#I learned much from him and about nightmares too.
ACOTAR MEN X READER, GETTING CAUGHT BY YOUR CHILD
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: you’re caught in by your kids, how do you guys handle the situation?
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ warnings: nsfw, crack, fluff, kids feeling traumatized
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ amara’s note: thank you the req anon!!
Azriel
Your bent on all fours, gripping your sheets as Azriel slutted you out, hands on your waist as he thrusted in and out.
As much as you loved hanging around everyone, you were in some desperate need of him.
Azriel had been away on many affairs, often leaving you alone. And though you were surrounded by everyone, you still felt a crushing loneliness that only he could fill
When he finally came home after a two weeks long business trip, you stuck to him like glue. Seriously, whatever he was doing, you were doing too
Azriel saw it snd decided to treat you good after a long time alone
“Right there,” you breathlessly tell him, urging him to speed up just a bit, his throaty groans and moans making you crazy wet
“D’ya know how—how much i missed you and this pretty little pussy? Hm?” his charming, teasing voice made your walls tighten around him, your whines getting more messy as you got closer to cumming
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he praises with a smile, proud of your strength.
It’s really not easy keeping up with Azriel, esp not in bed
“I like makin’ you feel good,” you whimper out, short gasp falling from you at the end of the statement, finding the spot inside you that makes you go insane
“Yeah, what else so you like?” he asks with a little smirk
You’re so far out of it, you barely notice the doorhandle being pulled.
You gasp when Azriel pulls out and with his cold shadows whisk you away to the cabin. You went from being fucked on all fours to standing up, so fast that your knees almost buckled had it not been fpr azriel holding uou up
”Az, what—what is going on? is this some sort of punishment?” you whined, grinding your ass against him.
”Not a punishment, just saving us from the most awful moment in our lives,” he says lowly as his shadows report your twin boys looking for you.
It takes a minute for your brain to register where you actually are. Rhysand’s cabin.
You also realize your both completely naked
“Az, what are we doing here?” you furrow your brows in true confusion
“The boys were about to walk in, i had to move us.”
“So you moved us to rhys’s cabin in the illyrian mountains? a closet or another room wasn’t an option?” you remarked, genuinely curious.
“I obviously wanted to be on safe side,” he said as if you were the crazy one, not him for bringing you thousands of miles from home
Rhys
After a day of teasing him relentlessly he finally caught you alone, planning on having his version of fun with you
“You think you can play with me all day and i won’t play back?” he tilts his head a little at you, surprised you actually think he’s gonna let it slide
your teasing had ranged from projecting nasty flashbacks of him pounding you in his mind to fun little kisses to his neck while he was talking to someone
“Um, no. But i was just horny, you can’t punish me for that, right?” you say slowly backing away from him as you did ur best to save your ass
Rhysand would definitely not let you cum, he would drag it out for hours and you for sure would be left crying
He pulls you closer, guiding you to bend over his lap. “You need to learn patience, my dear. And I'll be the one to teach you.”
Approximately 20 minutes into him fingering you then pulling away just as you’re about to cum, a knock is heard.
Rhysand looks at the door and calmly uses magic to clean you both up, not a hint of your activities left
“Papa, can you come to my room, i had a nightmare,” your son cries, fat tears rolling down his cheek as he clutches his favorite teddy.
Your heart breaks for him as you watch Rhys pick him up, carefully rocking him in his arms.
“Of course, buddy. Let’s go to your room, I’m here to protect from everything.”
Just before he leaves with your son, Rhys snaps his fingers, removing your clothes and binding you to the bed.
“Don’t think you’re in the clear,” he chuckles into your mind.
Cassian
He had been crazy horny all day
Anything you did was just an insane turn on. Cassian justified his horny urges by saying it was your fault
But was it really normal to be turned on by you leaning over the sink to wash your face?
Cassian sure thought it was, anything you do is sexy in his head
Reading, sexy. Walking, sexy. Eating, sexy. Yelling at him, super fucking sexy
So he was on you, having fun makeout sessions in the most random places like rhysand’s wine cellar or Mor’s closet when you borrwed a dress
“Let me hit,” he begs, arms wrapping around your waist
“Is that how you ask for me?”
“Please, let me have sex with you. I’m dying for it, i’m dying for you.” he says the last part with a smug smile, thinking he is rizzing you up like crazy
You still let him hit tho
So you crawl into his lap, his body leaning against the headboard as you settle in, his hands roaming your body
He rips your shirt clean off, leaving you in nothing as he starts playing with your tits
“Dad, i’m feeling sick. Do you think Madja is still—” your daughters voice makes cassian panic, resulting in him throwing you off his lap, scrambling to look normal
“Hey, babygirl. What’s up!!” he says, smiling up at her as he tries to ignore your glare.
“Ew, oh my gods. Please tell me you guys weren’t having sex, i think i might actually throw up.”
She looks at you but you just look away, keeping the blanket around you.
“Excu— sex??? wha—what are you talking about? Babe, please, are you hearing this nonsense?” he chuckles nervously as he points to your daughter with a scandalously shocked look, like he couldn’t believe her words
“Yeah, i’m going over to auntie Feyre’s. Bye,” your daughter leaves before you have the chance to say anything else
“I mean, sex is super overrated. I don’t even partake in such activities, okay? I don’t even like sex, yuck!” he yells , hoping your daughter hears as she vanishes
You stand up from where he threw you, narrowing your eyes at him as you clear your throat
He looks back at you with wide eyes, holding his hands up in defense as he remembers what he has done
“Babe, thats was a lie. Sex is fucking amazing, especially with you. And i’m sorry for throwing you, i panicked.”
“Make it up to me and i might forgive you.”
Bro makes up for it good, like really REALLY good
Eris
Eris is just like Azriel, he will not let anyone catch you. He has sealed your bedroom over and over again with tricky, protective spells.
The only way in is by blood, only his and yours.
And sometimes when he’s balls deep into you, making the bed creak, he forgets the fact that your children are a mix of those two blood types
So when you start moaning and letting out noises of pleasure, it shocks your 6-year old daughter who thinks her dad is hurting her mom
“Please, make—make me cum again, please, Eris.”
Eris is so mean sometimes. He had edged you all day, only allowing you to come once.
”You think you deserve it?” he asks
You whine, ”Fuck, please— be nice to me— please, pleaseeee.”
“An impatient slut like yourself don’t deserve to cum. You knew this would happen and you gave me fucking attitude anyway,” he scoffed.
A loud cry and fading footsteps are heard as you both freeze
You get dressed instantly and run out, worried about why your daughter was awake and wailing.
“Hey baby what’s wrong?” Eris squats down next to her crying self before he recieves a punch to the gut.
“I heard what you said to mommy, you hurt her and i hate you!” she yelled as she sobbed in your arms
You both look at each other in embarrassment, obviously understanding what she was referring to
“Oh! Um, no daddy wasn’t hurting me or was being mean. It was a game, i promise. See? I’m fine, sweetheart.”
Eris felt nauseous. He didn’t want your daughter thinking he was hurting you, just like his father had hurt his mother.
“Kit, i could never hurt your mother. I love her more than anything. It was just a game and i promise, you’ll never hear it again.”
She nodded before kissing your cheek and then running into his arms, dead asleep in just a few seconds
You kissed Eris, reassuring him that he wasn’t being to rough or mean and that you actually liked it.
Still, he never degraded you again, despite your wishes.
Lucien
It is your 100th anniversary as mates
Of course there’s a massive celebration for you
Grand balls, beautiful gowns, exclusive parties for a week straight, expensive drinks, luxurious vibes
You had the time of your life with the love of your life (see what i did there)
Azriel and Feyre had been tasked with keeping your children safe
But they get distracted for one second, allowing your girl to slip away
You and Lucien are in the bathroom, making out with your hands down his pants
You were supposed to leave for a trip after, a vacation to celebrate your love for a century but you couldn’t wait
Since you two didn’t have to worry about your kids and keeping an eye on them, you had free reign to give him a handjob whilst he played with your nipples
“You just couldn’t wait, huh?” you said smugly, sliding your thumb over the slit of his cock, making him groan
“Like you can talk, you’re here with your tits out like some common whore,” he retaliated, tugging on your sensitive nipples, enjoying the way you melted
“Daddy what are you doing?”
Your heads snap to the door in horror when you hear your toddlers voice
Feyre runs in exhausted from chasing your daugher before her eyes widen in shock as she covers your girls eyes before dragging her out.
“I’m so sorry, she managed to run away!” she exclaimed as she hurried out, shutting the door thoroughly
You and Lucien look at each other, laughing before getting dressed again.
“Is this a sign to just wait for the trip?”
“Yeah, i believe it is.”
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Hi there! Hope you’re doing well! Kicking that funeral services degree’s ass with any luck!! I was wondering if you would be up to writing a drabble for Jason or Tim (whoever you think fits the scenario best) as the boyfriend of a law student. Maybe where they’re living together and she’s just barely getting 3-5 hours of sleep a night while trying to study for finals, writing a full legal brief, practicing for oral arguments, getting ready for her summer associateship, and applying for moot court and law review. (Is this based on some poor law student’s real life? We may never know!) And just like her needing someone to be there and take care of her, but also her wanting to take care of him too even though she is very much Trying Her Best to Survive™? (Btw thank you so much for blessing us with batfam content galore, absolute ICON <3 )
Oh good lord… bless you and this ‘hypothetical’ poor law student. I know my degree is kicking my ass all across the state and back, so I can only imagine… They keep telling me the degrees are worth it… we’ll ride it out and see. Good vides, and better times love 💜
—
Now I fully believe that Timmy would be wonderful at this in his own right… but every single thing about this request violently screams Jason Todd to me…
There are only so many hours and so many spoons in a day, and unfortunately a law degree takes up almost every single ounce of both of them
However, Jason has this innately ingrained need to take care of the people that matter to him, so this is exactly where he shines
He was always Alfred’s best protege, so the man cooks and cleans house like a pro. Not only that, but it’s something that he genuinely enjoys because they are simple and repetitive tasks that let zone out and go through the motions to decompress from his ‘other job’.
While he’s happy to take care of all of that and leave you to focus on the proverbial, ever-growing mountain of work you have - He’s not above making you stop to take a break.
It is not an uncommon occurrence for this man to literally close your laptop, throw you over his shoulder*, and haul you out to the kitchen table to sit down and have a meal with him.
((*I do not care what size you are, or what hang ups you might have about your weight, if this man can hold up a collapsing ceiling, he can carry you across y’alls apartment))
“Ok, I have physically seen you putting food and water into your body, you can go back to your cave now.”
This happens at least 2-3 times a week
He is concerned. Just humor him and let him love you.
Jason is 100% the type to be actively learning from anything you tell him
Some nights, when the insomnia and the nightmares decide to double team him, he’ll even sit up browsing through your textbooks just to try and understand everything you're doing more.
Tim get’s labeled the nerd of the family a lot, but really Jason would have been the family scholar if he’d had the chance
The second bedroom in your apartment is both your office and his library. That shit is floor to ceiling.
With that in mind he is always more than happy to be a sounding board when you need him to. Listen to what you’ve got, argue the other side if necessary
Dear god, just know what you’re getting into there… he lives for that kind of stuff, and he will come prepared. This is one of his all time favorite games, that comes second only to aggravating the living shit out of you (which, if he’s lucky, will be a bonus here)
95% of the time, Jason has got this, got you - focus on your school babe, I’ll take care of it… but that 5%? That bit where he’s not actually infallible? He so very desperately doesn’t want you to see that.
What you’re doing is important, and he doesn’t want the fact he had a rough night to be a distraction for you. This is where you enter a bit of a balancing act…
As much as you may want to put everything aside and take care of him, that is the fastest way to make him shut down.
Instead, grab a textbook and a highlighter. Go ‘make yourself some tea’ and pour him a mug too. Set everything up in the living room and drag him onto the couch with you.
Put his head in your lap, and just run your fingers through his hair while you do some reading.
Bonus points if you put a blanket over him
Poor baby is gonna melt in an instant and be out cold before you know it. Just keep playing with his hair and let him sleep.
And do not mention it if he is emotional when he wakes up… he’s never going to be good/get used to receiving love and affection. Do it anyway, and don’t make a big deal about it.
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aita/wibta for NOT breaking up with my bf ?
i'm not sure if the title is phrased weirdly, bare with me. my bf and i are both 18, he is cis M & i am FTM (relevant).
My bf and i are both currently in first year uni, both living at home due to high cost of living in our country (also everywhere else lol). We met about halfway through highschool, and were friends for a while before getting together. we are coming up on two years together in a couple months, and have not really had any major bumps in our relationship. we see eachother i would say 1-2x per week, with both of us living at home and being broke it gets a little challenging sometimes but we call most nights and generally we make it work. Also worth noting that I am my bf's first everything, down to his first kiss, while he is not really this for me. this is the longest relationship i have been in (probably because i'm 18 lol), but not at all the first. however, the only "serious" relationship i have had outside of of him, aside from just casual stuff, was very abusive & toxic, so i do sort of see us on equal footing as neither of us has ever been in a normal, functional relationship before.
Now, the issue: while we are both currently living at home, i see this as a very temporary arrangement and something i am counting down the days until i can get out of. while living with my family is not abusive or anything, it is just very straining as i am not very close with them, and also cannot transition while living at home. as previously mentioned i am ftm, and while my mom is tolerant it would just put even more stress on the relationship if i were to start changing physically while living at home or even asking her to use different pronouns for me and is just something i prefer to leave until i'm not 100% reliant on her. that being said my dysphoria causes me very intense depression and without getting too detailed, i don't know how much longer i can take living here and putting off any sort of meaningful transition outside of close/online friends calling me he.
my bf, however, plans to live at home at least until he graduates, which is six years away. i understand that this is a very normal thing, especially culturally (he is middle eastern + muslim, i am white + agnostic), but the issue is that his mother is, among many other things, extremely homophobic. she already hates me for reasons i'm not really sure of (my bf refuses to go into detail, i think to protect me, but i have seen extremely graphic and nasty texts about me by name on his phone and have been told by him that he doesn't even mention me around the house or else she gets extremely upset, though she is always extremely nice to me the few times we have interacted), but anyways, me transitioning while he is still living at home would be essentially putting him in legitimate danger.
my bf does not like to think about this, which i understand. it's hard enough dealing with what i get from my family, and that is absolutely nothing compared to the fact that everyone he knows from his culture/religion beleives he should be dead just because he is gay (i know, as does he, that there are queer muslims. but they do not exist openly in his personal community). but the problem is that anytime i adress to him that the idea of waiting until we are in our mid-twenties for me to even think about transitioning is a really big issue for me he basically refuses to talk about it and just says that "it will work out". on top of the transitioning thing i just generally don't want to be twenty-five (the age he has told me is when he plans to move out) and still having to cancel dates last minute because my boyfriend's mom was in a bad mood and decided he's not allowed to go out tonight. i know this is how life is for many people and they learn to deal with it! and i respect them very much! but it is genuinely my nightmare. i understand why he cannot/does not want to cut himself off from his family, especially since his dad lives overseas and is extremely wealthy so therefore paying his entire tuition out of pocket. i'm just saying it's not a lifestyle that meshes well with my future plans.
this is where the asshole part comes in: my bf genuinely thinks that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. this started with small comments, things like alluding to the idea of our potential future kids (i love kids and raising my own is genuinely my end goal in life, something he knows just because i am very open about it), or talking about our future apartment/house, but now is basically just a constant conversation in our relationship. i try not to feed into it, but i also feel badly responding to his sweet comment when i point out a house i like on the street about how we'll buy it one day with something about how i don't ever see that happening. i generally just respond neutrally, but i will admit i get caught up in the fantasy sometimes and contribute to it as well.
he is such a lovely guy with a beautiful heart and i do really adore him, and it's not a situation where i don't want to spend the rest of my life with him. to be honest, that's the dream. i love him with everything i have and i would literally do anything for him. the problem is just that when he talks about this future together all i can picture is all the million ways our relationship is doomed to implode.
but we are happy right now, because me moving out of my family home is not something that is going to be possible for another 1-2 years, so none of those issues are something that are going to come up right now. i just forsee them being pretty much impossible obstacles between us and spending the rest of our lives together down the line. but i have this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that even though i want more than anything to be with him forever, the fact that i don't remotely beleive it's something that will actually work out still constitutes as leading him on.
so, am i the asshole for staying with him, because we are happy right now and these issues are not going to be relevant for another 1-2 years, and a solution might somehow present itself in that time? or is the right thing to do to just leave now, and rip off the bandaid?
What are these acronyms?
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Hi!!!
Can I please request headcanons for the bad sanses with an s/o that has wings?
Thank you, and have a nice day!
MASTERLIST
BAD SANSES X READER THAT HAS WINGS
NIGHTMARE:
Nightmare finds your wings annoying, or fascinating. (Depending on what your wings look like)
If your wings are big, then they probably often get in the way of things, and Nightmare more than likely gets accidentally smacked with them...
But if your wings are small, Nightmare won't mind them at all. They're just...there. No complaints here.
Your wings sometimes have to stretch... Because they get too stiff if you won't move them much. Don't expect much help from Nightmare though. He has "other business to attend to" and he's "busy".
Though there are times where he'll give in to your pleads, And just- wrap your wings in his tentacles. It's actually kinda comfortable, since it feels like you don't have any weight on you.
He'd sometimes gaze at your wings, with no thoughts whatsoever. He's just observing them, in complete calmness...
If you show him some new tricks you learned, all happy and everything, Nightmare would listen to you. (Shockingly) but he'd act like he doesn't want to hear about your accomplishments.
KILLER:
Killer would gasp when he sees your wings. He immediately touches them (with your consent of course. Consent is hot)
He'd immediately work on some puns involving birds or wings. He's a silly dude lmao.
PLEASE let him brush your wings. He'd get so into it. Gently brushing your wings.
He'd probably ask you if you'll lift him up and fly with him around the castle. He's actually light as a feather, so it's not a hard task.
Imagine being Nightmare, just seeing Killer and you flying around, oh he'd so scold you.
No flying in the castle!! (Says the new rule.)
He'd brag to Dust and Horror that he has a personal traveller. (You)
He'd watch with awe when you happily show him some new tricks, he'd so request another ride.
Winces when he sees you stretch your wings, hearing a silent "pop".
Flirts with you that you look like an angel. (It works though, lmao)
DUST:
DUST WOULD OBSERVE THE FRICK OUT OF YOU!!!
He's so mesmerized and interested. He'd ask MILLIONS of questions. And you better answer all of them.
Let him touch your wings, a literal stars will appear in his eyes.
