it probably wasn’t a good idea to inhale your food like that but time was short and you needed every minute of work you could get. Getting fired for tardiness wasn’t an option for you.

Your next job appeared to be at a retail store for women’s clothing. The over pricey kind. Jungkook walked in and looked around. Thankfully he could always use the excuse that he was buying a gift for his non-existent sister or something. Of course you were nowhere to be found. That is.....till he could catch a whiff of your scent. That familiar smell of cleaning chemicals. Gosh didn’t you ever get a headache from that junk?

He could tell you were somewhere in the back and his eyes kept darting towards the door that surely would lead him to you. However, how was he going to sneak in there without the girls at the front register noticing? Speaking of......he couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“She always comes in smelling like a janitor’s closet. How did she even get hired?”

“Girl, I don’t know but it gives me a headache every time I have to walk by her. I don’t know how she stands it. And honestly it’s just rude. Does she even shower?”

“Probably not. Have you seen her? She looks ugly as hell. Good thing she stays in the back. We can’t have customers complaining about the smell and the ugliness.”

For some reason, this set the boy off. His normal looking teeth turning razor sharp and grinding against each other. A soft growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Such foolish mortals. If it wasn’t for the cameras and a few customers already roaming the racks of expensive cloth, Jungkook would have sold their souls instantly without batting an eye.

Eyeing the door once more, he decided to work a little magic. Black magic. He just needed enough time to put on a fake employee getup and walk through the door. With his eyes on the various security cameras, he made a quick move and everything happened like clockwork. The cameras temporarily stopped working and he froze everyone in the room.

Quickly changing his attire to one of a young man working in a retail store, he blended in perfectly with his fitted t-shirt and skinny ripped jeans. He had to ditch the ball cap but it was a small price to pay. Making sure he had his colored contacts in, Jungkook quickly approached the door and with a simple wave of his hand, the cameras started working again and everyone was unfrozen. Simple as that.

You were currently struggling to carry a particularly heavy box full of denim jeans when you could have sworn you heard the door open. Paying it no mind, you continued to carry the box to it’s rightful destination but once it was out of your hands, you fell to the floor panting for air. Perhaps you shouldn’t have eaten that bowl of noodles so fast. You felt like you were gonna get sick.

Jungkook did what he did best and hid in the shadows as he watched you. For a split second, he though you were going to pass out. Why did that thought bother him so much? He told himself it was simply because he wanted to know more about you and couldn’t afford you losing consciousness but he had a feeling it was something else entirely.

And then you really did pass out.

“Shit----”

Springing into action, he quickly crouched down in front of you and turned you over onto your back as you had slumped over onto your side. You looked dead, honestly. His hand finding your wrist, he searched for a pulse. It was there but it could have been stronger. A lot stronger. Looking around while still feeling your pulse, he noticed what task you had been given. There was no way you could carry these boxes with what little energy and strength you possessed.

“Hey---Come on now. Time to wake up. Come on. Open your eyes.”

The demon was starting to get genuinely nervous when you didn’t stir and he couldn’t help but notice how ragged your breathing had become. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. This wasn’t good. He still had so much he wanted to learn about you. He didn’t even know where you lived yet.

And then......a soft moan of pain graced his ears and he couldn’t have been happier.

You were alive.

“Hey----Easy now. Just relax.”

There was a voice. A male’s voice. It sounded oddly familiar but you didn’t know why. Your head was pounding and you felt like you could puke. It even hurt for your eyebrows to knit together. With your sore eyes still closed, you felt yourself being lifted up into a semi sitting position only to feel something circular and plastic being pressed against your slightly parted lips. With an unknown hand cradling your skull, your head was helped tipped back and felt cool water running down your throat. Water. Someone was helping you drink water.

“Good girl. Now just sit and breathe with me for a moment.”

There the voice was again. He sounded really sweet and gentle. Oh how you’d love to just take a nap. That sounded really nice. But you had......work! Eyes shooting open and your body moving into an upright position, you looked around frantically. You were still in the inventory room of the retail store. But----What happened?!

“Whoa whoa. Hey! Easy there. Easy or you’ll pass out again.”

Your head swung in the direction of the voice and almost lost it when you grew dizzy. Briefly closing your eyes to will the swaying away, you slowly opened your eyes once more and looked over at the owner of the voice who had sounded so sweet and kind.

A male. A young one. Judging from the lanyard and laminated ID hung around his neck, he was an employee just like you. Was he new? You couldn’t recall seeing him before. Blinking in utter confusion, you watched him sport a small, shy smile. He must have recognized the confusion in your eyes because he spoke up again once more.

“I think you passed out. I came in for my shift but when I did, I found you on the floor. Are you okay?”

Not wanting to risk being recognized, Jungkook forced his voice an octave higher and tried to sound more boyish. Being a private investigator and a demon, the trick of controlling his voice often times came in handy. For the first time ever, he saw color coating your face in the form of a blush. Dare he admit it, but it was actually kind of cute. He tended to have that affect on women.

“I um......Oh gosh I’m so sorry. How embarrassing. I’m okay, really. I’m sorry you had to walk in on that.”

Gosh you were adorable. A total contrast to how you were cowering in fear and begging him for mercy the night before. You really were a pure soul. He could feel it in his bones. Your soul was pure and untainted by sin. A soul that his boss would love to have. However.......Jungkook wasn’t done with you yet. This case was just getting started.

