#expect better things in the future! 🥰 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahundredtimesover · 3 months

Text

I Want You to Stay (07) | 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; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 15.4k

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: One of my fave chapters! I hope you like this one! And just a heads up that intervals between posting days will be longer as the chapters get longer, too. And bc u know, life... HAHA but again, thank you so much for all the love for this like??? HOW. PLS you've all been so nice so thank you! 🥰 Also… JK in that SNTY suit.

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

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

Mr. Ri loads the luggages in the trunk and you double check that all bags - which you helped pack yesterday - are complete. You enter the car right after and head to the airport where Jungkook will fly to Singapore for a few meetings and to attend Seokjin’s alcohol launch party.

It’s been over a month since the Arts Center event and so much has happened since then. Jungkook went to Jeju to meet an artist and then to Japan over a weekend to meet another two. He’s been on calls with a few more with plans to meet in their country of residence in the next months, and he’s gone around different local towns to meet with craftspeople for souvenirs and future exhibitions. He’s also touched base with various national and international Korean arts and culture organizations for promotion and joint projects. The event opened doors for a new network that he hoped for. There are now proposals for other collaborations and side engagements that’s doing a lot for the company’s brand and expansion.

To say that Jungkook and the team have been busy is an understatement. You went back to work after those few days of recovering with everyone overwhelmed by all the things they had to do but like you expected, you all managed and got things organized. There are still multiple things to handle all at once, but everyone’s just been on top of everything and showing how competent you all are as individuals and as a team.

Within that period, Jungkook has stopped by the team’s office and the pantry more times than those first months. He also managed to laugh at Do-hyun’s unfiltered remarks a few times and even slipped his own that got the team giggling. He’s seemed a lot more relaxed and so has the team. Lunch meetings have been regular given all the work you all have to do. Yohan and Chin-sun even say that they’ve gotten to know Jungkook a little better through their visits to the Arts Center. And while they do think he’s still a bit detached and catch him in his own world sometimes, he’s a lot more engaged and is actually way smarter than they’d initially thought.

Jungkook checks his phone and sighs, prompting you to turn to him.

“Seokjin says the party is an intimate event but there’s gonna be over two-fifty guests so I don’t know about that,” he shakes his head, showing you the restaurant bar where his friend will be launching his alcohol brand. “For some reason, he expects me and Tae to entertain guests on his behalf.”

This was another development you hadn’t expected. Since that morning when Jungkook sent you food when you were unwell, your relationship changed. It’s still professional but there’s more openness now, as if that prompted both of you to be comfortable around each other.

There’s more trust and honesty, too - he lets you make decisions, lets you handle the team when he’s away, and asks you for your unfiltered opinion. You feel like all the time you spend together has allowed you to learn how he sees and understands things; you even finish his sentences sometimes.

He’s also loosened up a bit and allows himself to laugh and smile more. They’re still rare occurrences but you never point them out, not wanting him to feel awkward and then stop. They often catch you off guard so you haven’t been able to fully appreciate them but at least he feels comfortable around you, enough to even talk about non-work stuff and things that fill his mind, like random questions or small concerns.

You’re unsure if he notices how uninhibited he’s become but you don’t point it out either. He still has his moments of living in his head, his faraway thoughts rendering him quiet and observant, and his perfectionist attitude means he’s still critical sometimes. But he doesn’t take anything out on you - not his frustrations nor his fears. He’d usually keep to himself and talk to you once he’s cooled down and you’d take that any day, so long as you keep your sanity and are able to do your tasks as instructed.

In return, you let yourself be the same. You’ve fully restored your confidence and that’s allowed you to show just how capable you are. You’ve been more vocal with your thoughts, too, and don’t take it personally when he doesn’t agree. You smile a lot more, joke with him even, and have been more generous with words of encouragement and affirmation. They come more naturally than you expected, and you appreciate that he doesn’t turn you away whenever it happens.

He’s actually okay to be around when he’s not being grumpy or difficult. You suppose that the situations he was put in - and how you responded with patience and understanding - allowed him to see that you’re truly on his side and that let him put his guard down a little. You’re past trying to please him for the sake of making your job bearable; there’s actual joy in it now, and while the search for who you are outside of all this continues to ring in your head, you think that sticking around for now isn’t so bad either.

“Perhaps Seokjin has seen how good you are with entertaining guests now and deems you worthy of being an extension of him,” you respond to Jungkook’s earlier musings. “And he wouldn’t be wrong. You’ve become really good at it.”