He'll probably ask you to stretch your wings so he can sketch them in his book. (He has a whole book dedicated to you)
He's a literal pro at brushing your wings. Will not make a mistake. Not even once.
If you truly want some help, or just need an advice, go to Dust. He's the most reliable. (A/N: how come Dust's always the one that's the most reliable 💀)
He's the type of person to make comments of his own, whenever you show him new tricks.
He's all like; "I think you'd be able to do it better, if you-" they might get a little annoying- but hey, they're helpful somehow 🤷♀️
He even bought a book about wings, just so he can know more about it.
He's just a nerd tbh.
HORROR:
Horror will gawk at your wings with sparkles in his eye. He's mesmerized, and thinks they're pretty..
He gives you a smile when you stretch your wings, or cover your wings around him.
He likes how fluffy they are.
He'll want to touch them, but won't do it, because he's afraid of accidentally hurting you. :(
He thinks they're probably fragile, and he won't want to be the reason you'd be wingless.
Will need a lot of reassurance that it really is ok to touch your wings. And that they're not really fragile at all.
Overall a total sweetheart, he will be really gentle when it comes to touching your wings. He doesn't want to accidentally yoink them.
The others would probably tease him a little that he's much more gentle than he normally is.
Only you get this special treatment from him by the way ^^
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A Little Chat
Jazz gets the chance to talk to the ghost boy before she knows he's her brother. When she talks to him after discovering the truth, their first conversation is still ringing in her mind.
For the prompts: What if Jazz had a conversation with Phantom before learning he was Danny? What does their next conversation look like when Jazz knows but Danny doesn't know she knows? [from atropos], and "What do you mean this isn't safe, I'm already dead" [from @princessfanonanona]
Read also on AO3
[Warnings for mentions of violence and death]
Casper High was all abuzz about the upcoming school dance, but Jazz couldn't care less. Dancing had never been her thing, much less at school where all her peers could watch her embarrass herself. That didn't stop her from getting asked, by Dash Baxter when she was tutoring him, by her lab partner in the middle of chemistry class (gag), by Danny's friend Tucker, who was asking out every girl in school and getting turned down every time.
Jazz was honestly more preoccupied by her ongoing existential crisis about ghosts being real, and her annoyance at how insufferable her parents had been since the revelation. She was nothing if not curious and determined, though.
Her parents said a lot of things about ghosts with very little research or evidence to back their claims, but Jazz wasn't going to just hop on the bandwagon and believe everything they said. If she could, she was going to get a first-hand source on this ghost situation.
Unfortunately, not intending to go to the dance didn't exempt her from the teen-girl bonding nightmare that was helping her friends shop for their dresses. She knew she was only a part of their little group because she tutored them, and she had very little in common with any of them. But she also knew that it was good and healthy for her to socialize with people her own age, and even if she couldn't really relate to them, at least they were nice, and always tried to include her.
That didn't stop them from gently ribbing her about how unhelpful she was being when she said they looked fantastic in every dress they tried on.
Shopping got a lot more exciting, however, when a dragon showed up. Jazz went to check it out, claiming she had to go to the bathroom so the girls wouldn't try to stop her. They were too busy changing to notice the commotion outside the store.
Jazz ran to the second floor railing to get a good look at the ghost boy fighting some glowing blue dragon with a huge amulet around its neck. Jazz watched and waited for the immediate Danger to be over before calling out to him.
"Hey!" she shouted. "Ghost boy!"
The ghost swiveled around in mid-air until he saw her. She waved him over. He shook his head and gestured over his shoulder like he needed to be somewhere.
"Come on, I'll be quick!" she shouted, waving him over more insistently.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, the ghost boy floated over to her.
"Can I help you, citizen?" he asked awkwardly
"Actually, yeah," she said. "I'm Jazz Fenton, you probably know of my parents. They have some very uh... opinionated views about ghosts, and I'm looking to learn more about ghosts from a first hand source. Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?"
"I uh... I don't know how much help I'd be," the boy replied. "To be honest, I'm kind of new to the whole 'being a ghost' thing."
"That's alright," she insisted. "If you don't mind, I still think I could learn a lot from talking to you."
"Uh... alright," he agreed, and settled himself cross-legged in the air just on the other side of the second-floor railing Jazz was still standing at.
This area of the mall had pretty much been cleared out when the dragon showed up, so the two of them were alone, even in the middle of a public place.
"Shoot," he said.
"Okay." Jazz considered for a moment what her first question should be before asking, "Do ghosts have obsessions that motivate all their actions, yea or nay?"
He hummed thoughtfully. "Sort of? Maybe? I don't really know. From what I've been able to get, it seems like ghosts have more of a tendency to be obsessive than humans do, but even ghosts with obsessions aren't motivated one hundred percent solely by those obsessions."
"So would you say that ghosts have free will?" Jazz asked.
"Yes, absolutely we do." There was no hesitation in that answer, no hint of doubt.
"I think I can guess the answer, but do you think ghosts are inherently evil?"
To her surprise, the ghost boy paused before answering, titling his head from side to side like he wasn't really sure what to say.
"Well... I'm not," he answered cautiously. "I haven't met too many friendly ghosts so far, but we're definitely not inherently evil."
"Why do you fight other ghosts?" Jazz asked. "Not that I'm not grateful, but... ever since you showed up, I've been curious about that."
"Why?" he repeated.
He looked perplexed, although Jazz couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know the answer, or because he didn't know why she was even asking because it seemed so obvious to him.
"Well who else is gonna do it?" he asked. That answer did nothing to clear up Jazz's uncertainty. "I can't very well let them just cause chaos around here. They could seriously hurt people."
"What about you?" Jazz asked.
"What about me?"
"I just mean, couldn't they hurt you, too?" she asked. "I saw how you got tossed around by that dragon, and the lunch lady a little while ago. This whole situation, you fighting off ghosts ten times your size to protect humans you barely know... this just doesn't seem safe."
The ghost boy huffed a soft laugh. "What do you mean this isn't safe?" he asked. "I'm already dead, what else can they do to me?"
Jazz frowned, her brows furrowing.
"You still bleed," she said. "I've seen it. You bleed green, but you still bleed."
"So what, I bleed," the ghost boy shrugged, though his expression took on a melancholy tone. "So do you. You're telling me if you saw someone in danger, even if you didn't know them, you wouldn't try to help?"
Jazz didn't really know. Her self-preservation was strong, but so was her compassion. She would have to make that decision in the moment, not standing in a mall across from a boy her brother's age... who had died.
Her brother had almost died, too, once, not that long ago. If she had been there... if she'd had the chance to save him from the pain of that accident at the cost of her own safety, would she have?
"Do you help others because no one helped you when you were dying?" she asked.
Even as it left her mouth she could hear how rude and personal the question sounded, but it was out there now... and she wanted to know.
The ghost boy shook his head. "No one could have helped me," he said. "Even if they were there, even if they wanted to. There was no saving me. It would have just ended with two ghosts instead of one."
She opened her mouth to ask a follow up question, but was interrupted when one of her friends appeared.
"Jazz! There you are!" Marci called out. "Oh my gosh, if you needed a break from dress-shopping, you could have just said so. You didn't have to disappear on a bathroom break for twenty minutes."
"Yeah, we were actually starting to get worried about you," Jenna added. "We heard there was some kinda ghost dragon somewhere in the mall a little bit ago. We thought you might've gotten hurt."
"I'm fine, I promise," Jazz told them. "I actually left to get a closer look, but I made sure to stay a safe distance away. I've just been talking to—" Jazz cut herself off when she turned and saw that the ghost boy was gone.
"Talking to who?" Marci asked, looking at the empty air.
"To whom," Jazz corrected absently. She shook her head. "Never mind. Did you girls pick out dresses you liked?"
"Marci did," Jenna said. "So far, I haven't found anything that speaks to me, ya know? I think I've decided on the color though, I want a pretty sunset orange, like a pink-ish, dark-ish color, maybe with glitter, you know?"
"That's a bold choice," Jazz commented. She didn't know much about fashion, but she did know she didn't see a lot of people walking around in orange most of the time.
"I'm a bold girl," Jenna agreed with a laugh. "I found one orange dress, but the shape made me look like a traffic cone, it was awful!"
Jazz snickered at that mental image and Jenna and Marci laughed with her.
"Come on, there's a couple more stores we can check out to see if they have something you like," Marci suggested. "And obviously we gotta stop at the bookstore, too. We can't leave our main girl Jazz without her lit fix."
Jazz laughed again and followed them toward the next store.
—
Ever since Jazz found out the ghost boy was her brother, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd decided immediately to wait until he was ready to tell her before bringing it up, but that didn't stop it from being on her mind all the time. She wanted to protect him but there weren't a lot of ways she could do that.
She nearly freaked out on him when they started doing ghost drills at school, and couldn't exactly explain why without taking away his chance to tell her his secret on his own. Luckily, she managed to change the subject and get away without giving herself away, but it was a close call.
She didn't expect to ever get the chance to talk to Danny as the ghost boy again before he told her it was him, because frankly, he did his best to avoid humans as much as possible in his ghost form, most of all his family.
A lot happened. Danny had a million dollar bounty on his head, everyone at school got sick with ghost flu, then a bunch of teenagers had to save all the adults in town (and, embarrassingly, Jazz) when they got kidnapped by ghosts using hypnotic music.
Then the town was sucked into the Ghost Zone, and the only thing protecting them all from a tyrannical ghost king was Fenton Works' ghost shield. And Danny planned to go fight the king himself. He hadn't said it yet, but she could tell by the grim look on his face when he went outside. Jazz followed subtly, but the time she got outside he was already in ghost form, staring up at the green sky.
"Hey, ghost boy, long time, no see," she said.
"Uh... what?" he said. "I don't... oh... right, yeah. Guess it has... been a while."
"You're gonna try to fight the ghost king, aren't you?" she guessed. "Please don't. Amity Park needs you, and if you go fight him... he could destroy you. I know you think you're invincible but this isn't safe."
Danny huffed out a bitter chuckle. "What do you mean its not safe? I'm already dead," he responded, just the same way as he had the last time she told him that.
But this time she knew it wasn't true, not completely.
She remembered the last time she spoke to him as the ghost boy, how he told her that no one could have saved him when he died. She remembered hearing him screaming in the basement from all the way up on the second floor and wondered if it was true. Sam and Tucker had been with him, and she knew they would have helped if they could have.
"You're right about one thing, though," he said after a moment. "Amity Park needs me. I can't flake out on them now."
With that, he flew off to god knew where, to fight the ghost king, or his skeleton army, or the Fright Knight. She just hoped he'd be okay. He was her baby brother, and she didn't think she could handle losing him for good.
He didn't deserve any of this.
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Pt 10! (Very relevant to all their stories!)
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Lovin’ the idea of Kiri and electroreception again
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I don’t think I’ve ever truly articulated just how special these characters are to me. I’ve never stayed this interested and invested in a piece of media before, at least within recent memory
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Headaches are objectively awful for a lot of reasons, but the worst one is that the best way to cure them (or at least the bad ones I get) is to lay in a dark room for hours on end with literally nothing (maybe quiet white noise, as a treat) but of course my brain would rather die than do nothing and be quiet so I wind up just having to suffer and do things that make my headache actively worse until I either feel like crying from the pain or like throwing up in which case I then I have to stop and take a break and maybe sleep until it gets a little better, rinse and repeat until the headache goes away or I finally fall asleep for the whole night.
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I ADORE YOUR WRITING!!
what about a reader who’s unknowingly flirting with the twst wonderland cast (specifically savanclaw, octanaville and diasomnia) because of culture differences and species differences?
e.g petting their ears, giving them gifts, smiling with teeth (bc for moray eels that’s how they mate 👀)
OR fem reader who has her period and some of the twst students can smell it I LITERALLY HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT THIS 😭😭😭😭
OMLL I APPRECIATE ITTT!!! sorry for the wait!!! i chose some from each dorm bc of my character limit btw!!
azul ashengrotto
despite how much azul continues to do his best to learn about life on land… relationships are certainly difficult for him to understand sometimes considering how long he has spent his life in the sea and though there are many similarities between merpeople… there are still some differences. once azul is rather close to you he does become unintentionally— clingy with you. (when you two officially get together that's another story) but he has a habit of wanting to lean close to you or have a hand on you in some way, like on the small of your back when showing you something in the mostro lounge.
so needless to say, he is in love with any sort of touch from you he takes that as some sort of hope and sign that you reciprocate how he feels haha. jade and floyd tease him ALL the time about it especially when he was struggling to keep his cool-headed composure after you once gave him a hug after he did something to help you once.
like I've said azul really doesn't think about it or even try to be this way around you he just does aljdfajdkhf. he’ll feel like a smitten fool as he sits in the vip lounge as he's doing papers and just think about how you playfully linked your arm around his to bring him somewhere. small things like that are actually quite big to him when it comes down to the differences.
jade leech
he's aware you probably don't know that you're unknowingly flirting with him, but he finds it amusing and plays along with you, nevertheless. he thinks it's cute that you don't know and all the more enticing, you’ll find him chuckling, trying to hide his grin with his gloved hand “oh my, I didn't know you liked me that much fufu” he’d say. you can't help but feel confused as to what he finds so interesting… like you literally just yawned.
it'll take him a while to actually tell you what it means since he finds the obliviousness to be quite cute. you only put two and two together when he tells floyd about what you did right in front of him and the two laugh about it. now you've got floyd teasing u about it..
like azul he is a little more affectionate just in a different more. in a less obvious fashion, though there definitely have been a few occasions where he likes to bring your hand to his lips and see your reaction, he finds it so amusing. he always has his teethy grin plastered on his face.
leona kingscholar
he hates the way he can always tell when you're wearing cologne or perfume and he hates that he likes it as well, he may or may not be a bit addicted to your scent. he literally can tell if you're near just because he knows the damn fragrance you use.
if you two are particuarly close... like him falling asleep around you and such. if you happen to pet his head and his ears, he immediately shoots you this look then mumbles something before being too tired to do anything about it or give you some retort. he just lets it happen... he does enjoy it anyway. slowly he kinda doesnt realize how clingy he can get with you because of it. he becomes a little needy and wanting more attention from you. he cant help it.... i mean you basically just showed him that you're fine with it anyways.
leona seems to be someone who can get pretty possessive, unintentionally too over you. kind of territorial, like if you're someone he has eyes for then he doesn't expect others to really get in the way of that.
malleus draonica
malleus is not only a fae but a pretty sheltered one too, I’d think he’d take almost anything from you as a sign of you being completely infatuated with him as he is with you. you could offer split your ice cream or invite him out somewhere, show any sort of interest in him as he talks about gargoyles as he’s doing single club activities. the one time you asked curiously and wanted to touch his horns, he’d be searching for the loveliest jewel to bestow you for your wedding day.
speaking of jewels… he gifts to you a lot especially after you give him anything first (it could be a cool rock you found) and he’d be so smitten and glad to reciprocate that by giving you earrings, rings, necklaces etc. and when you accept them even though you're not exactly fully understanding why he takes it even more as a sign of you accepting his advances.
after taking any of your little acts of being somewhat kind to him and he’s already so deeply into you, lilia would certainly be someone who hears just all about it. i think he would only feel happy for malleus, as it appears he must’ve found the right one. he is just supportive of malleus and is simply overjoyed to know he has some little human that makes him so happy.
lilia vanrouge
he has lived long enough and in different places to understands human courting's and more so than someone like malleus. he knows how different it is, trust me he is fully aware, but he thinks it's amusing. lilia pretends to take it the wrong way and watch you get all confused, when he's just being playful.
just cant help that he finds it so adorable when you unknowingly show him affections as a fae would in his culture. even just being slightly affectionate with him is enough to have him giggling and warning you to be careful to what fae you do that to. they do tend to take very kindly towards any affections and gifts!
lilia will straight up tell you though too, you could gift him and give him something neat you found or made, and he'd look up at you with a stupid grin like "kfufu... i accept your love, dear" NO???. he still holds onto anything from you with the utmost joy.
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Only in Dreams
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: In his dreams, Azriel recounts how he got to his mate.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Some angst, mentions of injuries
a/n: Hi this is my first acotar fic idk what I'm doing. I've been reading them for years so here's a little one for fun <3 I know it's different from my usual but inspiration is a finicky creature :) Also, italics denote flashbacks.
~~
There was very little Azriel wouldn’t do for his mate.
He had learned that early on.
In those early days, when the bond had made itself known to only him, there was so much confusion and strife within the shadowsinger. He had known you for decades, admired you from afar, and befriended you under self-made pretenses. You were a light, a healer, too good and sweet to be anything to him other than a friend, a coworker.
But you were also his mate.
The air had been knocked from his lungs at the realization.
“Is everything okay?” you had asked, sweet confusion bunching at your brows.
And Azriel couldn’t answer, not for several long beats.
“Az, what’s wrong? You look like Cassian after he took that weird herb Majda wanted me to test.”
Another bout of silence, this time accompanied by soft, warm hands along his cheeks. You leaned in, the sweet scent knocking him out of his stupor. As he jerked back, you only followed, blinking in surprise.
“Azriel—”
“I apologize,” he finally—weakly—stammered out. “I was talking with Rhys.”
“You were talking with Rhys?”
It hadn’t sounded much like a question, but Azriel nodded anyways, enraptured by you and your closeness. He needed to get away, to leave. You were too close. He was too weak.
But then you giggled, and the sound was so melodic and saccharine that he found himself breathless again. He could get lost in that sound. If he was being honest with himself, he had gotten lost in that sound plenty of times before. But now… now. Gods, now you were his mate.
As you laughed some more, teasing retorts echoing in the air, Azriel knew you had no idea.
And, as Azriel had learned, that was fine. You didn’t need to know. Because he knew, and that was enough.
Enough for the overwhelming devotion he felt for you to finally have substance. To finally be validated.
You were his—everything sweet and good was his to protect. And, gods, did he want to protect you.
You made that very difficult in the weeks after the bond had snapped for him. His instincts were in overdrive, taking note of your every move and praying to the cauldron that you were careful when he was sent on missions and you stayed back in Velaris. He had nothing to worry about when that was the case. The inner circle loved you almost as much as he did.
But then Rhys decided you were needed.
With an unreciprocated mating bond and a mate that cared so little for her own self-preservation, that had been Azriel’s worst nightmare.
“Reconsider.”
“There is nothing to reconsider, Azriel. We need a healer in Windhaven to show them that the clipping won’t be seen to fruition. And y/n just so happens to be our court healer,” Rhys carefully explained for the third time.
“Send Majda.”
Rhys held the bridge of his nose. “There is a reason y/n took over her post. Madja is far too old to be making those kinds of trips.”