“No need to feel embarrassed. Are you okay, though? Here---Sip on the water a bit more before getting back to it. I’ll take care of the heavier boxes and you take the lighter ones, okay?”

“O--Oh--Okay.”

The demon had to bite back the ‘good girl’ that was on the tip of his tongue as he didn’t want to give himself away. Not when he was so close to you and having this golden opportunity to learn more about you. Speaking of which, as he worked, he couldn’t help but ask,

“So how long have you been working here? I just started.”

“Oh um......I’ve been here for a couple months, now. I’m just working in inventory, though. I don’t venture out on the floor. Which I’m okay with.”

He simply nodded as he took care of the heavy boxes with ease. You’d occasionally tell him where they needed to go before you eventually stood up and he could tell you were testing the waters; making sure you wouldn’t fall over again. Gosh there was a slew of questions he had for you but how could he possibly ask them without seeming like a creep?

“You look a bit tired. Are you under the weather? You can always call in sick if you’re not feeling well, you know. That’s what sick time is for.”

This young man was strange. Well.....not strange just......He made you curious. You knew better than to try and deny that you were tired. Long ago had you not bothered trying to hide the bags under your eyes. What was the point? Makeup was just a waste of money in your opinion. Smiling your best to reassure him, you shook your head slowly and replied a bit timidly,

“Nah. I’m okay. Really. I wouldn’t want to appear lazy or anything. I enjoy this job and I don’t want to risk losing it.”

You worked too hard. That was his first self-drawn conclusion. You were working yourself to death. But what for? Perhaps you had a family to support? He had known a few mortals to work as a means to provide for their families. But this.....this seemed different. Despite the exhaustion all over your face, your eyes sparkled with a light that Jungkook had never witnessed before.

Oh how you intrigued him.

The two of you worked for another three hours and in that span of time, the demon boy learned a lot about you. Turns out you had no family, you were on the border of becoming homeless, hence why you needed this job so much. Your apartment building was on the more shadier side of town. You didn’t own a phone or a car. It was almost unbelievable, really. Like Jungkook wanted to call you a liar but he could tell from the sound of your voice that you were telling the sad sad truth.

And then......the words just came flying out of his mouth.

“Let me treat you to dinner.”

‘What the hell, Kook?!’

As he was cursing himself for such a sudden and ridiculous impulse, you simply stared at him with shock and confusion. Watching him clear his throat as he seemed to be composing himself while putting away another box, he finally turned to you and elaborated a little. For the both of you.

“You helped me a lot on my first day here. You didn’t have to do that. So I’d like to repay you by treating you to dinner.”

When you flashed him a smile, he thought that perhaps you’d really take him up on his offer. Why did he even want to take you to dinner in the first place? You were a mortal and he was a demon. You were light and he was dark. The two of you had no business associating with each other and yet here he was latching onto you like a leech.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I couldn’t accept such a kind offer. I know food isn’t cheap around here. I wouldn’t want you spending your hard earned money on me like that.”

Well dang. He didn’t see that one coming.

Standing there in a bit of a stunned stupor, he watched you bite your bottom lip and kindly excused yourself with a hint of nervousness in your voice. You muttered something about your shift being over and how you really needed to get going or you’d miss the bus stop to your next job.

Your next job.......

Just how many jobs did you have???

Jungkook left the inventory room the same way he walked in, but not without messing with the snooty girls at the front register. He tied the one girl’s shoelaces together and he tangled the other girl’s lanyard into the cash drawer. That would teach them talking bad about his mortal.

Turns out your next job was an art museum. You were a janitor there. That would explain the chemicals and bleach that seemed to be carved into your pores. How had he found out this information? Simple, he followed you. Now he was dressed as a young businessman interested in buying a piece of art when really his only interest was you.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot you mopping the floors. Gosh even your janitor’s outfit was large on you. But not nearly as baggy as your casual clothing from earlier. But it also showcased just how unhealthily skinny you were. Part of the demon wondered if you were suffering from anorexia. He wouldn’t rule out the possibility.

“So, sir, what piece were you interested in purchasing today?”

That night, he followed you home. Wearing the same black attire he sported the night before. Normally he’d be patrolling the town for any unsuspecting souls to trade but tonight......his sole focus was making sure you got home safely. Gracefully jumping and hopping from rooftop to rooftop, he watched you like the demon he was. Red eyes piercing into the back of your skull.

You had the funny feeling someone was watching you and it only made your feet move faster. After last night, you really didn’t want a repeat of it. Then again....maybe that meant you’d get to see him again. The male with the bright red eyes. Shivering when a cold went came through, you shook your head to clear the thoughts and tried to walk a little bit faster.

Finally making it into your apartment, you barely made it to your bedroom before you collapsed on the bed; out like a light.

Meanwhile, just across the street, perched on the roof, was Jungkook. Gently tugging down his mask so that all of his face could be seen, he stared intently at your window before speaking softly,

“Found you, little human.”

From the looks of it, you had officially left for the day. Probably off on one of your many jobs you held. Seriously, just how many freaking jobs did you have??? From what he gathered of the human race, the max jobs a mortal held was around two, maybe three at the most. But with you…..it seemed to be more than that. Way more.