“You know, I think you oversell me sometimes,” he chuckles.

“Hmm, I think I don’t,” you counter. “If I may say so, Mr. Jeon, it's just that the bar was pretty low so the improvements are quite striking.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, not taking offense.

“You can still do better at charming people. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from Seokjin and Taehyung,” you push.

“Those two flirt, they don’t charm,” he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Well, I completely disagree, sir. I mean, I’ve seen it firsthand. And I’m not one who’s easily charmed.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can pick from them, then,” he concedes.

“Kidding aside, I think you’ll be fine, Mr. Jeon. Plus, it’s unrelated to work so there’s no need to impress anyone,” you state.

“True,” he hums. “But just thinking about these next few days is already making me tired. Tae rented a yacht for tonight. We have Seokjin’s launch tomorrow, and to celebrate, he’s throwing another party the day after.”

“Hmm, must be that you’re getting old,” you tease, earning you a hum in agreement. “But you’re used to that though, right? They always said that was your life back in Singapore.”

“It was. I had less responsibilities and people to manage but back then, everything seemed too much,” he shares. “I took the weekends seriously and really just did whatever I wanted. I haven’t done much of that these past weeks because I’ve been so tired and I feel like I’m under the microscope when I’m here. So yeah, I’ll probably just take advantage of being back there and just enjoy it.”

“As you should,” you say. “You’ve worked hard and you deserve to spend your weekend however you wish. Just, uh…”

“What?”

“Probably give Lucas a heads-up in case a half-naked woman greets him in the kitchen on Monday morning.”

The silence is deafening and you think you’ve crossed a line with this one. You turn towards him and he looks stunned at your unfiltered remark.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in apology. “That was too personal.”

“It’s okay,” he responds after a beat of silence. “I guess I deserve that. I mean, I never apologized for the morning when you experienced exactly that. And for when you found that underwear on the floor, which I forgot to clean up. So, uh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, too. I got over it,” you assure him. “And if anything, I’m pretty sure she left that on purpose so she’ll have a reason to come back.”

“That’s exactly it,” he groans. “She saw me again and wanted to go to my apartment so she could get it. I told her I threw it away.”

“How brutal,” you tease again.

“Not my finest moment but yeah, I’m sorry to put you in that position. Must’ve been tough seeing proof of all the washroom gossip.”

“You know about those?” You gasp.

“I’ve heard about them,” he sighs. “Mr. Ri’s got eyes and ears in the office.”

“It’s hard to defend so I just don’t try,” the older man shakes his head. “Not like you deny it anyway.”

“Not like I really care,” Jungkook shrugs. “But even then, I guess it wasn’t the best start for us,” he tells you.

“Perhaps not, but I’m not one to judge, Mr. Jeon. That’s all in the past now, and that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” he hums.

It’s during these casual exchanges when you get to see a bit more of Jungkook as the person that he is, beyond the perfectionist executive who still harbors fears and worries about his new role. He’s still a human being who finds ways to deal with the stresses of life, someone who needs time to step away from his burdensome responsibilities, someone who seeks intimacy and connection and finds ways to attain them in his own ways. The doubts and worries are still there, but the foundation has stabled a bit. Somehow you think that you’ve created a space safe enough for him to talk about them, to apologize, and to try to be better. You hope he gets to create that for himself, too, and if that’s what you’ll leave him with by the time you decide to step away from this job, you think you’d be satisfied.

Silence engulfs you both and like he often is after being vulnerable with you, he keeps to himself once again. You wait a while before running through his meetings for today and next week and inform him of what the team will be working on while he’s away. Jungkook responds with a few last-minute instructions, especially about the tasks he needs done in time for your team meeting on Monday. You’re both back to professional talk and you don’t really mind; there’s something about being honest and open that could be a bit disarming.

The car stops and Mr. Ri exits to retrieve the luggage from the trunk. Jungkook, in his navy blue suit, gathers his things and says goodbye. Before he can close the door, you call out his name.

“Yeah?” He asks, his one hand carrying his bag and the other, on the roof of the car as he bends to look at you.

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I know you think it’s just an ordinary day but I hope you celebrate well.”

“Thank you,” he says after a few seconds, basking in the softness of your smile for the short moment that he can.