“Send anyone else,” Azriel rasped, a tightness to his words.
“No. She is the best. It will only be for a few weeks and Cassian—”
“Rhysand.”
Rhys paused at the desperation laced within his brother’s tone. He removed the fingers attempting to abate the ache along his temple and observed Azriel’s clenched fists and restless shadows. Rhys’s lips parted in shock, his eyes blinking in quick succession. Something clicked within his gaze.
“Is she…”
The muscle in Azriel’s jaw quivered. “Just don’t send her there. Please.”
Rhys raised a hand to run down his jaw. “My gods, Azriel. This is…this is—does she know?”
“No,” he replied, quick and low.
“I understand what you’re feeling, but I can’t stop her. You know that, brother.”
And, unfortunately, Azriel knew that.
When you set your mind to something—when you knew you were going to help people—that was it. There would be nothing keeping you from helping those in need. Especially the Illyrian women. Azriel was pretty sure you kept a dartboard somewhere in the house with Lord Devlon’s face on it.
He loved that about you, truly he did. But it also made you reckless.
There were plenty of instances where you burned yourself out from healing. You would come home swaying on your feet or be so depleted you couldn’t even winnow correctly. He could count on two hands the amount of times you passed out at the dinner table after work. When he thought about you doing that in Windhaven… Azriel couldn’t even stomach the thought.
“Then order her,” Azriel gritted out. He could hear you coming. You and Cassian, bags packed, chatting down the hall about something insignificant.
Why couldn’t he come, again?
Right, because he would “stir up the camp” or whatever obtuse reason Rhys had given him.
“You know that won’t go over well,” Rhys countered.
“Neither will the entirety of Windhaven if she gets hurt.”
Azriel’s threat fell on deaf ears as you came bounding into the room, bright and determined and smiling at him as if you weren’t leaving.
“Here to see us off, Az?”
That trip to Windhaven had been awful—for Azriel and for you. Rhys’s “ordering” hadn’t been effective, and neither had Cassian’s ability to pick up on context clues. As you stood, baffled at Rhys’s sudden change in plans, Cassian didn’t so much as look at Azriel’s subtle vies for assistance. Because Cassian had been just as baffled as you were.
So, you went to Windhaven.
And then you came home hurt.
Not terribly, just a few cuts and a black eye that rivaled his own from the last time he trained with the Valkyries.
Cassian explained that there had been a fight unrelated to you, but you had gotten caught up in it. He suspected it was a ploy to get hands on you, but Azriel had stopped listening to him the second you landed on the balcony with stitches on your forehead. The moment he saw your hands bandaged and your eye purple and blue.
You had laughed about your inability to fight, knocking an injured hand into Cassian’s side as he jested that it was time for you to get into the training ring with him. Later, Azriel would agree with that sentiment. In that moment, however, unparalleled fear had coursed through his veins. Rhys was the only one ready for it.
Cassian’s back slammed into the far wall of the house, wings splaying out against stone. Azriel’s shadows were gone as he held his brother against the wall, abandoning him in favor of wrapping around your wounds.
Azriel thought he heard you scream.
“You said you would protect her!” he seethed, pushing his forearm against Cassian’s throat, blue siphon blazing atop his hand.
“Azriel, stop!” Your call went unheard. Rhys stood ground in front of you, arm jutting out when you tried to get around him.
Cassian pushed back against him, face twisted in confusion. “I did. I pulled her from that fight as soon as I could, Az. You think—” his words cut off with another shove from his brother “—you think I would have let anything happen to her on purpose?”
Azriel growled, low and dangerous. “All I think is that my mate came back looking like that when you swore to take care of her. You swore.”
The room went silent, stagnant. Even the shadows halted their appraisal of you as you held onto Rhys’s arm. Cassian stopped fighting. Somewhere down the hall, the rushed footsteps of some other member of the family abruptly stopped.
“She’s your mate?”
“Azriel—” Your whisper was lost in the lingering chaos of the room.
The time after was a blur for Azriel. He knew he left the balcony, retreating to his room hastily after sending you a longing, apologetic glance. He knew you called after him, that you were breathless and shaking and Rhys kept holding you back… telling you to give him some time to cool off.
He didn’t need time. He needed you, and Azriel had been positive that would never happen now.
Half of his shadows joined him in his room, engulfing him as he sat on his bed with his head in his hands. The other half stayed with you, still worried about the pain that you had endured. It was a miracle you hadn’t sent them away. They would have listened to you if you had. They would always listen to you.
When the door creaked, his shadows covered him even more, encasing his fear and worry and embarrassment into a shell that kept him safe.
He was a fool.
“Azriel?”
He had to be imagining the sweet trill of your voice. There was no way you had come for him, not after all of that. But soon, your shoes slinked into the mess of shadows between his legs, and a bandaged hand gently guided his chin up.
When he met your eyes, his shadows circled faster. His wings fell lower and lower against the bed, giving himself up to your gaze.
“Azriel,” you repeated, music within the swish of dark air. “Care to explain, shadowsinger?”
The bruises on your face made his stomach turn. He went to look away, to escape this physical and mental turmoil, but you only locked your wrists and kept him there.
It took him a moment, but he finally relented.
“You are my mate,” he spoke, gravely and unsure—even though that was the one thing Azriel was sure of above all else. “You are my mate and you are hurt. I am sorry for my actions… if I scared you or—”
“I wasn’t asking about the display of male violence on the balcony.” Your teasing smile made some of his shadows rest.
It also made hope swell within the deepest parts of Azriel’s wearied chest.
You didn’t look forlorn at his offhanded declaration, nor did you look repulsed. You just looked like… you. You looked at him as you always had, and maybe that meant something.
Maybe that was something for Azriel to hold onto.
“How long have you known?” you asked, when he spent a moment too long admiring the upturn of your mouth.
Azriel blinked, moving his eyes back to your own. “A while.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me?” You didn’t sound accusatory, or even angry as he was sure Feyre had all those years ago. You only sounded sad. That made it worse.
“I wanted to tell you,” Azriel stressed, leaning forward on the bed to capture your legs between his. “I wanted to, I just—y/n, I just…”
There was no solid explanation. You didn’t rush him as he stumbled over his words—you were patient, as you always were. You were patient and Azriel was a coward.
Determination set a line in his brow.
“I was a coward,” he affirmed. “I didn’t want to push you away… to make you feel unsure or pressured. You are… you are everything. You have been everything to me for many years now. If I had ruined that—if I had pushed something upon you that you did not want—”
“Has it occurred to you, Azriel, that I would very much like to be your mate?”
Azriel paused his spiel, licking his drying lips as he searched your eyes for the lie.
“Only when I dream.”
You had kissed him after that, all bruised and scratched and broken, and Azriel found himself dreaming.
As he stared at you across the sitting room, surrounded by your raucous, disruptive family, Azriel dreamed again. The glow of the fire lit up the side of your face as you laughed, sending warmth up the long-accepted mating bond, and he dreamed of you in every iteration of his life.
And he would do anything to keep that dream alive.
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˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊
let’s go back to my roots. let’s talk about girly, prissy, spoiled bunny!reader with rafe.
you’re untouchable, kook royalty just for your attachment to the cameron’s but you don’t even care about all of that. all you care about, is rafes time money and attention.
he loves you a lot, but more so — he puts up with your shit. whilst you don’t have much of an attitude, soft in all corners of your life, you can still manage to be a nightmare. you clutter his sink with your makeup and skincare, decidedly a maximalist when it came to your self care and beautification rituals. he plucks a clump of mink eyelashes from the side of the sink, something he nearly mistook for a spider and sets it aside— only calling out a “jesus chr — bun, told you to clear out your shit. my bathroom looks like fuckin’ sephora. in here, now.” before he hears the soft padding of your feet come tottering along, happy to do as your told.
if that’s not making him huff and puff — it’ll surely be the outfits, moreso scraps of fabric you parade around in. expensive, according to his black card, for items of clothing that cover so little — and he can’t say you don’t get your moneys worth, toddling around in strappy powder pink dresses that leave nothing to the imagination or white mini skirts that cling to the fold of the bottom of your ass cheeks, giving not only the chumps at the country club a good look — but his closest friends too. his life had become a sequence of tugging down your hem, manhandling you to be decent. “you—y-you think i need my fuckin’ friends getting an eyeful of your pussy each time you move? are we gonna have to have another talk about what’s appropriate, bunny girl? huh? or maybe the belt will help you learn a valuable lesson. fuck.” he sulks, stomping around after his threat. you’re clung to his bicep with a dazed smile only five minutes later because his mean treatment usually flew through one bedazzled ear and came out the other. soft and dopey as ever.
back to him ‘putting up with you’, there’s a ton of reasons why that is. like aforementioned, he does love you a lot. you’re his little prized possession, his trophy. you were soft in all the ways that mattered and understanding, always listening when no one else would, even if he was admittedly in the wrong. that, and you really did fuck like a bunny rabbit.
you had a libido that was constantly set to high, all hours of the day. you were a chronic pillow humper when rafe wasn’t available to sate you, the man often times walking in to find you teary eyed with a white lacy thong binding your spread knees, pulled down just enough to grind your messy, glossy pussy against the fluffed white pillow from his side of the bed. because really, you were a chronic rafe humper— but you were well behaved enough to know that sometimes he had to handle business and didn’t have the time to feed your greedy cunt.
you’d grown accustom to taking him in any position too, whether it was in doggy style — waving your plush ass in the air, pointing that fluffy pink bunny-tail butt plug straight at him as you mewl into expensive pillows, or you’re crouched on his lap on the couch, feet planted either side of him, a high pitched whimper punched out of you each time you slam your hips back down on his cock, mushroom tip thumping your cervix. you said you liked the pain, liked when it bruised, liked when you could still feel him the next day when you missed him. reminded you of how grateful you are to have a boyfriend who dicks you good.
you had a little obsession that was serving as a problem though— having to give you plenty of ‘sit down talks’ when he talks to you real slow like you’re stupid because you keep begging him to breed you. it seemed no amount of “sweetheart, i’on know how many times i have to say this to get it through that head, but you are too young for a baby. i—i gotta get my shit together first, alright? promised you as many babies as you want after i secure tannyhill did i not? i…i really need your patience… okay?” would stop you from bouncing on his cock with a feverish and determined look in your eye, or locking your legs around his waist when he’s about to nut— babbling tearfully as you beg “please daddy, please gimme a baby. please want — want your babies!”
you’re lucky he was so much stronger than you, often wrestling you down to straddle your face and aim his cock at your mouth before he blew his load, gritting out a spiteful “well you’re gonna have to fuckin’ swallow them ‘til the time comes. fuck.” through gritted teeth as you mewl miserably (but lap it up nonetheless)
you gave him trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle. he wouldn’t trade his spoiled bunny girl for the world.
˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊
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so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.
notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.
mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)
the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.
DEPOSITED.
when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.
it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.
the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.
he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.
he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.
there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.
he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.
he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.
he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.
there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.
the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.
he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.
the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.
he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.
"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.
"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."
the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.
ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.
he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.
his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.
the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.
you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.
"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"
your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.
"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.
"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."
you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.
"what did he do?"
"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.
"y'try to put your hands on'er?"
"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"
"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.
when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.
he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.
"let me look at ya, little rabbit."
you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.
so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.
his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.
you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.
then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.
filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.
but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.
"you olright, luv?"
you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.
he is a dog, and he is fond of you.
you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.
but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.
the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.
your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.
it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?
it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.
johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.
the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.
but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.
he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.
fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--
he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.
you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.
there is something wrong with you.
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I Want You to Stay (03) | JJK
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut
Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)
Chapter Word count: 14.8k
Series Masterlist
Status: Ongoing
Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.
Playlist 🎶: on the way home
A/N: I've been thoroughly enjoying your asks and replies about this story (sorry I can’t get to each one!) I see that a lot can relate to what OC's going through and I'm sending you hugs! 🤗 Again, I appreciate your love and excitement. And uh... Golden JK in that white tank. YUP. 🤭 Hoping you enjoy this one!
And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰
PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!
The spring in your step tightens the closer you get to Jungkook’s penthouse the next Monday. Walking here to start another week, there’s a mix of emotions you’re carrying with you.
You got to spend a proper weekend. On Friday, you made yourself some cold noodles and then watched a movie with Jimin and Soomin on video call, who’d said they’ll be visiting you in a week. You took the train to Daegu on Saturday, went to the park, then stayed in to enjoy Min-woo’s cooking and the girls’ stories about school and their youth clubs. You then buried yourself in your mother’s embrace as you told her about your week. You didn’t want to say too much, not wanting her to worry that her daughter isn’t being treated well at her job, but you suppose you said enough.
“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from everything,” she’d told you softly. “All I can do is just give you hugs and say words of encouragement that might not even mean much.”
“And you still are, mom. I look forward to being with you because of those hugs. But more than that, you were strong enough to protect me from the bad guys,” you’d assured her. “Jungkook is many things but he’s not a terrible person. I can handle him.”
And you meant it. He may be hot-tempered sometimes but he’s not evil. But just because he made you go home early last Friday, it also doesn’t mean he’s suddenly redeemed in your mind. Sure, he didn’t email you at all over the weekend unlike last time, but he also still didn’t apologize to you nor show remorse.
Perhaps that small nod after he called you telling you that you could go home was his way of saying sorry, or maybe it just isn’t in his vocabulary. You wonder if Hoseok had told him off but even then, it’s a pretty quick change, if you could call it that.
Regardless, you felt like a human being again these past few days; you just wish Jungkook woke up on the right side of the bed this morning and doesn’t find a reason to complain about you.
Unlocking the door, you’re surprised to hear silence - there are no grunts and deep breaths nor the sound of leather hitting leather from his morning workout. You scan the floor before walking around - a habit you’ve developed after finding that laced underwear last week - and then peep into the door on the right, only to find untouched equipment and no other traces of him.
You’re in the living room when you hear another door close, prompting you to turn around and see a woman appearing from the hallway on the other side of the penthouse. Her hair’s a bit disheveled and she’s wearing one of Jungkook’s coats that you saw in his closet.
“Uh, who are you?” The woman scoffs, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised now.
Taken aback, you just stare at her, until you realize she’s not wearing anything underneath so you look away.
You try to make sense of who she is and how you could get out of this situation. You know for a fact that Jungkook doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least that’s what Lucas had told you, but who knows what Jungkook’s been up to since he got back? There was that red laced underwear from last week after all. Maybe he does sleep around like what Do-hyun said. Maybe this woman just doesn’t know Jungkook has a female assistant. Maybe he’s—
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says, sounding more annoyed now.
“Oh. Uh, I’m Mr. Jeon’s—”
“She’s my assistant,” Jungkook answers, catching you off guard, given that you hadn’t noticed him walk in.
He’s not in his usual workout attire, although him in a white tank top and gray sweatpants with mussed hair somehow seems more overwhelming than him in nothing but gym shorts. You glance at him as he stands next to the woman, whose face suddenly lights up. Not wanting to look at her, you shift your gaze towards the ceiling, trying hard not to look awkward as you’re rooted in place.
The woman looks at you from head to toe and you feel her judging you, assessing you, while Jungkook stands there, yawning and combing his hair with his fingers.
“Just your assistant?” She asks, sounding incredulous.
“Yeah. What else would she be?” Jungkook answers nonchalantly. Looking at you, he nods ever so slightly that you almost miss it, another hint of acknowledgement you’d seen last Friday. “Just eggs on toast. And coffee.”
“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you say, exhaling the breath you were holding and then walking to the kitchen to start on his breakfast.
“I don’t know, another one of your girls? I see you with a new one every time,” she huffs, sounding bitter, but Jungkook doesn’t sound amused.
“What are you still doing here?” He asks, walking to where you are then taking the glass of water you prepare for him. “I called a service for you last night.”
“I was too tired,” she says, and you don’t miss the sultry tone of her voice now. “You tired me out, Jungkook. I could barely get off the bed.”
“And why are you still here?” He asks, clearly not having it with her teasing.
“Because I’m still tired,” she smirks, having followed him to the kitchen.
You feel tense once more; you definitely don’t want to be part of this conversation in any way nor be privy to it, especially given what obviously happened between them last night. And especially not with Jungkook looking and sounding the way he does this early Monday morning.
“And I was thirsty,” she continues.
He sets his glass down and opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water that he hands over to her.
“Ugh, how romantic,” she rolls her eyes, finishing it in a few gulps.
“I have to go to work,” he tells her, frustrated that she’s being stubborn about not leaving when he no longer seems to want her around.
“Actual work, or, you know, work?” She says, gesturing towards you.
You make the mistake of looking at her smug face, the insinuation not lost on you. It’s insane how she can just make claims like that, and you feel that just like you, Jungkook’s getting pissed.
“Can you just leave?” He says much more sternly now. “I can’t start my day with you still here.”
“Ooh, how rude,” she giggles. “Should’ve expected you’d be like that even outside of bed. I like that.”
She walks back to the room, leaving you and Jungkook on your own. You continue to work on his eggs while he stands by the counter, rubbing his temples. You’re unsure if it’s because of her or from last night’s alcohol, but you get aspirin and also a bottle of energy drink and set them in front of him before returning to preparing his meal.
The woman comes back shortly in last night’s attire then walks towards Jungkook.
“I’m leaving,” she announces, tilting his chin so he would face her. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”
Jungkook turns away and does not respond, leaving her to laugh as if there’s a joke that only she’s in on.
“Going all quiet on me now, huh?” She says. “You weren’t like that last night. I can still hear your moans, actually. Fuck, they sounded so good and so loud.”
You almost hit your finger as you slice the apple, clearly not expecting for this stranger to say something so intimate, knowing there’s another person in the room with them. You don’t know if she wants to intimidate you for whatever reason or maybe just make you feel uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it’s working, as you’re unable to focus on the task at hand now.
Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, and it’s what prompts her to finally say goodbye.
“Fine, I’ll leave now,” she whines. “But that was an amazing first time. I hope it won’t be the last.”
Her giggle annoys you for some reason, even more when you mistakenly look her way. Her smug face unnerves you as she holds your gaze while she says, “I’ll see you again, okay? I’ll make sure you’ll scream my name next time,” the words obviously directed at Jungkook.
She finally exits the penthouse but she doesn’t take the tension with her because in this large apartment with you and him, you feel a little too hot, a little too alert, yet somehow a little too curious.
Jungkook groans now as he finishes his energy drink, and he doesn’t know what he’s more frustrated about - the fact that the woman whose name he doesn’t remember didn’t go home, or that you’d found out about it in the most embarrassing way and he’d done nothing to stop her attempts at making you feel uncomfortable because that’s definitely what she was doing.