Jungkook knew he had the right apartment number because your unique scent was practically rolling out from under the door and he was surprised to smell something there mixed in with the familiar smell of cleaning chemicals.

Now it was time for a little magic. Black magic, that is. Smirking while cracking his knuckles, he stared down your door as if trying to size it up. Yeah. Okay. So the guy was a bit full of himself. He was a smoking hot demon, after all.

With a flick of his wrist, he felt the magic flow down his arm and to the tips of his fingers. However, he never heard the click of the lock. Hmm…..That was odd. Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, the demon tried once again and flicked his wrist this time with a little more pep. Still nothing. Growling lowly in mild irritation, he ran a quick magical diagnostic on the wooden thing but came up with nothing. No protection spells or anything.

“What the hell, Door? Open already!”

Try as he might, spell after spell, the poor boy couldn’t get the blasted door to unlock. Grumbling, he eventually said screw it and tried the old fashioned way…..Turning the doorknob.

“Whoa!”

Having expected the need to use force, he shoved his full body weight against the door and ended up plummeting into your apartment. There Jungkook laid on your floor for a couple moments before realizing what the hell happened. Turning over onto his back to investigate, he saw the source of his embarrassment.

Your door was never locked in the first place. He could see the latch hanging by a thread.

Well that explains it.

Picking himself up off the floor and dusting himself off, he took a look around. Wow. You lived here? How? How on Earth did you actually live here? The freaking ceiling was leaking! He stood there watching rust colored water seeping from the sunken ceiling and falling into a plastic bucket which was nearly half full.

The place was tiny as well. He could see a small kitchen with a living room all in one open floor plan. You had a recliner and that was it. No couch or tv. The lack of technology astounded him. You didn’t even have a washer or dryer which meant you must use a laundry mat. Deciding to venture further, he walked down a narrow hallway.

He found your bedroom and your bathroom which was across from each other. Your bedroom was so tiny. Was that a twin size bed??? Looking around, he noticed you had nothing but the basics. You didn’t even have a desk or a lamp. You just had the bare minimum. Although he noticed a picture frame containing who he could only guess were your parents. Funny......You looked so much like your dad....Only prettier.

Looking into your bathroom, he noticed the lack of a hair dryer. Frowning, he instantly thought about you possibly going out into the chilly November air with a wet head. You could catch illness doing that. Foolish little human. Pulling the curtain to the side, he noticed you had only two bottles perched on the rounded edge. A bottle of cheap shampoo and just as cheap body wash. No wonder it did so little for your hair and skin. He recognized those brands. They were practically all water.

He needed to do something. This was......too much. He needed to get out of here before he did something rash. What was this painful feeling in his chest and why was it making it hard for him to breathe? Jungkook couldn’t understand it. He had never felt this way during a case. You.......You were doing this to him. Perhaps you yourself was a demon? A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A wolf after his black heart.

[kaepop-trash]

Epitaph

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader xYuta

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

(A/N): I’ll edit this later, I’m currently in a lecture.

Mini Masterlist

She was sitting in the library when she heard the door creek open.

“Oh.” His eyes opened wider from shock before he smiled, “Hi.” He walked in, closing the door behind him.

“How are you holding up?” He asked, keeping a respectable distance, “Coming here can't be easy.” He recognised with solitude, she looked up at his face. Empathy was something she hadn't seen often on someone she's known as long as Jaehyun, it felt disconcerting.

“I'll be better.” She closed the file in her hand, getting up and putting it in his hand, “Your numbers spiked up last week but it's stagnant now. We have to do something.” Her voice was soft. Jaehyun sighed, his head dropping. He thought about it for a second, before playing along, nodding his head and lifting it. He grabbed the file and let her avoid talking about what he asked.

“We'll take care of it.” He mumbled, seemingly disinterested as he flicked through the file.

“We're losing Jaehyun. Your only claim till now is that you're the only democratic congressman in the state. But we're alienating Republican voters, and whether you like it or not that's our demographic. I don't care if you have to be empathetic to mom's with guns or if you kick a Marxist propagating universal healthcare. Get elected.” She didn't leave room for argument.

“I'm not going to campaign on lies.” He made space.

“But you don't campaign on anything.” She said, clearly frustrated. “You're a moderate so your beliefs are lukewarm.” She said and he looked away with a scoff. She frowned, putting a hand on his cheek to make him face her.

“Look at me.” He obeyed, “You're the leader this country needs. You are someone the world needs.” Her eyes went from soft comfort to determination, “I don't care how you get up there. Because I know you'll change this world when you do.” He was almost taken aback by her devotion.

“But it matters to me. I won't trick people into making me their representative. That word holds responsibility.” As she squinted he laced his fingers with her hand in his cheek, brushing it against his lips as he set it down, “Government is my only religion.” He meant it with a determination that caught her off guard but she also realised in that moment what his words entailed. She took the file from his hands and sat back down to scribble something quickly at the back before placing the file with another pile.

“I'll give it back to you after the weekend.” She looked around her table in search of something before stopping, looking up at Jaehyun. Her eyes traced his dense eyebrows that missed the ease of a forehead without squinted tension, his long but dropping eyelashes that coupled with his heavy lids used to make Jaehyun perpetually look like he had just woken up in the most breathtaking way, now they made him look tired and empty. She glanced at his lips and remembered when they always looked plump and inviting, yet the way they seemed to be always pulled straight made him look older. She looked up at his eyes that seemed to be confused. She reached up and pecked his lip gently, almost relieved to learn that they at least felt the same.