Jungkook steps away then closes the door. He heads to the airport lounge before taking the 6-hour flight to Singapore, spending it on reviewing reports and design proposals. He goes straight to the office when he lands, settling down in his room where he responds to emails. He munches on some dumplings for lunch, thinking he’s missed the ones from the restaurant across the street, but then Lucas enters and sets down a bowl of seaweed soup.

“Ms. Cho asked me to get this for you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook is caught off guard but manages to dismiss Lucas and tastes the dish. It’s nothing like his mother’s, but then again, he hasn’t had it in years. When Jungkook moved here, there were no celebrations apart from getting drunk at a club, which is also why he’d stopped thinking of his birthday as anything special. There were no traditional meals or well wishes or birthday cakes.

He’s here again. There’s that yacht party tonight but it won’t feel like a celebration. Somehow, with this bowl of soup, this does. You’re a thousand miles away but even then, he still feels your presence. Even then, he feels more cared for than he has these past several years combined.

Jungkook wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache. His neck feels a bit strained, given that he’d slept in an awkward position wearing his clothes from last night. He also barely remembers much. One minute he was drinking with a woman around his arm and the next he’s… here.

He shifts and lays flat on his back, groaning as last night’s happenings manifest in the soreness of his entire body. The yacht was fancy, as he’d expected from his best friends. There was overflowing food and drinks, the music was great, and the guests were honestly too many for his liking. There were familiar faces and new ones, but he mostly stuck around with those he knew. What he also remembers is not being able to taste his cake. He’s definitely calling Seokjin to complain.

Suddenly hit with the thought of not knowing how he’d gotten home last night - or with whom - Jungkook sits up and groans once more, the incoming call adding to the ringing sound in his head.

“Mr. Jeon,” Lucas answers on the other end. “How are you feeling today?”

“Terrible,” Jungkook says, now finding the strength to get off the bed. “Did you take me home?”

“Yes, sir. You wanted to leave so Mr. Ri and I took you to your penthouse,” Lucas answers. “Your valuables are on the table.”

Jungkook sighs, knowing it was one of those nights. Removing his clothes, he sees the fresh marks on his chest. Wanting to prepare himself before finding some stranger in the other room, he asks his assistant if he’d brought someone home with him.

“No, sir. It was just you. She, uh, she asked to come but you told her you were too tired so she stayed behind.”

“Oh, good,” Jungkook exhales in relief, not wanting to deal with any of that this morning, which is one reason why he always asks them to leave. “How long do I have until I have to get ready for tonight?”

“About five hours,” the younger man replies. “You have a scheduled dinner with your friends at 5:30 and then the event at 8. I’ll be there before that to help you get ready.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll just workout to deal with this hangover.”

“Medicines are in the cupboard, sir. Please just let me know if there’s anything more you need.”

“I will.”

Jungkook hangs up and presses on his temples as if that’ll do anything. He retrieves the medicine as advised and thinks of something else he needs - a cup of lemon ginger tea. Ever since you’d prepared one for him that one morning, he’s been having it after every night out. He calls the butler to have it prepared for him, given that he doesn’t have the energy to do so himself.

It arrives, and coupled with the aspirin, he’s starting to somehow feel better. He knows that heading to the gym will do the trick, as it always does, but it still makes him think that he shouldn’t have drank as much as he did last night.

For someone who’s not particularly fond of people, even Jungkook sometimes wonders why he goes out and parties as much as he does.

He wasn’t always like this though. His weekends used to be spent on food trips and travels, but after the breakup with Chaerin, those days became free, and he’d stay out late so he could sleep the rest of the next day. The women were to make up for the loneliness; the alcohol was to forget why he needed them in the first place. He hates loud and unnecessary sounds, but the music and the chatter started to become white noise for him; they’d become a companion to help deal with the noise in his own head, or the lack of it.

Years later, the remaining thoughts in his mind were just all about work, and he’d revert to the same habit for relief - the women became his thrill; the alcohol was so he wouldn’t remember them.

And it works. The ecstasy lasts only through the night. It’s fleeting as his desire for them is. He doesn’t recall names, just that they made him feel good and that they felt the same; they often try to hook up with him again after all, seeking him in the clubs they know he frequents. But he rarely entertains them; a second time leads to a third, and he can’t be assured that they won’t ask the same tiring questions he hates hearing - why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he want to commit to anyone? Does he see himself settling down and having a family? What’ll make him want that?

It’s happened a few times, during the rare instances that there’s a lull in between and they take advantage of his brief period of vulnerability to make him open up. He never does, and it’s not because he thinks it’s a weakness to do so, but he just never really let the moment linger to find out.