He doesn’t know how it affected you but even he can tell that it wouldn’t have been good. Not that he’s ashamed of his lifestyle but it’s different when you, of all people, get to see what that looks like. You did see the laced underwear on his kitchen floor last week, and he knows you definitely tried to pretend you hadn’t. Perhaps the image of arrogant, playboy Jungkook just solidified in your head and the fact that maybe that’s what you think of him is making him feel uneasy.
Not that he cares about what you think - he definitely does not - but he just doesn’t want that to affect how you would treat him in a professional sense, as if he’s some reckless man who works too hard and parties much harder, even if that’s kind of what he does.
The hangover doesn’t help at all; he shouldn’t have chugged that wine while the woman was giving him head, which was amazing, he reminds himself. He just knows he won’t be seeing her again after this morning because she’d been stubborn and shameless, and definitely not because of how she spoke to you and the insinuations she made.
“Mr. Jeon, your breakfast is ready,” you inform him, breaking him out of his thoughts.
He takes a seat on the table and you sit next to him, taking out your iPad to start your rundown of last Friday’s meeting and this week’s schedule.
“So—”
“Wait, give me a minute,” he stops you, and he realizes just how little sleep he actually got and he’s gonna have to push through today’s busy schedule despite feeling physically out of it.
“Okay, sir,” you say softly.
He munches on his toast with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, his gaze falls on you, sitting upright on the chair looking clean and proper in your blush blouse and beige skirt. You seem to be reviewing the reports from last week, your eyebrows scrunched as you scribble on the screen. He knows you took the hours-long trip to and from Daegu over the weekend; the visit, just like any, must have been tiring. Yet you come to his place everyday without fail, ready to do what he needs you to do, and he doesn’t even know if you’ve had anything to eat yet.
“Have you had breakfast?” He asks.
“E-excuse me?”
“Breakfast. Have you had it?”
“O-oh. Yes, I had some crackers and fruit on the way. I ate on the bus,” you respond.
He remembers your address from your staff profile. You live about 40 minutes from him, almost double if you commute. You come at 6:30 everyday, so he can only imagine what it’s like for you every morning.
“Why don’t you drive?”
“I don’t have a car, sir.”
“Shouldn’t that be part of your contract? Or a benefit of some sort?”
“It isn’t. I believe only the CEO’s assistant does,” you respond.
“Bitna has a company car.”
“Ms. Jung requested that when she was still President.”
“Then I’ll request one for you. It's… it’s too early. And you can’t always be assured of public transportation. There could be delays. Or an emergency that would require you to drive.”
Of course, he’d want you to get a car so that you’re more accessible to him. Just when you thought there’s actually a bit of his heart working this time, he reminds you why there isn’t.
“That’s true, but nothing has happened so far. And there are other options should there be,” you say. “I also don’t know how to drive so there is no need, Mr. Jeon. I leave my apartment early enough to make sure I get here on time, and I’ll let you know if I will be late.”
Jungkook just hums, even if there’s more he wants to know. What about late nights? What if there’s a storm? Well, he does know - he did see you miss out on taxis and then just walk last Tuesday; he wonders how you got home then, and how many hours of sleep you had after all that.
He lets it go; it’s too early to think about this.
“Good. We can run through the minutes now,” he says.
So you do, stating the points and confirming your actions for each one and then noting down his as well. You try to focus, and you’re able to for the most part, but it’s not easy when he sits just a few feet away from you, with his bare arms propped on the table that’s just hard to look away from.
You’ve always liked tattoos on other people, and the art on his right arm looks so delicate and personal; you wonder what someone like him would value enough to ink permanently on his skin. Even his untouched arm is mesmerizing, toned like every other part of him, with beauty marks that you spot as well. It doesn’t help that his slightly long hair keeps falling over his eyes, prompting him to comb them with his fingers every time.
What also doesn’t help are the woman’s words from earlier, as she’d managed to make you think of Jungkook in a very different way, given her descriptions of how he’d been last night. You don’t know what she intended by doing that, but you didn’t miss her insinuations about your relations with him, which are definitely far from the truth. Learning that he’s rough and loud in bed is also knowledge that you could’ve done without. Somehow, he sounds like how he looks - expressive of negative emotions, and the type to drain the other person.
He also sounds like the guys you’ve slept with.
The thought alarms you. These are things you shouldn’t be thinking about your boss, about the man who pays you, about the one who makes you miss meals and buses and who makes you angry because of how he treats you.
You try to dispel these ideas by coughing - the loud sound helps, and you also want to distract yourself from how distracted you are at your task because somehow he keeps getting more and more attractive after every glance.
He stands up, and just when you thought he’d be angry after your disruption, he surprises you by placing a glass of water in front of you.
“You can drink, you know? You can make yourself a cup of coffee. You can even cook yourself breakfast if it’s just crackers you eat in the morning,” he says.
Yes, you think to yourself. You’ve been wanting to try his coffee because of the fancy machine but breakfast sounds… too domestic.
“Thank you, but I’m okay. I mean, the snacks fill me up just fine.”
“It’s not proper breakfast, though,” he argues.
“With all due respect, sir, eating takes time away from all the things I have to do. I manage just fine.”
Expecting an annoyed expression from him because you did just imply that you do too much, you instead see the tiniest hint of guilt on his face, as if he actually feels bad that you’re unable to take care of yourself because of him.
“You’re not a servant, Ms. Cho. You’re not disallowed to do basic things just because of your job.”
“You have standards, Mr. Jeon,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You don’t expect to see his face fall a little, and you’re surprised that you seem to care. “I need to meet them, and I’m still familiarizing myself with how you want things done, and that takes time. I don’t mean to imply that you treat me like a servant because you don’t. I just… I want to be able to do things right and I’m still learning.”
The words hit Jungkook. He knows he’d been too critical during these first weeks, and that’s more because he’s unable to manage the initial attraction that he’s trying so hard to temper. He could’ve gone on correcting you constructively, with no need for harshness the way he did with Lucas when he started.
You’ve also been doing this for a few years. You’ve been working for the VP’s office longer than he has - you know the people and the processes more, yet you’re the one claiming you need to learn and do things right. Even he thinks his father, whom he never thought was the best at looking out for his people, wouldn’t be angry at those below him for irrational reasons. Somehow he thinks he’s worse than his old man now.
But the word sorry isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d rarely ever said it, and the only reason he’d heard it a lot growing up was because people caused his inconvenience, and not because they’d hurt his feelings. He doesn’t know what that’s like - forgiving and wanting to be forgiven. They’re foreign to him, but somehow those are what you’re making him want to know.
“I—”
“Can we move on, Mr. Jeon?” You interrupt him. “You have a scheduled check-in with your father before the 8:30 team meeting.”
“Right, that’s today,” Jungkook says, letting go of any form of apology he could muster.
He nods then stands up to head to his bathroom, and you follow shortly after to arrange his outfits for the week. You clean up in the kitchen after and wait for him to come out, with you reflexively walking up to him to fix his tie and make sure all the creases on his clothes are fixed.
Jungkook tries to remain still as you, like everyday, make sure he looks proper. It always took him a long time to get ready because he used to do all this on his own, but with you taking on the unofficial stylist role - which he admits you do a great job at - he’s relieved of that added stress of looking the part of a Vice President. It just also means that every morning, he has to look unaffected as you stand close to him like this, with you tightening his tie and your fingers grazing his clothed chest.
You smell like roses. It feels warm and nostalgic, like it’s familiar but also something new. It’s refreshing on you, and it wafts through his nose and paralyzes him a little. He tries to hold his breath like always, only briefly glancing at your focused eyes as you make sure he looks impeccable.
He’s caught off guard when you look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t react, but he does linger and surprisingly, so do you. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how to. He just hopes you feel it somehow with how he looks at you; he’d like to think you do, as you gently bow and step back, taking your things to go down.
You go through his schedule while in the car, noting his dinner meetings and that the food tasting for next month’s event with the art industry professionals that you’re both organizing has been moved to next week, freeing up his Thursday lunch hour.
“I’ll schedule my visit at Taehyung’s tailor shop that day then,” Jungkook states. “I’ll have a few suits done.”
“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you reply, adjusting his calendar.
He doesn’t say anything after. He takes his leather notebook and sketches like he often does, looking out his window only a few times as he’s engrossed in his drawings. Even with all that he is, you can’t deny Jungkook’s talent. You only know he took an architecture course but you don’t know if he actually practices it.
You start to wonder if Jungkook wanted that to be his profession but couldn’t pursue it because he’s expected to manage the company with his cousin. You wonder if he’d always been into drawing and the arts, if it was an outlet the way reading picture books was for you; you’d wanted to become an illustrator but your mother couldn’t afford drawing classes and that profession just didn’t seem like it could sustain you financially. You wonder what Jungkook thinks when he sketches and what his subjects are, if he feels at peace the way he looks, if he hopes he could just spend his days doing this.
The seeming warmth in your thoughts about this man concerns you, prompting you to turn away from his direction and stare out the window instead. You remind yourself that this is the same person who’d made the past two weeks miserable for you; he doesn’t deserve warmth from you in any form, even if, for the briefest moment earlier after you fixed his tie, that’s what you gave him. You learned that he’s quite mesmerizing when he doesn’t talk or when he isn’t scowling. You also learned you’re quite quick to fall into it when you let your guard down a little.
You groan internally. There’s a lot you don’t know about him and you don’t really care to know more; what you know is enough to put you off anyway. And so these moments of weakness - of curiosity, of concern - should not happen again.
Except, they do happen, over an hour later after Jungkook returns to his room from his check-in with his father. He sits on his chair, his eyes closed and jaws clenched, unmoving for a good few minutes, and you watch from your seat, wondering what transpired that’s got him this disturbed.
It happens again an hour later. He moved the team meeting to the afternoon and he’s now furiously typing on his desktop, making calls, sketching, making calls again, then sitting still with his eyes closed once more. Hoseok walks in, merely nodding at you, then enters the room and speaks with the younger man. Jungkook closes the blinds, and you’re left to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors and what’s got him angry and frustrated.
You take your chance at finding out when Hoseok emerges, asking him if everything’s okay, if Jungkook is okay.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hoseok says, a half smile on display, something you’re only a tad familiar with. “He’ll manage.”
He rushes out, saying he has a meeting to get to, and you nod, glancing at the closed door and blocked window, wondering what troubles Jungkook is handling on his own. If it’s personal, it’s clearly not your business. But if it’s work-related, then it is. You’re there to make things easier for him, after all. You also don’t want to be surprised and be bombarded by new tasks just in case, so it’s better to know if there’s something you can help in resolving things as well.
You walk in his room then place the ginger lemon tea on his desk, a common home remedy for hangovers, just in case last night’s events are still affecting him. You inform him that you’ve sent the reports already for his sign-off, and he responds that he’ll get to them tomorrow.
Glancing at his drink, he halts his typing to look at you.
“Do I look hungover to you?” He asks pointedly.
It’s clearly not what you meant, but you suppose the insinuation isn’t what he needs right now. You want to be swallowed by the ground. He was already calm towards you, civil even, and now there’s another reason for him to be upset at you. You wanted to avoid any possibility of that as much as possible, and now you’re here, at the verge of being told off again, just because your stupid brain decided to care the tiniest bit.
“I, uh, no, Mr. Jeon,” you stutter. “I just…”
You don’t have a reason. Clearly, you can’t tell him that he hasn’t seemed okay all morning - whatever that means - and that just in case it’s last night’s alcohol affecting him, there’s a cure. You stare back at him with worry, but instead of challenging or questioning you, he just sits back with his eyes closed again and dismisses you.
“You may leave,” he instructs.
“What about lunch, sir?” You ask.
You’d never cared before, why the change now?
“I’m fine,” he responds. “Call me when the meeting’s about to start.”
Your stubborn self takes the box of biscuits from the coffee table and places it in front of him. You’re pushing it, you think, but there’s a meeting he’ll be leading and he can’t be unfocused; when he is, it’s all the worse for you.
He doesn’t react and you walk out. When you enter an hour later to call him, you spot the empty cup and the crumbs on the saucer, and you can’t help the tiny smile that you make internally.
It’s short-lived though, as that whole afternoon, he acts unusually - he barely makes comments at updates, he doesn’t make eye contact, and doesn’t ask further questions. He just nods when you say you’re heading out at 6PM, giving you no added tasks to keep you from leaving.
You enter his penthouse the next morning to the banging of leather hitting leather, prompting you to jerk from the loud sounds. He’s grunting and panting heavily, and you just know that whatever it was that transpired yesterday, he’s releasing all his emotions right now, through this.
He exits the gym and walks to the counter where you are, finishing the water you laid for him in three gulps.
“Do you need that tended to?” You ask.
He looks surprised. You gesture towards his hands and he looks at his bruised knuckles; he really let it all out this morning, it seems.
“I’m fine,” he shrugs.
You didn’t think those two words from him would ever make you feel discouraged, but one thing you’ve come to learn about Jungkook is that he easily expresses his anger and frustration towards other people. It’s when he keeps things in that they seem more serious, and you wonder what words he heard yesterday that might have made him this closed off, this quiet, this much more distant.
But fortunately, your feeling of worry fades with each day that passes, as he slowly returns to his normal self after - the focus, the perpetually serious look, the attention to detail, the sketching on his notebook. Perhaps Jungkook just needed a particular kind of release and he’s maybe handling things better now.
For his sake and yours, you wish the issue has been resolved, otherwise another blow up might happen and that wouldn’t be good for your newfound dynamic that’s a lot more civil than anything.
It’s Thursday when you get a call at 5 in the morning, just as you’ve woken up to get ready for work, and Mr. Ri’s voice greets you on the other end.
“Hi, ___. How are you this morning?”
“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you yawn, curious as to why he’s checking up on you this early. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he hums. “I was instructed by Mr. Jeon to pick you up today.”
“Why would CEO Jeon ask that?” You wonder, as you sleepily walk to the bathroom to wash up.
“He didn’t. Jungkook did.”
You stop on your tracks. You don’t recall being informed about this, nor do you know of any particular reason why you should be at his place so soon.
“Oh, uhm, okay. I should be ready in–”
“I’ll be there in about 50 minutes,” Mr. Ri interjects. “Sleep in a bit more and have some breakfast. I’ll see you shortly.”
You try not to think about what prompted Jungkook to have you picked up, so you focus on getting ready and then whipping yourself some fried rice using the leftover seafood from last night. You won’t lie, it tastes delicious. It might be that you just haven’t had proper weekday breakfast in a while, but it could also be that you’re energized enough and not pressed for time that you’re able to make this as good as it is.
You decide to bring some to Jungkook’s place just in case you get there late. Sure, Mr. Ri will be driving you, but you don’t know how the traffic is at this time, and this change in schedule is somewhat making you anxious. But then again, there’s always bread or cereal for him to eat; you just think that a little act of thanks wouldn’t be so bad.
Mr. Ri arrives exactly 50 minutes later and he assures you that he’ll get you to the penthouse in half an hour. You trust him of course; he’s been with the Jeons for decades and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Seated in the passenger seat, you try to figure out what about today has got your boss a little kinder than usual.
“I arrived five minutes late yesterday,” you wonder out loud. “Is that why? He has a meeting with a local artist in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be late. That should be it. Ugh, stupid,” you groan. “I should’ve taken the first bus I saw, but it was so full and–”
“___,” Mr. Ri stops you. “Five minutes isn’t much. Plus, you always arrive 10 minutes before 6:30 and then just wait at the lobby. I don’t know why you do, you could always just go up to the penthouse when you get there, you know?”
“No, I don’t. Mr. Jeon has boundaries and clearly likes keeping his distance. Going to his penthouse before I’m supposed to be there feels like I’m intruding,” you argue.
“You’re literally his assistant, and you go to his bedroom and his closet, fix his things, prepare his meals… there’s no intrusion happening,” Mr. Ri counters. “I know the man. He’ll probably just look at you curiously then go about his routine.”
“Well, since you know him so well, then why did he have me picked up this morning?”
There’s a brief silence before the man next to you responds.
“He did note that you were late for the first time, but that wasn’t his issue,” Mr. Ri says, appeasing you before you react negatively and think that your tardiness was a big deal. “He asked if I knew how you got to Hoseok’s place before and I said you would just take the bus; it was closer to your place so it was fine. They have someone to make his breakfast, too, so you didn’t need to come early; plus, you only went every Monday.”
“What a change, huh?” You attempt to poke fun at yourself and the new arrangement you’re in.
Not that you’re complaining; you know of other executive assistants who do much more for their bosses and what you have with Jungkook isn’t even that bad. But it is quite the shift compared to what you did for Hoseok. You’ve figured out your own routine, though. And the commute isn’t always terrible, for as long as you’re not one of the unlucky ones, given the recent incidents.
“It’s quite the change. I don’t think he realized that until yesterday. He also asked me if I know if you eat properly in the morning. Maybe he thinks you don’t?”
“I’ve skipped meals…” you trail. “And well, I told him that I just eat crackers on the bus. Maybe he thinks I’m losing focus some days.”
“Maybe he’s just concerned.”
You snort at the absurdity of the statement.
Mr. Ri sighs. He knows that Jungkook hasn’t been his best self since he arrived in Seoul, and especially towards you. He’s noticed the young man’s indifference, the occasional passive remark, the frustrated looks, and the tension every morning. He’s noticed your faraway eyes, too, your constant anxiety, and unusual lack of confidence in your usual tasks, given that you look to be second-guessing everything you do.
As someone who’s worked for the Jeons for so long and who’d watched Jungkook grow up, he’s used to the detachment, but it was always because the young man often lived in his own head. There are always lots of thoughts and ideas, and lots of feelings he keeps bottled in.
But he’s also seen Jungkook’s kindness that he doesn’t always show, the guilt and anger that restrain him from expressing his emotions, and the care that he seems to put a brake on when he shows too much of it to someone, and so it isn’t much of a surprise to him to him when the young man gave this specific instruction to pick you up, not just today but everyday moving forward.
“The news on the radio reported on the robberies and complaints of sexual harassment against female commuters last night,” Mr. Ri continues. “They attack at any hour now. I’m sure that’s why. He wants me to drive you home everyday, too.”
“Mr. Ri, that’s too much,” you protest. “That’s not part of my contract and it isn’t his responsibility.”
“Maybe, precisely why I think he’s concerned. It isn’t about making sure you’re not late to work or anything. He’s worried that something might happen to you. And I agree. It isn’t safe, ___.”
“It’s not safe for me anywhere. I just… it’s too much,” you sigh. “I don’t need this kind of service. I’m not entitled to it.”