“You're someone to believe in. Your voters see that, I see that. It's my job to make sure the world sees it.” She spoke still close to his face, noses brushing together. Jaehyun watched her with an almost fascination that she couldn't see over the possibilities in her eyes.

Yuta walked down the stairs fifteen minutes after a maid knocked on the door and asked him to go downstairs because ‘Madam’ had asked for him. It was 5:30 in the morning and the even the sun was hesitant to come out properly as Yuta made his way through the dark halls of the house that seemed to want to swallow him. Yuta's footsteps quickened and he soon reached the stairs, making his way down.

When he came downstairs he was met his Jung Jaehyun's back and (Y/N) at the window.

“Why are there reporters here?” She asked and The congressman seemed to be as confused as Yuta himself was.

“It's your father's funeral.” The congressman stated blatantly and she turned around with a serious gaze.

“My father was an investment banker, not even a particularly successful one.” She crossed her arms in front of her and Yuta was truly at a loss.

“They aren't here because of your father.” He found himself saying. She turned his residual glare at him and he took a physical step back.

“They're here because of you.” He laughed uneasily at the confusion. Her knitted brows unfurled and she turned back to the french doors, the entrance visible in the distance, visibly crowded, with the occasional flashes.

“Do you think they can see us?” The congressman asked softly and Yuta saw his girlfriend's back stiffen.

“When can they not?” He could see her eyes in the reflection of the glass, before she walked away into the kitchen.

“Breakfast is out by the gazebo. You can ask one of the maids taking food to guide you.” Jung informed Yuta who wondered if he was being helpful or asking him to leave the house for breakfast at 5am.

“I think I'm going to get some more sleep actually.” Yuta said uncomfortably.

“Do you usually sleep in?” The congressman asked idly and Yuta was caught off guard by the odd question.

“I usually wake up at 8. I don't get weekends off.” Yuta said as if he somehow needed to defend the tireless nature of his work. Jung's growing smile was a condescending one.

“Rather idealistic to seek for such luxuries in our business is it not?” He phased it like a genuine question and Yuta was at a loss, unable to understand whether what was being posed his way was hostility or just the mockings of a righteous politician.

Truth be told Yuta never liked covering Jung Jaehyun because he never understood him. Sure his old right wing paper took his confusion as criticism, Yuta got a raise in words and a salary so he let them politicise his ignorance, or rather lack of comprehension.

Yuta couldn't comprehend any of it. He had been covering Jung Jaehyun since the start of his campaign. He saw the way he could bewitch a room with his words and he saw him in session defending a maternity clinic bill with a murderous rage in a majorly Republican House.

But as a whole, something about Jung Jaehyun never sat right with Yuta.

He was exceptionally ruthless towards his opponents for one. Something his supporters defended as perseverance and strong values, but Yuta just thought he enjoyed it. There was something about the way he basked in the defeated looks from his opponents, he enjoyed crushing them.

But Jung Jaehyun had done more as a representative in one term than most do in their lifetimes. Politics was the current viral sensation of choice for people and it wasn't uncommon for someone in the depths of the Midwest speak about the enigmatic representative of Pennsylvania. He pushed legislation on medical insurance, abortion and gun laws in Congress in a way that was almost systematic. He made himself a peaceful centre in the storm of controversy, simply put, he was successful. And then he had those dimples, Yuta rolled his eyes as he realised that this country would never get over their obsession with Handsome Democrats. But he was curious to know if things go as predicted, would Jung Jaehyun be the return of the Kennedy or the Clinton era? Or would he be something in an of itself completely new? With his thoughts over these, Yuta made a mental note of a question he would ask the Congressman the next opportunity he got.

(Y/N) stood in front of the window above the kitchen sink, still frowning at the presence of the crowd see could see despite the distance. She heard the soft padding of feet as a pair of fingers brushed up her arms.

“People are watching Jaehyun.” She spoke into her mug of tea.

“They can't see.” He slipped his hand up her robe. And grabbed her thigh before she could pull away.

“Your parents are here. What is wrong with you lately?” She hissed but he seemed relentless.

“It's five in the morning. If you don't want me to touch you, just say so.” He slid his fingers higher and she turned a panicked gaze towards the window.

“Don't move.” He mumbled before walking away for a second, before she felt his hands on her waist. When she glanced back, he was on his knees.

“Just say so.” He repeated and she gripped her jaw, turning back to face the window.

“If there's even the slightest chance of them realising what is happening here.” She seemed to warn.

“What do you want happening here?” He mumbled against the soft flesh of her thigh and she closed her eyes. More than anything she wanted to him to stop modelling her thoughts like this. He hummed closer to her physical arousal, making her drop her head and pray to god as he spread her legs without any protest.

“Talk to me, I've always been a slave to your words.” He stroked between her legs gently, brushing his fingers over the skin without any urgency, “What do you want?” His voice was more implicit this time.

“You.” She didn't need to hesitate, she didn't feel knocked down by the confession. He hummed with approval. She looked up again, looking away to the side this time.

“Has it not always been like that?” His nose brushed close and she gasped, knuckles white against the counter as her ears remained focused on the stairs. Suddenly he pulled away, pulling her away to the corner.