After a light meal, Jungkook heads to the gym and spends three hours expending his energy so he could get it back.

This is his other means of dealing with his stress. Working out makes him focus on something else and it helps in releasing all his anger and frustration. As he stares at his bare body in the mirror right after - the marks from last night still visible - he scoffs at himself.

He’s so stereotypical, it makes him sick. He’s allowed himself to let his life revolve around the shallow and fleeting sensations of pleasure to counter the permanence and inevitability of his job. This is his world and he made it this way. And while he drowns in the nothingness inside the walls that he created, he still thinks it’s better than being outside; somehow he thinks it’s lonelier and more burdensome out there. At least in here, he’s all he has to deal with; he’s all he can disappoint.

But there are still moments when he wonders what it could be like if he just dared to live differently. Like when he watches Seokjin animatedly explain the history and creation process of Korean traditional alcohol during the product launch that evening and how his passion is moving and infectious. Or when he observes how Taehyung freely moves around the club and makes connections with others as deep as his smile.

Jungkook thinks about all this as he glances at the woman next to him later that night, bare under the covers like he is, her body curled into a cocoon as she takes a break.

She’d caught his eye earlier because she wasn’t trying to get his attention like the others were. She spoke less and screamed more, let him do what he wanted but touched him softly as she pleased.

“You’re a good lover. Why do you waste yourself with something temporary like me?” She’d asked.

It left him speechless and he shrugged - a change from his usual dismissal - but there’s really nothing to say.

Why does he? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to.

But it’s at this moment that he tries to imagine what it would be like if it were the same face he saw next to him every morning, if it were the same hand he held everyday, if it were the same warm body he curled into every night. His mind wanders too far, into the depths of a place it can’t go to, beyond boundaries he can’t cross, and the sight is both terrifying and calming.

It’s safer where he is.

So when she wakes up from a short nap, she looks up at him, her soft eyes wishing for something she knows she shouldn’t.

“You should go,” he says, the softest he’s ever uttered the words.

“Okay,” she whispers in submission.

She gets up from the bed, finds her stray clothes on the floor, and puts them on. Jungkook follows her to the door, a first for him. Maybe it’s her gentleness, or the unspoken understanding between them, or maybe because she doesn’t ask for more even if she seems to want to.

But though he contemplates pulling her back to try to feel what that’s like - seeing her in the morning, holding her hand, curling into her embrace - he doesn’t. He knows even that desire would end; it’s fleeting just as everything around him is.

He holds open the door. She turns around with a smile.

“I hope someday you find someone you’ll ask to stay,” she says, surprising him again. “I’m sure they would.”

You walk around the store in awe of the luscious plants displayed on the shelves, your eyes as bright as the lights that shine over them. There are so many to choose from, and though you have an idea of what you want to have, it’s tough deciding which ones to get right now. The money tree is a must, so is the Chinese evergreen. But do you go for the orchid or the peace lily? Can you keep up with a spider plant? How many of the asparagus ferns should you get?

Your eyes flit from one plant to the next, eventually deciding on getting everything on your list then placing them on the cart for payment.

Jimin chuckles next to you. “Since when were you a plant mom?”

“Since she got that aloe vera from Yoongi and she was convinced that she has a green thumb after it didn’t die,” Soomin deadpans next to you as you frown at her sarcasm. “That’s also after my weekly reminders to water the plant because ‘no care’ doesn’t actually mean it’s going to survive on its own.”

“Oh, shush,” you scoff at her. “You told me I was doing a good job.”

“You’d send a photo every few days, hun,” she laughs. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“True. I needed the encouragement,” you shrug, paying for your haul. “But also, I’m a plant newbie. Yoongi said that I probably need some of them at home and in the office for positive energy and he’s not wrong. All the frustration from months ago just accumulated in my apartment and I need a change.”

“So… Is Yoongi a plant dad, too?” Soomin wonders.

“No. He just knows about a lot of things,” you reply. “Plus, he’s an architect and a designer. He knows a thing or two about plant decor.”

“Why isn’t he here with you, then?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Because I’m with both of you, duh,” you roll your eyes. “And before you say anything more, I don’t really like mixing my work friends with my personal friends. It’s different.”

“Well, I’m glad we could join you on this new phase of your life,” Jimin tries to be encouraging. “It’s like turning over a new leaf.”