“He’ll insist though. Will you argue with him over your own security? I mean, it’s either this or he’ll pay for your driving lessons and then request for a car for you to use.”
You sigh, knowing he has a point. You don’t think you deserve it but you also can’t deny that the concern makes you feel a certain kind of way for him; gratitude, for one, and something else you can’t exactly name.
“Okay,” you say softly.
“Good. It’s about time he makes it up to you,” he chuckles. “Boy’s been a brat these past weeks. I wanted to just knock some sense into him.”
“Hmm, not like I expected any less,” you huff. “He just looked grumpy or disinterested during the times I’ve seen him before. Unhappy people like that aren’t always the kindest. Has he always been that way?”
“I wouldn’t say he has. I mean, he just wasn’t joyful or expressive, not like his brother. Jungkook liked to keep to himself; Hoseok often tried to push him out of his comfort zone but the boy wouldn’t really budge. I think as he grew up, that just amplified. People who prefer being alone have their reasons, don’t they?”
They do. You know this just like anyone, perhaps as much as Jungkook. It’s comfortable being alone; there’s no one to hurt you and no one you could hurt. You wonder if his reason is the same, and if, like you, he feels the loneliness creep in every once in a while.
You nod in silence and the conversation doesn’t continue until you arrive at Jungkook’s building. You have five minutes to get to his unit and you get there in three. When you enter, you hear grunting from the gym, and it’s shortly after when he exits and drinks the glass of water on the counter.
“What’s that?” He gestures at the plastic container next to you.
“It’s fried rice. I made it this morning because I had time to eat breakfast at home,” you say, softly smiling and then bowing at him to show your gratitude. Whatever his reason is, the act was appreciated.
“And you’re gonna eat again?”
“I was actually–”
You stop midway. You actually meant to serve it to him in case you arrived late, which you realize is pretty ridiculous.
“Actually what?” He asks, leaning forward on the counter now, with his bare arms from his tank top blinding you a little.
“I didn’t know what time I was gonna get here so I thought as a last resort, I’ll bring this to heat up and serve to you but then I realized that that’s pretty stupid because it’s leftovers and definitely not high-quality ingredients and it’s… just silly. Plus, you don’t eat rice in the morning.”
With his scrunched brows, he asks, “is it good?”
“It’s pretty delicious,” you say. “I mean, I liked it. I don’t know how sophisticated your palate is… Mr. Jeon.”
You smack yourself internally for rambling.
“What’s that got to do with anything? If it’s good, then it’s good.”
“I’m an ordinary person, Mr. Jeon. I have normal people’s taste buds.”
“So that makes me, what? Abnormal?”
“No… I–” you unknowingly pout. You shouldn’t have brought this in the first place.
Jungkook is disarmed again at the sight of your pouty face. If this is your way of thanking him for this morning, he’ll take it. The fact that you’d brought something you cooked from your own place to feed to him is already enough to make him feel hazy, which is why he needs to get away from you right away.
“Just heat it up. I’ll have that. There’s not much food in here anyway,” he says, walking away, leaving you no room to resist.
You do as you’re told, not wanting to overthink and change anything. You do check the cupboard and see a stashed pantry, and you wonder if he’d wanted to find something to criticize about your cooking, too.
He walks in and lets you fix his tie again, and for some reason, you feel more nervous than you normally do today. You sit and busy yourself with responding to emails as he eats his breakfast, careful not to look at him while he does.
“It’s good, a little better than how I do mine,” he says, surprising you.
“You cook?” You ask too quickly.
“Of course,” he frowns, looking a little offended. “I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?”
“Hiring people to do it for you,” you shrug.
Peeking at him once again, you see that he’s almost finished with the dish, and you can’t help the little smile on your face at the thought that he might actually enjoy it. It’s just fried rice, but you let yourself feel the shallow happiness from this. He’s at least not berating you or anything.
He finishes his meal as you go through yesterday’s meetings. There’s not much about the Arts Center he says, just like yesterday and the day before, and you start to wonder if the issue with his father has anything to do with that.
You let it go, opting to just follow his pace and let him talk about it when he’s ready, if he ever will be.
The morning goes by smoothly. Jungkook meets with Yoongi in his office then reviews the reports you’d sent last Monday. He sends you an email, saying that they’ve been approved and for you to attach his signature for sign-off and dissemination, leaving you perplexed at the lack of any other comments again.
He goes for a quick lunch at the dining hall while you eat a sandwich at the pantry, and not long after, you’re back in the car to head to Jungkook’s appointment with his best friend.
Kim Taehyung’s tailor shop boasts of classic European design. It’s elegant in all the ways that he is, as he stands by the desk in his working space, a smaller room on the mezzanine floor with an exquisite couch and displays of his work. He’s donned in an orange suit that you think only he can pull off, while his brother, Seokjin, sits on a chair in an impeccable black 3-piece.
You know as much that Jungkook grew up with both men, but while the brothers are often a hot topic on the news because of their wealth, their successful businesses, and colorful dating lives, you now wonder how Jungkook managed to stay out of the spotlight despite being a lot of the things that they are.
You bow at them after Jungkook introduces you as his assistant, and you’re surprised when Seokjin reaches out his hand to shake yours, bowing as well and offering you a kind smile. Taehyung does the same, and you can’t help but feel the warmth on your cheeks. They’re clearly incredibly handsome men with amazing styles, just like your boss, but they’re obviously respectful and gentle, unlike him.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cho,” Taehyung smiles. “So, what events do I need to dress my best friend for?”
He looks warm, friendly, and you can’t help but mirror his smile as he offers you a seat and some tea. You take out your calendar and enumerate at least three big events in the next months, which would require standout designs. Jungkook also wants four additional everyday classic suits, and Taehyung starts sketching on his pad as you speak.
“Make one for my event, too,” Seokjin says. “I’m launching my traditional alcohol brand in Singapore in September. It’ll be a big thing so Jungkook needs a fancy piece for that as well.”
“That soon?” Jungkook asks.
“Yeah, it got pushed early,” Seokjin replies.
Jungkook asks you to check his calendar for any activities in the Singapore office, and you state that there’s nothing scheduled during that time.
“There’s a landscape designer I want to meet while I’m there. Schedule one with her later,” Jungkook instructs you, and you make a note to coordinate with Lucas, who will continue to serve as the assigned assistant for the Vice President’s Southeast Asia trips.
Taehyung finishes the rough designs quickly, given that he’s already familiar with the style his client wants. He’s done a lot of Jungkook’s suits, which you know from all the weeks of preparing his clothes, and you do admit that he looks best in these custom-made pieces.
As Taehyung takes Jungkook’s measurements - given that, as per his words, Jungkook has gotten wider since the last time - he asks if you have something to wear for those big events, too.
“Uh, yes,” you say.
“Are they from company events from before?” Taehyung asks.
You nod shyly. It’s not like you’re paid enough to afford a new one every time nor can you wear them anywhere else; there aren’t exactly regular fancy dinners and social occasions you get invited to.
“Have new ones made, then,” Jungkook says, his back turned to you.
“Uh, there’s no need, Mr. Jeon. The gowns still look new and they’re well-made,” you insist.
“Store-bought?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow cocked.
“Uh, yes, Mr. Kim.”
“Nothing beats custom-designed ones though. And I must say, I’m kinda good at them.”
“I, uh… it’s really not necessary,” you stutter, feeling a little too shy and definitely undeserving. It’s Kim Taehyung; his name is the brand.
“I believe it is,” Jungkook says now, turning to you. “They’re big events and we’re organizing one with the arts professionals. Some dignitaries will be coming, too, including the culture minister. I’d prefer if you looked the part of working for the Vice President, Ms. Cho. You represent me in that way.”
“I… uh, okay,” you sigh, knowing you don’t seem to be in a position to turn him down.
“Great. Start thinking of designs, then!” Taehyung beams.
It’s some minutes later when Jungkook’s measurements have been taken and Taehyung calls for you. You sit on the chair facing his desk not far away while Jungkook and Seokjin talk about sports and this new club that opened in Gangnam.
Seated in front of you, Taehyung takes his sketch pad and starts asking what design you want.
“Something simple and comfortable since I’ll be moving around,” you say softly. “And nothing form-fitting or revealing since, uh…”
“I understand,” Taehyung smiles, revealing a gentle side of him that the paparazzi and tabloids clearly don’t capture.
He starts drawing your silhouette, glancing at you then at Jungkook before speaking.
“So, he’s been in this role for a few weeks now. Has he been nice?”
“Define ‘nice,’” you respond, earning you a chuckle.
“I guess that’s my answer, then.”
“I don’t mean to say he isn’t,” you backtrack. “Mr. Jeon just has a different leadership style as Mr. Jung’s, that’s all.”
“I suppose that’s quite a difficult adjustment for you, huh?”
You purse your lips and Taehyung laughs, the soft way he does it is something new and refreshing to you. You didn’t realize how deprived you are of such gentleness, of such acts or sights as simple as a smile. Hoseok is no longer your source. Your team hasn’t been as jolly these past weeks. The only other person you talk to regularly at work is Yoongi, and while he’s definitely been smiling more, it’s a lot more teasing than it is comforting. You’ve been missing your best friends more because of that, you think - Soomin’s smile is blinding, Jimin’s is sweet and infectious. Perhaps it’s why you haven’t been smiling much yourself.
“I won’t tell, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures you. “I just wanted to check on him. This whole move has been tough but he doesn’t say much. I’m guessing he doesn’t tell you, either, but he’ll definitely show it.”
“He has, actually,” you say softly, knowing now that even with his closest friends, Jungkook tends to keep things to himself. “He’s pretty stressed most days, always working and stuff. He’s been a little hard on me but I guess that’s a natural reaction for some.”
“That’s not an excuse though.”
“It isn’t, but… it’s okay. I can handle it.”
It’s not as much of a lie anymore as it used to be. Jungkook hasn’t been overly critical about things as he was just last week. He rarely makes comments on your minutes now, doesn’t correct the reports you reviewed, doesn’t talk over you or doesn’t yell. There’s been a change, definitely, and you wonder what triggered it.
“He doesn’t really smile, does he?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.
Taehyung’s laughter is one of disbelief and pure amusement, catching the attention of the other two men but he waves them off.
“He still does, just not as much,” he responds. “It kinda stopped after the breakup with Chaerin but I guess that’s what heartbreak does, right?”
“I… wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it,” you shrug.
“Lucky,” he hums. “I don’t wish it on anyone.”
You glance at Jungkook, briefly letting yourself imagine a version of him that’s a lot more carefree, relaxed, perhaps happy. Maybe it’s the loneliness and that you’d understand; that, you’ve experienced. It’s both liberating and isolating. You wonder if that’s how he’s been feeling all these years since then.
“I’m done,” Taehyung announces, showing you three designs that are exactly what you asked for.
“These look nice. And way out of my price range,” you laugh.
“Perks of having a rich boss,” he winks. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay? You’re my client and I want you to wear these with confidence. Now, if you’re okay with all this, I’ll get one of my female assistants to get your measurements.”
You nod in response. There’s absolutely nothing you would change about those designs. And if you’re being honest, you now can’t wait for those events just so you could wear them. Hoseok had obviously paid for the gowns you had to wear for the big events, but those were store-bought that A-yeong helped you choose. Some were your own purchases, but this is the first time that you’re getting measured for custom-made clothing designed by Kim Taehyung.
You walk towards the fitting room at the corner where one of his staff meets you. She’s meticulous, which is why it takes longer than usual just to get this done. With her silence, however, you’re able to hear the conversation happening outside, with the brothers now asking Jungkook about the same thing you’ve been wondering about.
“By the way, what was up with you last Monday?” Seokjin asks. “I thought that was gonna be night 4 of you going home with a new woman. But you passed out before you could even ask. And that was just 9PM.”
“Four nights isn’t much, though,” Taehyung laughs. “Didn’t he do that with seven women on seven straight nights when he was in Singapore? That was wild. Was it that stressful there? Or were there just so many to choose from?”
“Shut up. I’m not proud of that,” Jungkook groans. “And that was one time. It never happened again.”
“It never happened seven times straight again,” Seokjin corrects. “You were really living your life out there, huh? Stressful job, a rooftop bar in your apartment building, chauffeur and butler services 24/7, women from all over the world begging to sleep with you…”
“It’s called the post-break up stage,” Taehyung says.
“For six years?!” Seokjin asks incredulously. “It’s either you loved Chaerin that much, you blamed yourself too much, or you just really sucked at moving on.”
“I vote all of the above,” Taehyung states.
“Me, too,” Seokjin claims.
“Fuck you both,” Jungkook groans again.
“I think he also just missed us too much,” Seokjin adds. “Lucas was cleaning up your messes every time, not snapping you out of it. But we’re here now so I guess three straight nights is as far as you’ll go.”
“Two, if you stopped me last Sunday,” Jungkook points out. “You both always insisted that Sundays are a no-no. You were too busy with your own women.”
“May we remind you that you didn’t even make it to our table. You stepped foot in the bar then left five minutes later,” Taehyung says. “But really, what was it about Monday? You seemed angrier than usual.”
“Just… a bunch of things my father said,” Jungkook huffs.
“Did he tell you off again?”
“Not really, surprisingly. He just delivered a message basically, about what the board members were saying about me and my project. Bullshit stuff, you know? I just wanted to forget about it.”
“Did you?”
“Sorta,” Jungkook says. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”
“But it’s still happening, right?” Taehyung asks worriedly. “The Arts Center, I mean. You’ve been wanting to work on that since the building was abandoned five years ago.”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook responds. “I guess. We already put money into it. I’ll just have to make concessions if my father doesn’t side with me on this. I hate to think he’s buying into what those old folks are saying.”
“Ms. Cho, we’re all done,” the staff member tells you, muffling the conversation outside that you couldn’t help but hear.
It felt quite intrusive, hearing how life was like for Jungkook in Singapore, but then again, his personal life seemed to be the topic in the office comfort rooms, and you don’t know how to feel about getting confirmation about those rumors. It felt sad more than anything though, living that kind of life away from friends and family. You wouldn’t know what moving on from a breakup feels like, but you suppose people grieve a lost love in their own ways; you can’t blame them for how they choose to repair the parts of them that broke.
But the bit about his conversation with his father is what bothers you. You’d hate to think that there’s a possibility that Jungkook’s plans won’t be fully realized, and whatever the reasons for that are, you hope they didn’t break his spirit too much. You know the plans now like the back of your hand and the more you learn, the more you believe in it. You hope Jungkook continues to believe in it, too.
You exit the fitting room, catching the end of a conversation where Seokjin suggests a wholesome weekend for the three men of just dinner and drinks. The two other men agree, and they all turn to you once you make your presence felt.
“All good?” Taehyung asks you.
“Yes,” you bow in thanks.
“Great. The gowns will be ready at the same time as Jungkook’s suits will be. I’ll just let you guys know, okay?
“Sure,” Jungkook says. “But anyway, we have to get back to work. Thanks again.”
The brothers bid you and Jungkook goodbye, and you head back to the office with not much words said. Jungkook seems less frustrated, but the worry you feel suddenly returns. It’s the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel supported, that maybe what he’s doing isn’t enough, and that more than that, it's him choosing to deal with all this on his own, not even looking to his friends to comfort him.
Jimin and Soomin meet you for lunch at a restaurant that Saturday afternoon. The drive from Busan took longer than expected, they said, but you say you don’t mind. They’re visiting you like they always do every month, regardless of how busy they are back in their hometown, which was your home for a few years, too.
You were in the same class; your mom worked at the school, which was the only reason why you were able to attend a prestigious one in the first place. Even when you moved back to Daegu, you remained in touch with them. Despite the distance, none of you wanted to just let the friendship fade, and even when they had to stay back and you made a life out here in Seoul, they made sure to visit you as much as they could.
They’re why you were excited for the weekend to come and now, you’ll be enjoying a hearty meal, getting your nails done after, lounging at your apartment, and then heading to a club for a night out, which you only do whenever they’re around.
“So, has the boss situation improved?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and laced with worry “Or should I storm the jerk’s house and give him a piece of my mind?”
“It has,” you chuckle. “So no need to call him names or fight anyone. I’m okay.”
“Well, you did call him a grumpy old grinch with nice hair the other week,” Jimin points out. “So… did he get a haircut?”
“No,” you laugh again. “And that was in the heat of the moment. I… I mean, he’s still grumpy but he’s not… as grumpy or unbearable. He’s been—”
“Oh hun, please don’t say he’s been kind and then give him a pass for how he’s been to you,” Soomin reprimands. “Mean people don’t just become nice all of a sudden. And if they do, that’s a controlling tactic - they want you to think they’re capable of change so you’ll soften up to them and then give them a pass every time they do asshole-y things again.”
“You watch too many shows,” you frown, although knowing her statement isn’t wrong; it’s just not something you can relate with Jungkook.
Sure, he hasn’t been the nicest, but he also hasn’t been the meanest. He’s just been… him, you suppose - a bit in the middle; frustrated at worst, quiet at best, stoic on most days. He does seem to live in his head a lot, and while you won’t go so far as characterizing him as kind, he definitely hasn’t been insufferable these past few days.
“I’ve just dealt with too many assholes, ___,” Soomin corrects. “They’re all the same. Men are shit.”
“Except for Jimin,” you correct.
“Except for Jimin,” she concurs.
“I accept the honor,” he bows. “But seriously, ___. How has it been? You… you seemed really sad last week and I would’ve driven here then if we didn’t have that work emergency.”
“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve experienced worse,” you try to assure them.
“You do know that having experienced something worse doesn’t mean it’s fine for you to experience something bad again, right?” Soomin points out.
“I know, but it also means that I know my threshold for bad behavior,” you say. “Jungkook was in a lot of stress and I did mess up. But I think he’s making up for that.”
“By apologizing, you mean?” Soomin cocks an eyebrow.
Your sigh tells her that’s definitely not what Jungkook has done.
“Well, he approves my minutes and reviewed reports much quicker,” you reason. “And he doesn’t comment as much. But actually, I think he just pities me. And that’s worse.”
“Why would he pity you?” She asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I said that a tree fell on our roof and that mom got injured the weekend before my mishap,” you explain. “And then he found out how early I start my day just so I can get to him on time. He’s made adjustments after those and I… I think he’s guilty or something. And he’s just not being his usual angry self around me to make it up to me.”
“So in short, he’s still kind of an asshole,” Soomin says, prompting Jimin to snort and you to pout. “He could always just apologize if he’s guilty and realized he should treat you better.”
“Some things aren’t easy for other people to say, you know?” You say softly.
“That’s not an excuse,” she points out.