“I'd never make you so vulnerable if we have audience.” He kissed her temple roughly before walking away, leaving her heaving.

“I didn't think anyone would come.” She spoke as she looked down the landing at the crowded parlour. Jaehyun had just walked up behind her, his eyes scanning over her back and the side of her face.

“They must want to be in your good books.” Jaehyun spoke from over his glass of whiskey.

“Pathetic all of them.” She grimaced.

“They're just build to serve, and please the ones who can give them something.” Jaehyun spoke relaxed.

“These people all shrugged us off at the first fall. Mr. Rand over there had once complained to the manager at the Philly club because I would still go for horse riding after the trial.” She scoffed.

“Now he's looking for you. No doubt with gifts and condolences.” Jaehyun said and she turned a bit, glancing at him.

“Sungjae is here too.” She informed him and he almost laughed at the mention.

“I know, I met him earlier. He asked about you.” He grinned as she mirrored it.

“How's his father?” She asked, turning back completely with curiosity in her eyes. Conditioning made him want to hold back his smile, but he let himself gloat.

“He avoided jail time by getting his company delisted.” He informed and she frowned at the word a little before shaking it off and turning back.

“He deserves it.” Her voice was without emotion. She contemplating something for a moment and Jaehyun knew she was thinking over her words so he waited.

“I used to hate you then. It was the only time I was sure about feeling something in its whole.” She remembered.

“Maybe you had the right idea.” He seemed to test and she turned around.

“Though I imagine you would have preferred rowing to football.” He smirked and she laughed.

“You know I always knew you were envious.” She teased and he played along.

“I felt sorry for you.” He chuckled and she shook her head, looking away.

“You just didn't like the idea of him being richer than you.” A ghost of a smile played on Jaehyun's face.

“You're assuming things.” He lied and she hummed, letting him.

“There was never anyone else you know.” She said genuinely.

“Is there now?” He tilted his head and she couldn't answer.

“Tell me Jaehyun, what would you do if I said yes?” This time he didn't have a reply. But it was only because so many things suddenly rushed by in his head, years of trying to decipher the way she looked at him. Could he ever go back to seeing her indifference?

She almost turned back before she did a double take, his eyes grabbing her attention. How long had it taken them to come here?

“Do you ever find it funny that there has always been someone between us?” Jaehyun was reflecting too, clearly.

“The only people between us is ourselves Jae.” She frowned at his juvenile lament. He didn't know which way to see that statement. He didn't want to speak to her anymore, she wouldn't understand his conviction and he didn't expect her to. So he slipped back into the shadows and she went back to eyeing the crowd with distrust.

Yuta sat away in a corner, the way people looked at him made him wonder if they were being wary of a reporter or whether he was radiating a dark energy. Something shifted in the last few hours he realised as he took another glance around the room. He saw (Y/N) talking to the chairman of the company that build his car, he found Jung Jaehyun engaging an old time investor. It took Yuta a day in this house and a morning with these people to realise something, he didn't belong here. It was different the other times he had been amongst the same kind of people. Fundraisers and campaign events were a necessity of one's job; but this: he looked around again with a settling sense of panic.

Yuta had never known his father, he was admittedly the underbelly of the American dream with a hard working single mother who emphasised his education over all. She never had the luxury to be sentimental about much, but he remembered travelling back to his mother's land when her great uncle had died. Yuta remembered wondering why he had to sit in a plane for hours to mourn someone who was a stranger to him, but he did realise on that trip. He met a family he didn't know he had and he saw grief bring people together when they were busy with their own pursuits. Family instilled a sense of solidarity in Yuta from then, he understood the importance of identity and humility: he realised the value of mourning. This he realised with a deepening frown, eyes landing on the one person in the room still holding him down, was a statement.

Jaehyun was talking to someone when a hand landed on his shoulder, he turned at the intrusion. Hesitant suddenly after finding (Y/N)'s mother smiling at him expectantly.

“I was hoping I'd catch a word with you.” She informed him, turning around to walk. Unsure of himself, Jaehyun just followed.

“You saved this house.” She spoke after she walked into the veranda, stopping abruptly, “My daughter is attached to this place, so I'm grateful to you.” She turned slowly, her eyes didn't look grateful.

“But it isn't your place. As appreciative as I am, I'm not sure I'm comfortable knowing that my daughter's employer owns the halls I lived in.” She spoke sharply, Jaehyun frowned.

“Your daughter is my longest, most cherished friend.” He retorted.

“I know my child Jaehyun. She doesn't have friends; I'm not just throwing words at you. I think it's time you articulate your intentions with my daughter. Your father might be intelligent, but he can let his pride cloud his observations. I don't have the same disability. I see what I need to see. ” She spoke with authority, Jaehyun raised his brow.

“I'm very appreciative of your appreciation. But I also am fairly certain that this house and any other matters related to (Y/N) and I are between us, and I'd be grateful if you gave your daughter the allowance she deserves after having to raise herself for the most part.” His face didn't give away his annoyance over her presence, Jaehyun severely disliked (Y/N)'s mother, she was the kind of women who went around life feeling entitled to the fruits of another's labour, he was also suddenly cautious about what she said.

“We raised her to be a lady. Now she's your henchman.” She spat at Jaehyun and he almost scoffed, “Running around with politicians and local news announcers.” She turned her head away, clearly disgusted at the idea. This time Jaehyun let himself laugh.