You scold him over his terrible pun but laugh anyway, enjoying the comfort and playfulness that only your best friends could bring. They picked you up from work last Friday then you all headed to a club after dinner. You spent yesterday at a beach at their insistence then stayed in during the evening. It’s now Sunday and you’re dragging them around as you run errands before saying goodbye to them again, and it’s not a normal day without Soomin mentioning Yoongi. Perhaps it’s because of all the guys you’ve mentioned that have taken interest in you, he’s the only true green flag; he’s also the only one you didn’t entertain at all. You suppose that’s something she’ll not really get over.

The three of you head to a nearby cafe. Jimin excitedly talks about the latest menu item in their chain of restaurants while Soomin groans about the stuff she has to deal with as she manages her family-owned shipping company that’s the biggest in the port city of Busan. They turn to you and ask how the rest of your week is going to go, with slightly surprised looks when you don’t talk about work with as much disdain as you used to. There’s excitement, even, something that Soomin points out, and when you mention that Jungkook is on an overseas trip, she assumes that’s the reason why.

“Not really,” you clarify. “He arrives tomorrow evening, but the week’s packed - we’re visiting the Arts Center for inspection and then I’m doing an ocular with Chin-sun for the VP events we’re holding in the next few months. I mean, I won’t be buried in files nor will I be in meetings all week. So yeah, it’s not bad.”

“That’s good,” Jimin beams. “At least it’s nothing like how it used to be. Right?”

“It’s a lot better, I told you guys,” you say, reminding them of a similar talk you had the last time they were here, which was a week after you’d gotten sick. “Jungkook is… rational, less grumpy and impulsive; he also listens to me and trusts me. He’s even smiled a few times.”

“Wow, he really set the bar low for you, huh,” Jimin chuckles, earning him a nod.

“Does that also mean that he’s now completely bearable and no longer your type because he’s not an asshole anymore?” Soomin chimes in, being the blunt and bold one among the three of you.

“He never was my type in the first place,” you scowl. “Plus, he’s literally my boss, Soo. That’s like, not some flag, it’s a whole ass brick wall that shall not be crossed.”

“Right. That’s why Mr. Min didn’t make the cut,” she points out. “Told you you should’ve just quit your job so you could date him.”

“And I also told you that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t want to,” you remind her. “Yoongi’s exactly the type of person I need in my life, and being more than friends is the surefire way of making sure that doesn’t happen. Like, why would I risk a good friendship for something that may not work out? Whether I break his heart or he breaks mine, it’s pain I can’t handle. There’s just no going back from there.”

“Right, that is your biggest fear,” Soomin replies softly, the sympathetic tone in her voice telling you that she does understand where you’re coming from. “I mean, it’s still possible that you wouldn’t hurt each other but I get it. It just sucks, I guess. The good ones often start as your friends.”

“I know. And I’d rather have them and be single than none at all,” you sigh.

The thought is simpler than it seems. You won’t deny that you’ve thought of how things would’ve been if you gave Yoongi a chance, but the fear of what you’d lose always trumped that type of possibility.

There’s a kind of pain you don’t want to experience, one of a broken heart caused by losing someone you’ve given your all to. It’s how you think you love, after all; you can’t give any less. But it’s also why you’ve never done it. No one’s inspired that kind of devotion for you.

Soomin has pointed out before that it’s probably also because you don’t open yourself up to the possibilities as you should. Maybe you’ve just been too focused on other things. But maybe you also just haven’t felt the kind of all-consuming desire for someone who would be worth it, one you’d want so much that you’d willingly face the fear of paralyzing heartbreak just to be with them.

You suppose that’s the difference. That’s the irony, too. You’re scared to love because you’re scared of the pain, so you keep your distance to keep yourself safe but it’s also why you haven’t found someone you’re willing to crawl out of your walls for.

There’s not much you feel passionate about in life. Maybe it’s love. But you’re too cautious to feel it, to look for it, so you don’t really know. Maybe it’s something else completely, and working in the environment that you do hinders you from discovering it. You’ve kept your distance from a lot of things over the past years and the thought that one day, you’ll be able to feel free from all the burden you carry because of a past you couldn’t control, makes you look forward to the day when you get to walk away from all those and hopefully, find whatever it is you’re looking for.