“It’s an explanation,” you counter. “Or one of them, I guess. I don’t know him well enough, but it’s better to think that he’s a decent person who just struggles with emotions than someone who willingly makes people’s lives difficult. I mean, that’s easier to manage and accept.”
“If that helps you deal and he’s indeed improving, then maybe I won’t have to storm his place then,” she smiles, taking your hand and kissing it as she likes to do.
She knows your habit of pressing your nails onto your skin, and she always said she likes to remind you that you deserve gentleness, too; she’ll give it if you can’t give it to yourself.
The rest of the afternoon goes as you planned, with all the banter you’d expect from your best friends amid the pampering and then the chick flick in the background as you get ready in your tiny apartment.
You smile at your reflection in the mirror. The high-waist trousers and sleeveless top ensemble is a refreshing sight for you, as you only really dress up like this for a night out. You’re in your usual pencil skirts and blouses otherwise, and in jeans and tops or oversized jumpers on a normal day.
Soomin’s done your makeup and Jimin compliments you as he looks on, and soon enough, they’re ready as well to head out.
“Where’re we going?” You ask from the passenger seat as Jimin navigates the busy streets of Seoul on a Saturday night.
“Some new restaurant the guys discovered,” Soomin responds. “I think it’s not far from here.”
“Okay, good. Hajoon’s been texting, asking what time we’ll get there,” you tell them.
“Geez, you were already with him last night. Tell him to be patient,” Jimin rolls his eyes.
Soomin laughs from the backseat as she teases that he’s just being jealous, to which he points out that he just hasn’t seen you in a while so the man can wait. And you assure Jimin that you’d gladly skip a night with Hajoon to be with your best friends, no questions asked.
You get there eventually, and you immediately spot the group because of the laughter coming from their table. There are four men; the two women are Soomin’s friends, which is how you got involved with Hajoon in the first place. You met some time last year and you’ve been hanging out with him since then - among other things - and you’ve been enjoying it, given the simplicity and lack of drama when he’s not being moody. He’s a warm body who knows how to use it and you’re a good type of relief, as he’d said; there’s really not much more you need as you just try to survive through life and make something out of yourself in however way you can.
Hajoon waves at you from his seat, gesturing to his left to say he’s saved that spot for you. You head there after greeting your other friends, with Jimin and Soomin following you.
Right as you sit down and greet the man next to you, you’re caught by surprise when he kisses your cheek and snakes his arm around your waist.
“Hey, I missed you today,” Hajoon hums, smiling at you the way he did last night and this morning; it definitely wasn’t this sweet when he left for a work trip last month.
“I… saw you today,” you frown, earning you a chuckle.
“I know; I was still thinking about you, though,” he says.
You give a smile - as genuine as you can make it - and then turn towards your friends to your left who are trying to hold in their laughter.
You order a beer after he offers you a glass of wine, and then go for the pork belly when he says the salmon here is good.
“Just craving for meat, that’s all,” you tell him.
“Is there anything else you want? Just let me know, okay?”
You hum your yes and then turn back to your friends after Hajoon makes jokes with his.
“Since when was he this sweet to you?” Soomin whispers with wide, curious eyes.
“Since never,” you reply. “I mean, we’ve never been affectionate outside of bed…”
“Is anything else different?” Jimin wonders, careful not to bring attention to your conversation.
You look back at how things were before Hajoon left and how it was when he was away. Nothing seemed different. You hung out at his place before he flew out, then you messaged each other every now and then during the one month he was abroad. He was more interested to talk, but given the time difference and the pressure and stress you’ve been under the past weeks, you didn’t bother much, neither did he.
But you also think back to last night - how he picked you up from your apartment, which he’s never done before, and how he prepared a luxurious dinner. He made you breakfast this morning, too, whereas you both usually just sleep in in tangled limbs and then separate once you wake up.
“He cooked me fancy stuff but I just thought he wanted to show off what he learned during his cooking masterclass,” you shrug. “And well… he seemed sweeter than normal.”
“Maybe he hooked up with someone while he was away and he’s guilty about it,” Jimin suggests.
“He didn’t say anything about it and he knows I wouldn’t mind,” you say. “We’re not exclusive, even if I don’t hang out with other guys.”
“Maybe he’s over the fucking and wants to do the loving bit now,” Soomin offers. “I mean, he always seemed more into you than you were into him.”
“He’s hot and decent when he’s in a good mood; that’s all I need,” you admit.
“But honestly, that’s probably it,” Soomin continues. “I think he’s hinting that he wants to be more.”
“But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re 30! When are you ever gonna be ready?” Soomin whisper-yells.
“Never!” You pout now. “I mean… Not with him.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to tell him soon, then,” Jimin sighs. “Before it gets messy. And you hate messy.”
“What if men just don’t have feelings?” Soomin wonders out loud. “That way, you can’t hurt them.”
“So that way, they can hurt you?” Jimin points out. “No. I’m not letting any men hurt either one of you, okay? I love you both too much.”
“We know,” you and Soomin say at the same time.
“But I agree with Jimin, ___. You’re gonna have to let that man next to you, who’s thankfully deaf, go. And then just find another person who can give you what you need,” Soomin continues. “Like, uh…”
She looks around the semi-packed restaurant to find some random man to just point to, her eyes widening in awe as she spots a table close by with the type of men she was just thinking about.
“Like them.”
You laugh at her, not taking her seriously, but still, you look towards the direction of her cocked head, only to feel your throat dry up and your heartbeat speed up. Your eyes widen in reflex as they meet the piercing gaze of the man who’d given you a headache for weeks. He also happens to look unfairly handsome in his white top and slicked back hair.
“Shit, I would totally go for them,” Soomin adds, “and I only even like men a quarter of the time.”
Your best friends look at you as they wait for a response, only to see a nervous look on your face, as if you’re seeing a ghost or something, and the way you turn to them and stutter almost seems like you are.
From the other table, Jungkook pants quietly. You finally looked his way, and he didn’t know what to expect your reaction to be - maybe a bit of shock, but definitely not this worried. Granted, you’re out with your friends at a restaurant that he and his friends frequent. It’s not the type of place they’d normally go for - this is a lot simpler, less private, and more accommodating than the exclusive restaurants and hotels they go to for dinners before heading to a club. But Jungkook loves their pork belly; he orders it every week, and tonight, he was craving for this specifically before going to a private party of one of Taehyung’s clients.
Jungkook had seen you when you sat down, and he’d been taken aback when the guy to your right immediately kissed your cheek; it seems he’s barely let go of your waist since then, too. Perhaps the man is your boyfriend - and Jungkook doesn’t know what made him think you wouldn’t have one - but it also seems that the one to your left is into you, too, at least based on how he smiles at you sweetly but rolls his eyes at the affectionate guy to your other side.
But other than the embarrassing obvious affection that both of them are directing at you, what made him lose his senses is how you look, and you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. Your hair is styled, your makeup is bolder than usual, and he won’t even start with how you’re dressed. It’s a lot more skin than he’s used to - you’re out, after all, and if he’ll go by what your companions are wearing, he supposes this is your stop before heading to some club to party, too. Whereas when you’re at work, you have the skirt and long-sleeved blouse ensemble that you wear everyday - still pretty, perhaps just a lot more reserved than what he’s seeing now.
He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you entertain your suppose-boyfriend, even when you engage in hushed conversation with the man and woman to your left, and even when you stare back at him, the initial shock now wearing down to a look of curiosity. Perhaps you’re wondering why he keeps glancing at you, too.
“I told you he’s got it bad,” Taehyung laughs from the other side of the table.
He’s noticed how his friend hasn’t said much in the last 10 minutes, his gaze directed at the loud table close by. One glance and Taehyung knew why.
“Well, we told him,” Seokjin corrects. “He only ever acts out when he’s threatened and he’s apparently threatened by his pretty assistant.”
“I’m not acting out,” Jungkook scowls, finally breaking the staring contest with you.
“You’ve never been this much of a jerk,” Seokjin says. “So yes, you’re acting out.”
Jungkook ignores them, his eyes turning back to you, and finds you downing two shots of tequila consecutively, then using the beer as your chaser. His knuckles unconsciously clench when your suppose-boyfriend scoots closer, whispering something in your ear, his lips grazing your skin.
Jungkook exhales deeply, trying to get a grip of himself. He’s acting foolishly. You obviously have a life outside of work, and it obviously includes going out for dinner and drinks with friends, having a boyfriend, and enjoying your youth the way he is. There’s a world outside of the routine you’ve both created, of the silence you both share, and the time you spend together, unknowingly learning about each other without meaning to, without wanting to.
“___,” Soomin calls your name one more time.
“Huh?” You answer, finally tearing your eyes away from Jungkook, who’d unfortunately captured your attention after you noticed he was there.
You’ve been used to his impeccable looks in his fancy suits; you’ve even gotten used to his tank top and sweatpants post-workout outfits every morning, and while you’re still not immune to that look, his night out wear fit for a party leaves you more choked up than normal.
Maybe it’s the black jeans that you spot as he sits on the edge of the couch, or the white button-up top with the rolled sleeves up to his elbow, or his haircut that makes him look a little more mature. Maybe it’s all that and the way he’s gazing at you, the look in his eyes something you can’t quite read. Perhaps like you, he’s surprised to see you here the way you’re shocked that he’d chosen this place to eat; it’s not exactly a fancy restaurant you know he likes eating at.
But he’s here, and so are you, and suddenly you feel exposed, as if the world outside of work that you’ve kept to yourself is baring open to the man who stands at the center of what you do everyday. And you’re not sure how you feel about that.
“I was just saying… those men are pretty hot and they look interested, too,” Soomin wiggles her eyebrows. “ I mean, they keep looking here.”
“One of them is my boss,” you finally say. “Guy on the right. That’s… uh, that’s Jungkook.”
“Holy fuck, hun,” Soomin chokes on her drink. “Why did you leave out the part about your rude boss being a fucking god?”
“Does it matter?” Jimin scowls. “He’s still rude.”
“It’s different when the guy’s hot. It makes the anger more intense, you know?” Soomin says. “Attractive people elicit more passionate feelings sometimes.”
“Excuse me, that’s not why I was angry,” you pout. “He was really being unfair.”
“Well, he was. But I think my point also applies,” Soomin argues. “I’d just like to warn you that workplace hotties are a menace. Except for Yoongi - he was heaven sent. ”
“Ah, the man who could’ve been,” Jimin sighs. “We at least knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type.”
“Yeah, this dude over here is hot but he’s mean. And that’s your type,” Soomin smirks.
“Can we… not talk about this while he’s there? And while this other dude is right next to me?” You glare at your friends, especially at Soomin whose insinuation wasn’t lost on you. “It’s so… weird.”
“Hey, we’re here for you, okay?” Jimin softens as he looks at you. “Just let us know if one of them makes you feel uncomfortable. We can always just stay at your place and watch horror movies until morning and you and Soomin can lose your voices from screaming and then I’ll lose my hearing because of it.”
His words make you laugh. There’s a tenderness in Jimin that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Even when he’s telling you to stop yelling because you live for the thrill of a jumpscare, he says it so tenderly while laughing before pulling you both in his embrace.
“I’m okay. I’m just… I don’t know, probably just not used to seeing him somewhere that isn’t the office or his home,” you reason. “And I feel a bit exposed, I guess. This is my world and his is… right there.”
You wrap your arms around your body subconsciously, realizing only you’d done it when Jimin asks if you’re cold, offering his jacket then taking it back because Hajoon might smack him or something.
You turn it down, knowing you actually feel hot more than anything. You’re dressed up and definitely dressed in less, and somehow having Jungkook see you like this is oddly making you shy, perhaps a little too conscious.
“Just don’t mind him,” Soomin advises. “It’s a restaurant. You obviously have a social life and he can’t fault you for it, nor make you feel weird about it. Just focus on us, okay? Or on Hajoon, if that’ll happen.”
You follow her words and try to block out Jungkook. You do slightly nod at him, as well as at Taehyung and Seokjin just to acknowledge their presence, but you continue on with your meal, as the dishes arrive soon after.
The pork belly is a winner; you’ll probably come back here for that alone. You do manage to dodge Hajoon’s attempts at feeding you, and your other friends engage with the three of you at the other end of the table. It’s going well for the most part, until Hajoon starts to act a little wary, a little tense.
“Hey,” he says, leaning close to you. “The guy on the other table has been looking at you all night. It’s kinda annoying.”
You glance at Jungkook’s table and he looks away when you do. “Oh, just don’t mind him,” you wave Hajoon off. “Maybe I remind him of someone or something.”
There’s a beat of silence, and you feel him tense even more, as you look up and see that he’s staring down the man on the other side. Hajoon’s had a bit to drink, and you know he tends to be cocky and irrational when he is. You groan once he shakes his head, saying he’s gonna give “that stranger” a piece of his mind because “he can’t be looking at my girl like that.”
The initial annoyance you feel turns into panic once he stands from his seat and storms to the other table. You follow him, with your friends just looking in worry. His friends are more encouraging of what he wants to do though.
“What the fuck is your problem staring at my girl like that?” Hajoon mumbles, acting all tough when he’s never threatened nor confronted anyone like this, even when he’s drunk.
Jungkook seems taken aback. Perhaps it’s the aggression he didn’t expect, or maybe it’s finally having to acknowledge your presence in the restaurant, just in an unfortunate way.
“Your girl?” He scoffs.
The way the man is speaking to him is quite annoying, but he also knows your boyfriend is slightly drunk, so he dismisses him because Jungkook doesn’t need this drama tonight, especially not in front of you.
Hajoon hates the way this stranger is looking at him and not taking him seriously. He’d seen how he kept glancing at you, perhaps trying to get your attention away from him, and he’s really had enough. His words are slurring but this is the courage he needs to stand up for you. You’ve said before how unwanted attention makes you uncomfortable, and he’s gonna do something about it before the man gets to try anything with you.
“Yeah, my girl. You seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?” Hajoon grunts.
“My only problem is you making a scene right now,” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re drunk and insecure and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your girl.”
Not that you expected him to back off, but you didn’t actually think that Jungkook would further press Hajoon’s buttons. The man is drunk and insecure and indeed embarrassing, but getting told so is a blow to the ego, especially in your presence. And so you’re not surprised that this just makes him angrier, and since you’ve never dealt with this version of him before, you don’t know how to pacify him.
You didn’t actually think that Hajoon had a daring bone in his body despite being the way he is, but when he attempts to lunge at Jungkook, you’re left in disbelief. You’re quick enough to pull Hajoon back before he lands a fist on the other man’s face, but he’d been worked up enough that he hits the glass of wine on the table, knocking it over and causing the drink to spill on Jungkook’s thin white top.
“Mr. Jeon!” You shriek, pulling Hajoon back more forcefully before pushing him to the side so you can get ahead.
You take the napkin from the table and wipe Jungkook’s wet clothed torso, slowing down immediately as you realize what exactly it is you’re doing.
“I… uh,” you stutter, standing straight up and mirroring his questioning eyes.
It was a reflex for you, considering that you constantly make sure that he’s dressed impeccably.
“You know him?!” Hajoon asks in disbelief, tugging on your hand now so you’ll turn to him.
“He’s my boss, you idiot!” smacking him on the chest as you glare at him. “And you just put my job in jeopardy and for what?”
“Well, what can he do?” Hajoon challenges. “Get you fired because of me? Does he own the company and shit?”
“My father does,” Jungkook responds. “And I’m the Vice President.”
Hajoon just rolls his eyes but you aren’t amused. You glance at your table and gesture for one of his friends to take him, so one of them does. He stands up and pulls Hajoon away before he can do or say anything else.
“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your head bowed down as you apologize. “I…”
The mess on his outfit is too much; the red has stained the white top and you know he feels sticky. He looks like he has somewhere to go after this and that makes it worse.
“I– I can call Mr. Ri to get the car in here. I can get extra clothes from your travel bag,” you say, knowing that Jungkook always has a bag filled with clothes for emergency flights or check-ins.
You get your phone and make a call, telling Jungkook that his chauffeur will be here soon. You glance towards your friends who are still pacifying a drunk Hajoon, and you decide that they can handle all that. Right now, your priority is Jungkook.
You walk out towards the car that’s on hazard mode outside the restaurant and pick out the top that’s most appropriate for a night out, which happens to be a semi-loose black button-up. You head back inside, with Taehyung and Seokjin informing you that Jungkook has gone to the washroom, so you scurry towards there and knock at the door.
“Mr. Jeon, I have your black long sleeves here,” you say as your knuckles tap on the wood. “Just tell me–”
You’re interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, the sight of Jungkook in his jeans hanging by his waist and his unbuttoned white top catching you by surprise. His hair’s a bit damp and so is his bare torso, as you see that he’s tried to clean the wine off his body.
You catch yourself looking longer than you should, and you immediately look away as you hand him over what he needs.
“Please let me know what else you need, sir,” you say, your eyes glued to the pretty wallpaper as you awkwardly stand outside the washroom.
“Jungkook,” he says, earning him a curious look. “I mean, you don’t need to be formal. We’re not at work.”
You nod, realizing it does sound weird to address him as such in a casual setting.
“Okay… Jungkook,” you mumble, but even the way it rolls off your tongue is a bit odd. You’re not used to it, and you hope you won’t ever be.
He closes the door and you take this time to calm yourself down. You’ve been so worried since you saw the glass tip over and mess up his outfit, and given his hot-headedness, you’re a little surprised that he didn’t fight back. He does have a reputation to uphold but even then, stopping himself from punching Hajoon must’ve taken a lot.
The door opens and you sigh in relief; his outfit still looks good and he’s fully clothed, so there’s no lingering looks this time anymore. You take the top that he gives you, and you take the chance to apologize.
“I’m so sorry,” you start. “I don’t know why he— I mean, he’s a bit drunk and he’s not usually like this.”
“You’re not the one who should apologize so don’t,” he responds.
“Well, he won’t apologize so I will.”
“You didn’t spill the drink and you didn’t come at me. That was him,” he counters.
You just shrug, choosing to just concede. “I’ll just return this to Mr. Ri.”
He calls your name before you turn around to leave.
“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and your boyfriend,” he says, much too low and too gentle than you’re used to. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer softly. “We just, uh, we just hang out.”
You don’t know why you feel the need to correct this misinformation. Maybe you just want to remind yourself because you’re not anyone’s anything; hearing Hajoon claim you as yours made you want to just create that distance even more.
Jungkook wants to push it, to ask more. The man clearly acts like he’s your lover, given the physical affection and the way he tried to stand up for you. But there’s a bit of shame as you state that you and the man “just hang out,” and there’s that wonder he feels - how can you be with someone without being with them, and if turning away people who are clearly into you is a tendency you have. There’s Min Yoongi, after all, who’d liked you enough to remain as your friend when you needed one despite how he felt.