“Your daughter isn't a Lady or a Henchman Mrs. (Y/L/N). You've just always thought her the weapon. He presumed she wanted to ask what he said, he was ready to explain to her the extent of her underestimations, but the door swung open and Jaehyun turned a scowl at the door.

“Oh I'm sorry, I thought this was a door leading outside.” Yuta stood at the door with eyes wide, gaze moving between the both of them.

“It's quite alright, in fact.” Jaehyun turned back to her, “We were just talking about you.” Jaehyun's eyes were clean of any residual emotion, looking down at the woman with his own form of disgust.

“Were you?” Yuta walked into the room, completely unaware of the situation.

“I was reminding Jaehyun that my daughter is very resourceful.” She turned and glanced Yuta over in a way that made even Jaehyun uncomfortable, “And some think that warrants exploiting her. Isn't that right Jaehyun?” She turned back to him and he squinted at her.

What an unpleasant women.

She walked away with an air of superiority and Jaehyun almost felt bad for the expression on Yuta's face.

“She's like that. Always has been, don't bother with her approval.” Jaehyun felt his practiced politeness come through, Yuta gave him a distracted nod before he tightened his jaw and walked out of the room in a rush.

Jaehyun walked closer to the stable on the estate as he remembered it. He was almost taken aback when he came closer. The way she stood in front of her horse was reminiscence of a time so long ago he almost gave into the nostalgia; but then reality claimed him, neither of them were the same people they were before. He wondered if he could ever articulate it; Jaehyun would consider himself rather good with his words, he was a politician by profession. He would even say he was rather tactful with Human Beings, after all nothing came in the way once you knew what someone wanted. But his own emotions were somehow always beyond Jaehyun, and he didn't realise the extent of this weakness till he felt his emotions in a magnitude akin to a wretched sea storm. But hers were beyond his comprehension as well. And while that frustrated him, he was also aware of the tempest.

“My grandfather sends his condolences.” Jaehyun reiterated the words as he walked up behind her.

“I didn't know your grandfather knew of me.” She turned his head towards him, picking up a brush from the ground to brush her horse.

“He never forgets a favour, he definitely never forgets who it came from.” He spoke and she smiled, turning to him completely.

“I wonder how I would feel if someone ever showed kindness without separate motivation.” She shook her head, breaking into a smile when he raised a brow.

“Your boyfriend was packing his bags when I crossed his room earlier. While I would love to show him the door myself, I figured you'd want an explanation.” He sighed into his words when she turned to him with a frown: he figured that the guy was a coward.

“Your mother was speaking to us both. I guess you didn't pick one with thick skin.” He said and she frowned further, turning her irritated eyes at him.

“Why do you assume it's not his personal business.” She responded and he smiled.

“I know your mother. And I was there, in fact it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume she meant her words for me. But we've been here before haven't we? You keep wanting things in life you know you have no place for. He’s your everyday human, I know how it must have felt, the possibility of someone who only sees the good in you. I tried with Sulli, the entire term I served in DC after you left me. But it's unceremonious to pretend, you'll get tired and slip and suddenly he's accusing you of the crime of being yourself.” He tilted his head away. Despite the situation, Jaehyun knew this wasn't going to be easy on her, she had the capacity to care.

“I'm not doing this with you again. I don't do anything without a purpose.” He frowned at the memory, his mind getting ahead of himself. He wondered to himself for a moment, silence spreading between both their running thoughts. If there was a higher order setting things in motion, Jaehyun thought, that order would be fair but strict. He wondered if it was that need for order that brought them together and he wondered if it was that order they disrespected the years they spend looking for reasons to stay away from each other. With the intensity involved, he wouldn't blame her or himself. But he wondered if that order was now trying so hard to pull them apart.

“He might leave.” He said once finally and she dropped the brush in her hand with irritation.

“I would ask why you aren't happy if he's in fact leaving, but then again you're desperate to win right?” She narrowed her eyes before walking away from him.

When she reached the house she laughed at the stray ear in her eye, he was gone. The situation felt too familiar, she needed to realign herself.

[woildismyerster]

Could you do a little fic where the reader and Davey are like neighbors who have never met and they keep getting each other’s really weird mail (like the most random stuff) and they can’t figure out where it’s coming from? Until they finally meet? I saw this on a prompt list somewhere and loved it but forgot about it till now! (Plus I love your writing, so I know you’ll do it amazingly)

You jogged up the stairs to your apartment, grinning as you shuffled through your mail.  There was something amazing about it - you lived in an apartment, and you had a key to your mailbox, and how grown up was that?

Maybe not grown up, if you were still excited about it, but still.  You had only just moved out of your parents’ place, so it was okay to be dazzled for a little while longer.

You frowned at one of the envelopes, pausing on the steps.  This one wasn’t for you.  It wasn’t for your roommate.  The mailman must have made a mistake.  This was for David Jacobs, and you had no idea who that was.

You should run it back down to his mailbox.

Your calves burned from running up so far already.

You should really run it back to his mailbox.

His apartment number was only a floor below yours; it was practically on your way.

You didn’t go back downstairs.

You slid the envelope under his door before going home, and promptly forgot all about it.  

It was difficult for Davey to balance his mail, his coffee, and the door to his apartment, but he always managed.  His hand cradled the bottom of his cup, his chin held the top of it down, and he only thought he would lose it one time while he wobbled over to his kitchen table.

A letter from a National Honors Society, hoping that he would pay $95 for some stupid pin that would show that he had a high GPA.  As if.

A catalogue for dorm living, since apparently the university refused to get normal beds that didn’t need custom sheets.  

A postcard from Jack, who appeared to be enjoying his year long internship in California.

He frowned at the envelope at the very bottom.  That wasn’t his insurance company.  He scanned the address and relaxed.

Though nobody was there to see him, he gave a satisfied nod.  It was addressed to Y/N L/N.  He didn’t know why he was always getting your mail, but it happened at least once a week.  He always slid it into the correct mailbox, though he knew that it would be faster to run it up a floor and slide it into your apartment.  He was always a little worried that you would open the door, or arrive just as he slid it in, and he would have a face to go with the name.

He liked the haziness of it all.  He liked basing what he knew about his mystery neighbor on the mail he saw.  He knew that the two of you went to the same college.  He knew that you bought stuff online sometimes.  Sometimes, on days when Davey was lonely or bored, he would run his fingers along the edges of the packages that were given to him by mistake so he could guess what was inside.

Books, sometimes.

Clothes.

Sometimes they came in boxes, and he was left to imagine what you could be getting.  It was a pointless game, since he had no reason to know a thing about you, but it passed the time.

Maybe you collected things, like comic books or first edition books.  Maybe you had a friend in another country, and the boxes were full of gifts and foods that the friend wanted to share.  Maybe his neighbor was a smuggler, and the packages held illegal cargo.

He pushed the envelope through the mail slot and went back upstairs, hedging bets with himself about when he would get your mail again.

You had made a mistake, and you felt absolutely sick about it.  

You got David’s mail again, not that it was anything out of the usual.  This time, however, you didn’t notice that it wasn’t yours.  You had been waiting for one of your textbooks to come in the mail, after all, so when you saw that the package had come from the right company, you didn’t check to see if it came to the right apartment.

You held the history book tightly in your hands, worrying your lip.  What should you do now?  The right thing to do, obviously, was to go to his place and return it in person.  Apologize profusely, and hope that he didn’t hate you for the rest of always.

You weren’t sure that you wanted to do the right thing.  It wasn’t that you weren’t planning to give it back, of course.  A textbook like this surely cost over a hundred dollars.  If you kept it just to save face, he would probably be wrecked.  Buying textbooks was one of the hardest blows your bank account ever took.  No, you would return it.  You just didn’t think that you could face him in the process.

If he yelled at you, you would probably cry, and then you would have to move to Montana or Idaho or someplace equally empty.  Maybe you would join an Amish community and change your name to something different and Biblical and change your entire life to escape that one time a guy yelled at you for opening his mail.

No, you would put it back in the box.  You taped the box closed and frowned down at it.  It had clearly been opened already; the cardboard was frayed and weak.  You grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a note to tape onto the box.

Mr. Jacobs,

I accidentally opened your box.  I was expecting a similar one, and I didn’t check to see that it was mine.  I am the worst.  Sorry.

Y/N L/N

You hung the package in a plastic bag from his doorknob and left, praying that he would never say a thing about it.  If he came and knocked on your door, you wouldn’t even know it was him until he railed you out.

Davey kept the note.  It wasn’t weird or anything; it rested on his table with other loose pieces of paper.  It wasn’t weird, he told himself, because it lived among receipts and forgotten letters and quick notes he had left for himself about paying bills and calling his mother.  

He looked at it sometimes when he got your mail again, if only to compare the handwriting to the mail you should have gotten.  By the time it occurred to him that maybe it didn’t match, that maybe you weren’t how he had learned to imagine you, it was already you.  

Y/N,

Don’t worry about the book.  It doesn’t seem any the worse for wear.

Davey

You grinned at the note.  His name was Davey.  His name was Davey, he wasn’t mad, and he wrote you back.  If life was a romantic comedy, this would be the point where the two of you started your descent into falling in love.

Then again, if this was a romantic comedy, it was likely that the two of you had already met.  You could not think of any men you knew that you would hope was on the other side of the pen, let alone a man named Davey.  Maybe it was better to leave it here, with an apology and an acceptance.

Then again, you thought as you gazed at a postcard that was not meant for you, it was only worth cutting your losses when you liked what you had and had something to lose.  You wanted more and had nothing to lose, so why stop?

Davey gaped at a sticky note on Jack’s postcard.  He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was - you had written him a note with the textbook, after all, why not with a postcard? - but he had trouble processing the sight of your writing next to Jack’s.

Tell your friend to send wine.

You hadn’t signed your name, but he knew it was yours.  He put the note next to the first one, telling himself that it wasn’t weird.  The next time he got mail that should have been yours, he scrawled a reply.

Y/N,

Awfully bold of you to assume he wants to buy you a drink.

Davey

Davey,

Awfully bold of you to assume that I wasn’t expecting you to buy the wine.

Y/N

Y/N,

You opened my package.  If either of us should be paying, it ought to be you.

Davey

Davey,

I would never buy myself a drink if I can get a boy to buy me one.