“Okay then,” Jungkook nods. “And your job’s not in jeopardy. Don’t take responsibility for a stupid act you didn’t do.”
You bow in thanks, not much used to this side of him that’s understanding and even calm. You suppose he’d seen you worry about your job, had seen you look embarrassed over something that you didn’t even do, and perhaps he saw the discomfort over how Hajoon was talking about you.
You’re about to walk out of the hallway when his call of your name stops you again, prompting you to turn around.
“About earlier… did I… did I make you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, the worry in his voice surprising you.
You debate over playing it down or telling the truth, but you go with the latter.
“A… a little,” you admit, looking away.
You hear him sigh, and there’s a look of guilt in his eyes as you turn to him.
“I’m so—”
The footsteps of another diner in the hallway disrupts him, and you both make way so he can use the washroom, too. Perhaps you and Jungkook had taken so long, and you don’t want others to conspire about what’s happening, so you walk out and tell him again that you’ll just return his clothing to Mr. Ri.
From your table, Soomin and Jimin watch the awkwardness of your parting of ways, with you scurrying out the door and Jungkook returning to his seat with a deep sigh before glaring at Hajoon.
“He does sound and look like an asshole, aside from being hot,” Soomin observes. “That’s totally ___’s type.”
“Are you saying she likes her boss?” Jimin asks incredulously.
“I’m just saying that’s her type, not that she likes him,” Soomin corrects. “There’s a difference. I still hate him for making things hard for her. I wish he would stop treating her like that. You and I know she won’t quit anytime soon. Especially because he’s a Jeon.”
“I know,” Jimin sighs. “I wish we could protect her from all this, too. But she’s always done what she wanted to do. And we wait for her to tell us when things are hard; we just hold her hand whenever it is.”
“That’s all we can do, I guess,” Soomin responds. “Sometimes though I wish she’d just… let someone else do more than just hold her hand, you know? It could’ve been Yoongi, or even Hajoon before all this mess. It could’ve been you.”
“You know that’ll never happen,” Jimin laughs bitterly, with Soomin knowing exactly what he means. “You’re only ever just her friend or her lover; you can’t be both.”
Soomin hums in agreement, as she’d seen you draw the line with the men you’d come across with. You’d make it clear if friendship is all you want; you’d be straightforward if it’s just sex you’re seeking. You give either just your heart or your body and you’re always careful not to give both. There are parts of you that you don’t want to share, that you don’t want to expose to them; there’s a kind of hurt that you don’t want to experience.
They watch you walk back inside and then head to their table, where you sit next to a buzzed Hajoon who still has half a mind to look at you guiltily.
“I think I’ll head back home after this,” you tell the group. “Kinda not in a partying mood anymore.”
Your other friends apologize on Hajoon’s behalf, proceeding to ask you if that was really your boss and if he’d threatened your job because of it, remarking that it would be such an asshole move of him to do that or to even get mad at you for something you didn’t do.
You come to Jungkook’s defense; he didn’t say anything to that effect at all. Perhaps you’d been the unfair one who assumed that he would - that he’d demand that you apologize, that he’d use this against you.
“He’s… not like that,” you say, meaning it. You turn to your best friends who have disagreeing looks. “He… he tried to apologize for making me feel uncomfortable,” you say softly. “No one’s ever done that before.”
“Look, ___,” Hajoon starts, but you cut him off.
“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you sigh. “I’ll just pay my bill and head out.”
You, Soomin, and Jimin all pay accordingly and then leave the restaurant, with you turning to Jungkook and his friends, bowing as a form of goodbye.
“Hey, why don’t we buy desserts at a convenience store and have our own party at your place?” Jimin suggests as you all settle in his car.
“That would be nice,” you hum. “This outfit wouldn’t be such a waste then.”
So that’s what you do, as your best friends treat you to all the snacks you love - a usual occurrence, really, as they used to do that back in Busan to cheer you up during the days when you were feeling sad. It’s one of the things that you allow them to spoil you with and they take advantage of that, as you go home with weeks’ worth of goods for you to enjoy.
You also picked up some drinks on the way, so you play some music and dance around with your wine glasses and take shots in between. It’s too early to be drunk but 11PM might as well be 3AM. You’re all seated snugly in your tiny couch as you watch some variety show on mute, laughing at the hosts' antics even if you can’t hear anything.
“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” you huff, leaning on Soomin’s shoulder as you doze off. “Both of you are all I need. Thank you for never disappointing me.”
They know you don’t always let yourself be this sentimental. They also know that when you do, all you want is for them to listen and to hold you. And that’s what they do, as you eventually clean up and fall asleep on the mattress with them, the events from earlier slowly fading away.
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Private Professor - Max Verstappen
Words: 5,576
Summary: For years and years, Max has claimed that he has a girlfriend, but no one has ever met her and he refuses to talk about her with the media. And it’s far easier to believe that he’s lying when no proof of a girl exists.
Note(s)/Warning(s): Small Age Gap (Reader is nearly two years younger), Some Angst, Mostly Fluff, Jos Verstappen. Thank you so much to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun writing it!
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At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship is all blood rushing to their cheeks, fluttering hands, kisses that last too long and not long enough, panting breaths, and hickeys below shirt collars. It’s whispers of forever, of I’ll take you here and there. That house will be ours one day. Whatever you want, you’ll have. I’ll be on break, you’ll come home and I’ll be waiting. You’ll follow me everywhere and I’ll do the same.
It’s promises they don’t realize they shouldn’t be making but do. It’s sweet nothings and petty fights that last a day before they’re back in each other's arms. It’s pretending not to notice how his dad watches him amused as he walks calmly out of the door before sprinting over to her house and sneaking into her bedroom. It’s her parents pretending not to hear the thud of him falling into her bedroom and the light giggles their daughter makes.
At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship changes. It’s no longer seeing each other when he doesn’t have a race or training and is home, no Red Bull duties to be done. It’s long phone calls, texts, snapchat streaks, learning how to video call. It’s carrying two power banks with them everywhere and Max buying them both expensive phone cases that charge their phones. It’s falling asleep on the phone while the other is just beginning their day. He attends classes with her, while she listens to him train. He goes to red bull meetings and pretends not to have the light sound of breathing in his ears from her falling asleep while studying or doing her homework.
Fifteen and seventeen, brings them peace. She’s still studying like a mad woman at Harvard of all places, but he’s got an F1 seat of all things. He’s in F1. He suddenly has more things to do but more free time. When he’s not racing or at the factory or doing weird press things that make him want to rip his hair out, Jos is putting him on a plane to America, to her. And he soaks up all the time with her he can, despite it being filled with her studying, attending classes, and forcing actual food down her throat which her parents both thank him for.
It also brings the stupidest thing in the world; the doubt and disbelief that he has a girlfriend.
Carlos is the first to bring it up upon seeing his home screen that’s just all black, not even the default that iphone has.
“No girlfriend?”
Max frowns at him, pocketing his phone and sending a glance over to where his father is standing and talking to his race engineer. “What?”
“Your home screen, it’s all black. You don’t have a girlfriend?” Carlos is teasing, joking. The whole paddock already knows that Jos Verstappen wouldn’t let his son have a girlfriend, not now when he’s got an F1 seat. Such a thing would be a distraction and Max isn’t allowed those. Max isn’t allowed friends on the grid either. Carlos wonders though how much the last part is just a Jos thing.
“I do.” Then he says her name, all soft and sweet in a way Carlos never thought Max could be. It’s nearly enough for him to believe Max, but then he catches a glimpse of Jos and shakes his head, clapping the seventeen year old on the back.
He is the first to not believe Max, but far from the last. It’s Daniel next, Christian, Esteban, Pierre, Sebastian, Lando, every interviewer that asks.
It doesn’t matter because at seventeen and nineteen, she gets her second degree and begins the nightmare of getting her doctorates in education and history. And he picks out a ring before making his father hide it away. And instead of him constantly flying to her, she’s flying to him. Hiding out in his Monaco apartment, turning his living room into a disaster zone as she spreads her things around to study.
The mess drives him crazy, but he doesn’t move anything no matter how much his hands itch to do so, instead just pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pressing himself in between her and the couch. Grinning when she sends him a look, a clear don’t be a distraction, before giving him a kiss.
His days in Monaco when she’s there are spent in the living room after training, playing fifa or watching some documentary for one of her classes with her, and poking at her lightly because he doesn’t know shit about history but he’s still able to remember countries quicker than her.
They turn eighteen and twenty and nearly get married when her family goes on vacation to Vegas, dragging the two along despite them not being able gamble, which is the only reason her parents had chosen Vegas. The only thing that stops them from getting married is him not being a US citizen and her visa just being for school. It’s a fucking wakeup call for him and he can’t help but pester her about places in Monaco to live.
She entertains it for all of five minutes before she’s cupping his face and kissing him. When she pulls back, she’s shaking her head. “As long as it has you and four bedrooms, I don’t care.”
“Four?”
“We’ll need our own offices and a guest room.”
It’s barely anything for the real estate agent to work with but he doesn’t care. He wants something that’s at least four bedrooms, two baths, a decent kitchen, and a view. She liked the Monaco sunrise and sunset and he planned on letting her be able to see it anytime they stayed in Monaco.
His agent gets back to him in a week and he ignores the look on Daniel’s face when he comes over for the first time. Ignores the jokes about it being too big for one person just like Daniel ignores him saying that he has a girlfriend.
“If you had one, I’d have seen a picture of her mate. The whole world would.”
Max still remembers the way his jaw had twitched at the thing everyone said. That if he had a girlfriend, they’d have seen a picture of her, that he’d be showing her off every second, have her at the races, been seen with her. When Max had made it abundantly clear that the worst part of driving was the media, the fame. So why would he ever subject someone he loves to that when they both weren’t ready for that?
Because they weren’t. He wasn’t ready for another part of his life, one of the most important parts, to be something for everyone to look at and dissect. And she wasn’t ready for it either. Not when she was doing so much studying. She barely felt like she had time for him, which he denied and hated vehemently, she didn’t have time for the online vitriol of being a girlfriend to a high profile athlete. And she didn’t need to be harassed as she attended classes and studies groups and such if someone recognized her and didn’t like that she was with him.
Not showing any pictures or videos of her was also easy for him. It wasn’t because he didn’t have any, he had hundreds. But they were pictures and videos of her, only meant for him. Not because they were dirty in nature, though some were, but because how she was in them was something only she allowed him to see. It was photos of her with a finger pressed to her top lip as she glared at her books, videos of her sitting on something too tall for her feet to touch the ground and letting them swing. It was her smiling at him, all fond, shy and in love.
It was them wrapped up in each other's arms and love. Her in between his legs or the other way around. Her sitting on his lap as Vic stole his phone to video them laughing and exchanging kisses. Her giggles as she tries not to fall asleep as reads her books to him over facetime. It’s her in her purest form and he doesn’t want the people in his life who are so quick and sure to not believe him to get to see that.
Nineteen and twenty-one, she officially co-owns their place in Monaco and he starts scouting out property in Belgium and land in France that’s somewhat close to the principality he lives in. It was too early to start building a house to live in forever, not when they weren’t sure what they wanted to live in forever with their kids, but it wasn’t too early to buy the land for it.
It also leads to their biggest fight in years.
“Max!” Her nails are digging into her arms. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I want to help, that I can pay. I have money!”
“And you don’t need to!” He’s yelling as well, face red with anger. “I’ve got money too! You don’t need to pay for shit when I can.”
She shakes her head. “Really? Is that how it's always going to be? I won’t ever get to pay for anything? Just have a salary and trust fund wasting away.” She scoffs, giving another shake of her head. “Is it about being the breadwinner? Because don’t worry Max, I’m well aware that you’ll always have more money than me. Doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to our life.”
“Fuck.” He murmurs seeing the tears brimming in her eyes but not falling, the hurt in her words. “It’s not about that at all. It’s not about being the breadwinner.”
“Then what is it about?” Her voice is high pitched. “You won’t let me pay for a single thing! I can’t buy groceries without you slipping money back into my wallet. I can’t help pay the bills and now you won’t let me help buy the land that will have our house on it. What is it about Max?”
“You’re mine.” Her eyes widened at his quiet but firm tone. “You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life. One day my wife and the mother of my children.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling words and feelings he’s only ever really let come out during sex or when they're both so drunk they barely remember anything the next day. “I want to pay for everything because it’s providing for you, it’s making sure you’re eating, sleeping somewhere safe, getting the best, most accommodating flights. It’s knowing that I’m providing for my family.”
“Max,” she breathes out, arms falling away from her chest and then she’s moving closer, resting a hand over his racing heart. “You want to provide for me?”
He nods.
“For our future kids?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. So, we’re going to work on this. You want to buy the land, you can.” He looks at her distrusting, because this didn’t sound like working on it. “But, I get to pay for groceries when I go out for them, without you paying me back. I get to pay for netflix because I use it more and spotify.” She adds.
He frowns at her. “I don’t like it.”
“Too bad and I’m not done. In return, you get to pay the bills, put gas in the car for me,” he grins at that. “Pay for my flights and we are going to open a joint account to put an equal amount of money in every month. For things like vacations, anniversary dinners, and the kids. Because it’s important that I get to help provide for them too. And when we build that house together, I want to pay at least half of the contracting fee. I’ll let you pay for the rest.”
“I want to pay for any of the kids' interests. Like art, ballet or karting.”
“No deal.” She shakes her head and he’s frowning again. “You can pay for all the karting, it will mean more. But I want it out of the shared account for the other things. Unless,” she pauses.
“Unless,” he encourages.
“If any of them decides to go to university early like me, I want to pay fully for it.”
“No.” It’s quick and now she’s frowning as well. “It’s our children and their education. Shared account.”
“Their first degree.”
He shakes his head. “And if it’s their only degree?”
Her brows press together, it was a good point. Just because they decided to go to university early like her didn’t mean they’d go for more than one degree. “First year.”
His eyes narrow as he looks at her, but he nods. “First year. But only of the first degree.”
“First degree only.” She agrees.
It’s quiet between them before Max lets his face soften, lips twisting slightly into a smile. “Are we done fighting?”
She laughs, but nods. “Yeah. We’re done fighting.”
“Thank god.” He breathes, pulling her into his arms and burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Let’s not do that again.”
“Not anytime soon at least.”
“I love you.” He murmurs.
“I love you too.”
Twenty and twenty-two has their families asking when exactly they’re getting married, wondering why there isn’t a ring on her finger and their only saving grace is their time spent in Monaco together away from them all. But when it gets to be too much as pressure builds as she tries to finish her doctorate in education while still working on her doctorate for history, it’s Jos that steps in for her and Max.
The three of them shared a complicated relationship. She could never like him for the parent he was to Max growing up. From the near abuse he hurled at him when he failed, the pressure he put on a child, the leaving him in a foreign country for a few hours when he wasn’t even a teenager more than once. But she did love him, because Max loved him and in his own way he loved Max and he showed that with his support of their relationship when everyone expected for him to have a problem with it, label it as a distraction. And now as a few years had passed and Max was comfortable in his F1 seat, he was Max’s fiercest defender, unwilling to back down, but would if Max told him too. And he was her fiercest defender as well. Glaring at jokes about her not needing a degree with the money Max made, not forcing her to join on trips when she was busy with school or questioning her support of Max because she didn’t attend races.
So, neither Max or her are surprised when Jos steps in when her grandparents are trying to back them into a corner as to why she doesn’t have a ring on her finger and how they have a number for a wedding planner and she should really give her a call, when all they want is to get breakfast before retreating to their room so she can resume her studies while Max hovers around her while going over his own work.
She hadn’t been thrilled at first when she learned that Jos would join them on the trip, knowing that Sophie wouldn’t be there, but now she was grateful and she made sure to squeeze his shoulder before leaving the kitchen and scheduled a nice quiet dinner for herself, Max and Jos as thanks.
The media becomes relentless when they’re twenty-two and twenty-four and Max wins his first championship. Because there is no girlfriend in sight despite the now champions thanks for her support and love. They tear Max apart for creating a fake girlfriend that has no name or face, call him unloveable with his fake championship. Some tear her apart as well, calling her gold digger, selfish, undeserving, fans of Max and the sport do as well.
It was supposed to be a happy moment for him, one of if not the best in his life, but it’s tainted, ruined, and as soon as he’s home with her in Monaco, all she can do is hold him and pretend that the texts from his friends begging him to go out and get laid don’t make her cry later in the shower.
Despite the texts and a bold one from Daniel about hiring him a prostitute, she forces Max to go out, to celebrate with the drivers in Monaco, to get drunk and have fun, and forget what the media is saying about him.
“I’m coming back if one of them even hints at a prostitute.” He tells her and she laughs, but she knows that he’s serious. He’s never even once considered cheating on her and one of their first serious fights had been about her trying to convince him and herself that she’d be okay if he got lonely while he was traveling and needed someone. He hadn’t believed it for a second and it had been one of the few times he had been so pissed at her that he couldn’t even stomach to look at her.
“Am I making a mistake, mom?” She asks, barely five minutes later, not even bothering saying hi when her mom greets her over the phone.
“No.”
Her mom’s voice is firm and has her blinking away tears. “But,”
“No.” Her mom cuts her off. “Sweetheart, I can’t even begin to try and understand Max and yours relationship. But this, this privacy that you two have, that’s not a mistake. It’s rough right now and it will be. And it will come back later when you two do decide to be public, but it’s not a mistake. You two both made the difficult, heartbreaking, mature decision to keep it private for both of yours sake.”
“I know.” She whispers, wiping away tears.
“You both still need privacy and there is no shame in that. Max isn’t ready and neither are you. As far as I’m concerned the only mistake you two have made is still not being married with a baby on the way.”
“Mom.” She groans and her mom laughs.
“I know, I know. Just remember that despite the seven or so years you’ve been together, that you two are still young, still doing so much growing.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
When Max arrives home hours later, drunkenly stumbling around and into bed, she’s not surprised by the smell of liquor clinging to him or the drunken murmurings he’s pressing to her skin. She is surprised by the deep inhale he takes and the splutter that makes her turn to face him.
Eyes a little blurry from sleep and wine, she makes out squinted eyes, flushed face, and a frown.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re drunk.” She replies, curling closer to him.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Yeah.”
He slips an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’re going to feel like shit when we wake up.”
“Yeah.”
He chuckles, brushing lips over her forehead. “That bad?”
“That bad.” She nods.