Y/N

You were almost more excited to find mail that wasn’t yours than mail that was, these days.  You loved getting responses from Davey, of course, but you spent a lot of time imagining what you would write to him.  Jokes about mail he got, about something witty he said earlier on, about other people in the building that he was sure to have seen.

The only hard part - when had it gotten easy to write to him?  A long time ago, maybe - was stopping yourself from taking the flirtation too far.  Flirting was all well and good, but at what point does it become too serious?  How friendly can you get before you’re expected to meet him for real?

He made you smile, and you liked that.

What if he wasn’t like the notes?  It was easy to be clever when you didn’t have to respond immediately.  He had hours, days, to figure out what he wanted to say to you.  Maybe he wasn’t the same to talk to.

You hardly noticed when boys flirted with you now, since the only banter you were waiting for was with a boy who may not have the chance to respond for days, weeks.

What if he was old?  You always pictured him at about your age, since he went to the same school, but what if he was a middle aged man that decided to go back to college?  What if he was mean, or gross, or leered at you until you wanted to take six showers and move out of the building?

What if he was perfect, and meeting him was the greatest thing you could possibly do?

Y/N,

You’ve been buying a lot of books lately.

Davey

Davey,

If you’re judging me for it, I think you and I are over.

Y/N

Y/N,

As if.  You should lend me one.

Davey

It wasn’t weird for Davey to keep a pile of your notes, but it was normal for a different reason now.  He kept an envelope of them stuck to his fridge now, where he could comb through them to reference a conversation long since lost.  It was normal because, oddly enough, the two of you were friends.

He didn’t know the color of your hair, but he knew that you always ordered clothes a little too big because you were scared they would shrink in the wash.

You didn’t know how tall he was, but he sometimes let Les write you notes under his own.

He didn’t know what your smile was like, but he knew about the classes that stressed you out while you studied for midterms.

He would never be able to pick you out in a crowd, but he would know your mind above all others.

Sometimes it didn’t feel like enough, but your opinion of him was one of the only things he didn’t know.

Y/N,

Are you going to the tree lighting ceremony?

Davey

You froze when you read his note.  For all you knew, he was just wondering.  It could have been that he wanted to know about your Christmas traditions.  Maybe it was small talk.

Maybe he wanted to meet you there.

You definitely wanted to meet him there.

Davey,

Of course.  You?

Y/N

Davey felt absolutely sick while he suggested that the two of you meet up.  He could barely eat while he waited for you to write back.  Why didn’t the two of you ever write notes without waiting for a mail mix up?  He had liked the anticipation up until now, and he liked the tradition of it, but now he wasn’t sure his heart would take it.  If you said no, he wasn’t sure he could bear the idea of writing back and forth with no hope of conclusion.

Davey,

You should buy me a drink.

Y/N

Y/N,

Awfully bold of you to assume that I wasn’t expecting you to take me out.

Davey

Davey,

Why would I buy my own drink when I can get you to buy one for me?

Y/N

You couldn’t tell if you were shaking because of the cold, or because of the nerves.  It hardly mattered.  The important thing was that there was a crowd of people, and Davey was probably in there somewhere.  There was a crowd of people, and you didn’t know who he was.

He would be wearing a black hat and a blue scarf.

If he was an old man, how would you play it off?  Maybe you could pretend it had all been friendly.  He would have to be pretty senile, but maybe you could pull it off.

Black hat, blue scarf.

You liked to think that it wouldn’t matter how attractive he was, but you couldn’t guarantee it.  It was easy to say that looks didn’t matter when you imagined him being perfect.

Black hat, blue -

You locked eyes with a boy in a black hat and blue scarf.  You felt his gaze whip over you, taking in the clothes you had promised to wear in return.  His cheeks had been pink from the cold, but they paled a bit now.  He walked toward you, and your stomach flipped.

“Y/N?”  He had a nice voice.  “I’m Davey.”

You smiled shakily.  “Nice to meet you.”

His smile was nervous, and you knew that he was thinking the same thing as you - how do you talk to somebody who you both know and don’t know?  Where do you even start?

You dug through your bag.  “I brought you something.”

“Oh - you didn’t have to -”

You held a book out to him, and he gazed at it with surprise.  “Stop judging me about buying a bunch of books.  I can share.”

“I guess it’s a trade, then,” he said.  He pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

It was a letter from school, addressed to you.  You gaped at it.  “Our mailman in the worst.”

“He messes everything up,” Davey agreed.  “It worked out pretty well for us, though.”

“As if,” you snorted.  You hurried to finish before the surprise on Davey’s face could shift to disappointment.  “If it had worked out well, Jack would have sent me wine.”

He laughed, and it was as nice as his voice.  A nice laugh, a nice voice, and a nice face.  The mailman had done you a favor.  “You’re so needy.”

“And you’re so bad at providing,” you sighed.  Even when he wasn’t smiling, his eyes were bright.  His eyebrows were raised in an expression of perpetual surprise; he was as pleased and bewildered to be meeting you as you were with him.  You could hear the letters in the way he talked.  “Look at me, stuck in the cold, with no drinks in sight.”

Davey grabbed your hand and led you toward a restaurant, not bothering to let go when you got out of the worst of the crowd.  “Okay, so I have to tell you about what Les did last week.”

The next time the mail was mixed up, you took it to Davey directly.  A few years later, the mailman stopped messing it up.  After all, it’s difficult to give two people the wrong mail when they have the same address.