At twenty-three and twenty-four, the itch that Max has had since he was nineteen, one that’s grown worse and worse as the years have gone by, is too persistent and he takes a quick trip to his fathers house the day after she turns twenty-three and returns with a ring and the promises they made at fourteen and sixteen, promising them all over again, as she stares at him with a smile and teary eyes.
“I’d be stupid to not want to marry you Max.” She tells him when he slips the ring on her finger, breathing a sigh of relief when it goes on, fitting perfectly.
“You’re going to marry me.”
She nods, giggling at his blown pupils and silly grin. “Yes, I am.”
It seems stupid to be so giggly and flustered about it, so love sick, when they’ve talked about it so much. About getting married, about houses, kids, life after racing and teaching. But it’s different with the ring on her finger. Not more real or tangible. Just more.
“I know I proposed early.”
She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and his arms eagerly wrap around her waist. “It’s perfect. I know we talked and had plans, but this is perfect. Besides, I’ve got news of my own that’s early.”
“Oh?” Max’s eyebrow raises and he knows it’s not possible, not really with her religious use of the birth control shot and the way they mainly use condoms, more for convenience than anything else, but his eyes drift down to her abdomen that’s exposed. There’s no difference, but he can imagine what it would look like, he can also imagine what it will look like in a few hours.
“Not that.” Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. “I got an email about my viva exam.”
“Your viva? But you haven’t submitted your thesis yet.”
“Actually,”
“Stop.” He lifts a hand to press it against her mouth. “You submitted your thesis already? You completed it?”
She nods, her laughter muffled by his hand and he drops it.
“Well, what did it say? The email.”
“Once I get to the ceremony, I will officially hold a doctorate in education and history.”
He kisses her before she can say anything else.
“Unbelievable my love, unbelievable. Two doctorates by twenty-three.” He shakes his head, smiling wide.
“You know what that means right?”
He shakes his head again, unable to think of anything. Too overcome with his proudness and love for her.
“I’ll have my position at Harvard right after the ceremony.”
Blue eyes widen.
“And they agreed to let me teach a mix schedule for all of 2022, but when the official school year starts for 2023, I’ll just be teaching digital.”
Twenty-three and twenty-five has them weathering the media storm once again as Max wins his second world championship. It’s worse this time. Not because he says more than he did last time about her or says her name or slips up and calls her his fiancee and not girlfriend like they agreed to. But because this championship no one can deny is his and she’s still not there. Too busy in a different continent with the start of the school year as she teaches by herself for the first time since earning both her doctorates.
It’s also not as bad this time, because some of his friends do think that he’s seeing someone, not the girlfriend of years, or even really a girlfriend, but just some random girl that understands he’s too busy for an actual relationship and willing to put up with him spouting to the media and everyone else that he’s in a committed relationship. She doesn’t have time to focus on the media and fans that believe she exists, she barely did last year, but this year she really doesn’t.
“You know,” she says five days after he’s won his championship and they are in the house they have stayed in for the past two years when she has to be at Harvard and he wants to join her. “Around this time next year, we’ll be public.”
His face does a weird contortion at the thought. There was a giddiness to the idea, to the thought, but also dread.
“That means,” she continues when Max doesn’t say anything. “That you have ample time to figure out how you want to tell people.”
“How I want to?”
“Yeah. This is your world, your friends, colleagues, nightmares,” she adds and they both laugh. “You can decide how exactly you want to get back at them for not believing you.”
“I’m not going to be cruel.”
“No.” She lifts her hand and lets her pointer finger trace over his lips. “You’ve never been a cruel person, Max. But you can be a menace.”
His eyes light up at that. “Oh. And you don’t care?”
She shakes her head, “This is all you and I’m more than happy to be along for the ride.”
She is twenty-four and he has just turned twenty-six when he decides to enact his plan that he came up with so many months ago.
He had made a reservation for a private hall in Monaco months ago, hired a party planner to take care of the finer details, but sorted himself out the place and the food and drinks that would be served. And the day after he turns twenty-six, he picks up the large stack of enveloped invitations he had made and carefully packs them in his suitcase for Qatar. He was winning the championship there and he’d be damned if he didn’t make an already memorable weekend even better.
It’s the first time in a decade she has traveled with him to a race to actually watch the race and not just be there at the hotel to support him as she studies and he can’t help the smugness and happiness that radiates off him when he shows up to the track for the first day.
He’s got his backpack over his shoulder, but the invitations are already in his hands, ready to be passed out.
“Max!” Charles greets when he arrives in the driver's debrief room. All twenty of them, plus reserves, team principals, and Daniel sitting and standing around as they wait for the FIA representative to get here. He looks down at his watch, noting that it will at least another ten minutes, before his eyes flicker to a member of the Red Bull staff that’s standing against a wall, but just like he asked, they’ve got a camera in their hands and there’s another one standing leaning against the opposite wall, also with a camera.
“Charles. Safe flight?”
“Always. What do you have there?”
“Ooh,” Daniel chimes in, moving closer and looking at the envelopes in his hands. “What do you have there?”
He smirks and he can see Daniel’s grin flatter at the sight for a brief second. “Invitations.” He says, before tossing or passing them around to the different drivers and Christian. He nearly avoids giving Lando one just to be a shit but Toto isn’t there to give it too and it wouldn’t be the same to give it to a different team principal jokingly.
“What is it for?” Carlos asks, eyeing the dark envelope like a lot of the other drivers are, suspiciously.
He shrugs, eyebrows raising when he sees the way Lando is feeling the envelope. “Mate, I’m not giving you money.”
Lando frowns, before ripping it open. “You’ve got more than enough to spare.”
Seeing Lando open his, has the rest of them following suit.
“Dear friends of Max Verstappen,” George reads out and the wording earns a few snorts but he continues. “You are invited to celebrate at the” he pauses squinting at the french on the page.
“The Salle des Étoiles” Charles says.
“Cheers, mate. You’re invited to celebrate on the 8th of November at 4pm.” His eyebrows furrow. “Celebrate what?”
Max watches from the corner of his eye as Christian flips the invitation over and nearly chokes.
“Your engagement?”
“Your what?”
“Engaged?”
“Impossible.”
“Lies.”
The whole room is filled with denial and panic and Max just smiles, nearly laughing when Logan thrusts his invitation into James’ hands and asks the team principal if it’s true.
“Max, you aren’t engaged, right? Like that was a fuck up with the print place?” Daniel is nearly pleading, begging, and Max would feel sorry, but for the past ten years he’s been telling people he isn’t single, and sure he’s never shared many details, but they all refused to believe or even consider it.
He ignores him, instead looking at the room in large. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s very excited about it.” And as if he planned it, the FIA official walks into the room and no one can question him.
When the meeting is over he manages to avoid all of them except for Christian, who nearly drags him into a private room.
“Is this real?”
Max raises an eyebrow at the way he’s waving around the invitation but nods. “Yes.”
“You’re really engaged.”
“Yes, Christian. I am.”
The older man stares at him, not blinking before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Is she pregnant?”
“What?”
“The girl you’ve been sleeping with recently. Is she pregnant, is that what this is about? Because you don’t have to marry her.”
“No one is pregnant.” He reassures, not even able to find any anger for Christian and his assumption.
The older man sighs again before sitting down and slumping in the chair.
“You’ve had a girlfriend since you were sixteen.” There’s regret, guilt, and sorrow in his voice.
“Yes.”
“And I never believed you.”
He shrugs, it had hurt yes, but he had always understood Christian’s disbelief in it over anyone else's. “No.”
Christian nods. “And I owe you both an apology for that. I should have believed you Max.”
“Thank you.”
“But really, ten years and you’ve just put a ring on it?”
Max groans, rolling his eyes. “You sound like our families.”
They are twenty-four and twenty-six when Max wins his third championship, with the sprint race of all things, and the whole world watches as he’s enveloped by his team before he’s tugging off his helmet and kissing the unfamiliar girl that’s between Christian and Jos, shielded from the rough crowd of Red Bull mechanics, crew, and such. They are twenty-four and twenty-six when everyone finds out that Max had been telling the truth the whole time.
Just about a month later, she eases into the spot between Max and the arm of the couch, eagerly tucking herself closer to him when he drapes an arm over her shoulders.
“You alright?”
She nods, “Yeah, Vic and Tom finally left.”
Max snorts, “It only took them thirty minutes.”
“A record for them.” She grins, before looking at the other people surrounding them, or rather Max. She wasn’t surprised that Max had taken to quickly grabbing a few people and secluding themselves in a corner. She was a bit surprised by the people however.
Charles and Daniel which isn’t too surprising, but there’s the three rookies of the season, Liam, Oscar, and Logan, as well, a little surprising, but nothing compared to the two Mercedes drivers also in front of her.
“You aren’t trying to get Lewis to play paddle are you?”
Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “I get enough of competing with him on the track. There’s no convincing me there.”
“It’s fun, Lewis.” Charles says. “You should join. George you too. Make it Mercedes versus,” he pauses, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to think of something to call himself and Max.
“Lestappen.” She offers, inching away a bit when Max pinches her side.
Charles doesn’t notice the pinch, just smiles at her, before looking at the two British drivers. “Yes! Mercedes versus Lestappen.” His eyebrows then furrow. “What is Lestappen?”
“Mate, you don’t want to know.” Liam tells him.
Logan chuckles, “I don’t know. Either he finds out now or he finds out when he googles it later.”
“Googles it.” George murmurs, mocking the American accent that Logan has. “Bloody Americans.”
“Yeah, yeah, tea and crumpets.” Logan waves off Georges mocking with a grin as he looks at Charles.
“It’s what people call you and Max, a nickname you could say for when you two are together.” She tells him before Logan can say anything.
“Oh,” he frowns, considering. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It’s not.” She assures.
Before anyone can say anything else, someone joins their group, eyes focusing on her.
“Dr. Y/L/N, congratulations on your engagement.”
She looks at the older man in surprise before quickly standing to shake his hand. “Toto, a pleasure to see you again. And please you don’t need to call me doctor.”
Toto smiles, tilting his head forwards, conceding as she sits back down.
“Doctor?” Daniel questions, eyes flitting between her and the Mercedes team principal, not sure of what to make of the interaction, though Max seems perfectly fine with it.
She presses her lips together and she can feel Max move a bit closer as Toto’s eyes narrow at Max. “Yes.” She tells Daniel and the rest. “I managed to get both of my doctorates last year.”
A few jaws drop and Lewis whistles. “And I thought you were just a teacher.”
Toto’s looking at her now, with narrowed eyes and she sighs.
It would be just her luck that despite having just met the man once, that one time had resulted in a long conversation after he gave his guest lecture at Harvard.
“You told them you're a teacher.”
“I told them I teach.” She corrects. “Let's not make a big deal out of it.”
“I want to make a big deal out of it.” Max mumbles and she sends him a pleading look.
But Max doesn’t give in, instead he turns to the rest of them. “She’s a professor at Harvard. She got both her doctorates at twenty-three and quickly was signed on as professor.”
“So, what you’re saying,” Oscar starts, breaking the silence that has fallen over the group. “Is that she is way too smart for you?”
Max laughs, eyes crinkling and body bending forward from the force of it. “Without a doubt, mate. Without a doubt.”
@cixrosie @darleneslane @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @fanboyluvr @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @benstormy @iloveyou3000morgan @copper-boom @boiohboii @topguncultleader
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bucky barnes x fem!reader
summary: bucky is determined to take care of you while you're sick.
word count: 1.6k+
warnings: mentions of insecurities, mentions of illnesses (but vaguely described), fluffy ahh shit bc why not, usage of pet names such as baby and doll. bucky being stubbornly sweet (it is indeed, a warning), lowercase writing.
i've been sick the past few days hence the creation of this fic. idk why my mood drops when i'm sick... once again, this is too fluffy even for my own good but i warned you and you're reading it still anyway. 🤨 haha jk, i hope you enjoy this one! 🩷
dividers by @cafekitsune!
reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated! thank you. ♡
“can you please let me in, baby?"
that was the fifth time bucky had asked the same question, never giving up on his mission to take care of you after learning from jarvis – out of all people... or robots? – that you were sick.
“bucky, i promise, i'm fine. stop trying to break the door,” you answered, your clogged nose not helping as you sounded horrible even with a concrete wall separating you from him. “go and tell steve that you're joining the mission. you can't withdraw yourself just because i'm—achoo!”
your nose began to leak, and you were now distracted with the need to find the tissue box that used to be on your bed. you didn't hear the door clicking open as well as the heavy footsteps of a certain soldier walking towards you.
“just because you're what? sick?”
you jumped, feeling the edge of the bed sink with his weight. you quickly grabbed the tissue box that was mysteriously thrown under the bed before facing bucky with the duvet covering most of your body.
“how did you open the door?”
bucky shrugged. “i broke the doorknob. you didn't say anything about breaking doorknobs.”
you sighed, not winning this argument with bucky. “you shouldn't be here, bucky. you're supposed to be preparing for a mission tomorrow, not babysitting me!”
“and let you go through this on your own? tough chance, doll. i'm your boyfriend for fuck's sake, and don't tell me that you're worried about getting me sick because we both know i'm immune," he argued, reaching out and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal your face. “are you really upset that i want to take care of you? you should be demanding things from me, baby. instead you've been hiding from me.”
“because i don't need anything, bucky. i can handle myself just fine." you huffed, knowing you wanted his attention and care so badly. remembering your face was exposed, you felt insecure again. you dragged the cover back up and turned away. “i also don't want you to see me like this.”
“like what?"
“like a mess," you muttered underneath the sheets. “you've never seen me like this before, and i swear i am the worst when i'm sick. you don't have to see me like this, okay? i don't want you to.”
you felt silly. it was completely normal to get sick, but you hated how extreme your body would act out whenever an illness would attack you. you'd always sound and look like you were fighting a battle in hell alone. the way your mind would take an entire flip and drag you to your lowest point didn't help either. so, not only were you feeling physically horrible, you were also struggling mentally.
“a mess? what mess?” he asked, lifting the cover to join you underneath it which caught you off guard. you were entirely exposed to his eyes now. “there's my girl. where's the mess that you're talking about, huh?”
with the little amount of energy left in you, you brought your hands up to cover your face. he could see how much of a mess you were now, far from the dream you've painted since the day you dated him. now, you were nothing but a nightmare of your reality.
“don't you dare hide from me. i haven't seen you all day and it's driving me insane," he complained, pulling your hands away from yourself. he brought his thumb to your teary eyes, wiping the tears away before they could fall. “i can't believe you're hiding from me just because you think i can't handle seeing you sick. what did you think i'd do once i saw you like this?”
you sniffed, hesitation holding you back from telling him the truth. it's only been three months since you've started dating bucky, and you were still in that stage where you'd constantly try impress him.
you weren't faking yourself, no. however, you still did your best to only show your good side and tuck away your insecurities. unfortunately, you had to get sick too soon and have to risk bucky seeing you this way.
“you thought i'd leave you? won't like you anymore? get turned off or something?”
you nodded, knowing that was exactly what went through your head and a bit pissed that he was able to read your mind without actually having the power to do so.
bucky's eyes softened at your confession, letting out a soft sigh as he saw how badly you were beating yourself up.
“if it's because of how you look right now, then it's true. you do look different," he answered, your chest tightening. “your eyes lost their glow, you're frowning more often, your eyes are all puffy, you are definitely grumpier than usual, your lips are dry and chapped from—”
“okay, i get it, bucky! you don't have to rub it in my fa—”
“but i won't be doing whatever is on your mind. you're sick, doll. it'll affect you. it's normal. hell, i look even worse when i used to get sick, but you? you still look so fucking lovely." he held your face gently, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “even then, i don't give a fuck on how messy you can get. i'm your boyfriend. i should be taking care of you, helping you feel better, and bringing back the glow in your eyes. please, baby. let me take care of you.”
this time, you were looking back at him. "you mean it?"
"of course I mean it," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "i love you, doll. i don't care how you look like right now. you could look like a swamp monster and be sick as a dog, and i would still think that you are the most beautiful woman for me."
you giggled softly, his words filling you with warmth and reassurance. you felt so lucky to have a man who truly loved you and handled your insecurities with such understanding and care, and even sillier for thinking he'd leave you for such reasons.
“thank you. that really made me feel better," you told him, your arms slowly creeping forward to hold him. “i'm sorry for hiding. i was just scared to turn you off or anything.”
“are you kidding? i'm trying my best not to hold you down and kiss you all over. i haven't even hugged you for a day,” bucky said, a pout on the verge of forming on his face.
“it hasn't even been a day, bucky. now, who's dramatic?" you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “and you're supposed to be on a mission tomorrow! are you really not going?”
“when i could be here taking care of you?” he asked, as if the answer was already obvious. “the others can handle it. my main priority is to do anything you want and make you feel better.”
“anything?”
he smiled, leaning down to let your lips meet softly. "anything."
( a lil bonus < 3 )
“what is that smell?”
sam, steve, and natasha entered the compound after a quick briefing for their mission tomorrow. they joined tony and clint who were having a casual conversation in the living room about the best burrito in town.
the kitchen was an open space, the aroma of whatever bucky was cooking spreading all around the nearby rooms.
sam didn't hesitate to come closer and inspect the kitchen, finding the entire counter lined up with various spices and plates that bucky filled with his dishes.
“what's the occasion? did i miss something?" sam asked, grabbing a fork to take a little taste until bucky slapped his hand away. "ow! what was that for?"
"hands off." bucky warned, frowning at sam. “that's not for you, wilson."
“not even a nibble? come on, man. it smells amazing!”
their usual bickering caught the attention of the other avengers, immediately joining them in the kitchen which annoyed bucky even more when he saw them eyeing the food he made.
"before any of you try to ask, no. this is not for any of you."
"who's it even for?" natasha asked, the least interested to have a taste, but was curious either way.
bucky answered with your name. "she's sick."
"what? since when?" clint asked, worry flashing across his face. "can we do anything?"
bucky glanced up before hesitantly answering. "well.. she did say she wanted to watch a movie after eating."
clint snapped his fingers and smiled. "i'm on it."
"i'll get jarvis to check on her vitals every hour and create a diagnosis," tony said, already tapping on his smart watch. "assuming she wouldn't be too comfortable letting the entire team know what's going on with her body, i'll just let you receive the updates. just update me with what you can, yeah?"
"i'll talk to fury and let you both have a week free from work," steve offered. "she needs the rest and she needs you."
"oh, i'll handle fury. he can't say no to his favourite," natasha said with a smug smile. "tell her i'll bring her all her favourite snacks once we're back from our mission, and that she better be back to full health so we can go out together."
bucky nodded, chest warming with the genuine concern they shared. he was excited to let you know how loved and deserving of all this you were.
if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌
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