Jimin nudges you after you zone out, and you switch the subject and ask about the latest gossip in their hometown. You enjoy living vicariously through their social life back in Busan. They not only come out here to Seoul to see you but also to take a break from all the drama that they can’t really escape from, given the type of people in their circle of friends. You always thank the heavens you got lucky that at 10 years old and making a new life in a new city, you found Soomin and Jimin, perhaps the only other people aside from your mother who make you feel safe and protected, a feeling you don’t take for granted.

They indulge you and share some stories, but when Soomin goes through her social media feed to show you something, she gasps instead when she realizes that the men in her friend’s Instagram post include Jungkook.

“Did your boss just go there to party?” She asks, showing you the photo.

“Partly,” you reply. “His best friend hosted the launch of his alcohol line there but there are a couple more parties because it’s his birthday weekend. Your friends went?”

“Yeah, some of them are Kim Seokjin’s friends, apparently,” Soomin says. “Small world. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Seoul and Busan socialites attract each other.”

“Why aren’t you there, then?” You chuckle.

“We’re choosy socialites,” Jimin clarifies. “Or like, pretentious. We just act like we are but we really aren’t, just to say that the Park and Cheon kids are interesting and sociable like the rest of them.”

“Who says they’re interesting and sociable?” Soomin states incredulously. “My eyes roll to the back of my head every time I’m in those shitty events. The lack of self-awareness of rich people repulses me. And I obviously don’t count us in.”

“And you shouldn’t,” you confirm. “I attract good people, I guess. I’m glad you’re not like them.”

“Well, what about Jungkook’s friends?” Jimin asks. “How are they like?”

“What I can say about the Kim brothers is that they’re nice people,” you say. “Very charming, ridiculously good-looking... And they sound like good friends, too. I can’t say much else. Their dating game is pretty strong though.”

“I’d assume. I mean, when you look like that, how could you not be?” Soomin states. “I mean, even Jungkook’s on point. That’s some hot girl he’s got.”

She shows you a couple of Instagram stories from her friends posting about the launch party. It turns out, there were a lot of Korea-based personalities who were invited. You spot Jungkook immediately, wearing the all-white ensemble that you packed for him the other day. His hair is a bit curled and the knitted top underneath the simple coat highlights his taut physique. There’s also that gorgeous woman around his arms, and if what you know about him is enough, you’d guess she’s probably one of those he seeks for a good time.

The sight of him loosening up a bit and enjoying himself is something you appreciate. He’s always stressed when he’s here and you’re glad he could spend a few days partying elsewhere without having to think about work, especially during the week of his birthday. You don’t know how much of this aspect of his life he enjoys, but he does seem a bit free yet still somehow detached. You suppose that’s something he’ll always be - a man trying to live his life while separating himself from the meaning of it. You’re unsure of how he does it but perhaps it’s not that different from how you are, too.

After lunch, Soomin and Jimin do a few more of your errands with you before dropping you home and then heading back to theirs. You spend the rest of the evening arranging your plants in your tiny apartment and feeling like more life is breathed into it with every one of them finding their home in a corner or on a shelf. Oddly enough, you feel a bit less lonely. That’s how you think you’ve been doing things, after all - finding substitutes for the kind of company you’re yearning for, for the kind of relationship you’re so afraid to have.

Jungkook wakes up that Monday morning feeling a lot better than he did the days before. For one, there’s no ringing in his head nor the feeling of dehydration. Bare under his soft covers, there also aren’t any fresh marks on his chest that signify the kind of night he usually has. In fact, he remembers most of it - he stayed by the bar and briefly chatted with the women who’d approached him.

Suzy was there last night, too, the only one he’s hooked up with more than once, and probably the only one he’s had proper conversations with, given that she’s a landscape designer. She’s been away on business trips and had just gone back, her bluntness about going back to his apartment that she’s too familiar with being met with a rejection that she didn't take personally.

“Has Seoul changed you?” She asked, her eyebrow arched in anticipation of his reply.

“Do you think a place would do that to me?” He laughed.

“No, but a person would,” she shrugged.

“None of that,” he shook his head. “There’s no one. I’m too busy, too tired.”

“But not too lonely?” she asked. “It’s the only reason why you would call me.”

There was no bitterness in her words but still, he asked. “And why did you always come, then?”

“To see if each time would be good enough for you to not make me leave.”

The conversation took a turn that he didn’t expect, the usual honesty in her words being too honest for him. He fumbled for something to say but she shook him off, claiming that she knew what she was getting into every time he took her home and that constantly hoping for something doesn’t guarantee that she’d get it one day.

He drank a couple of glasses of whiskey after she left but managed to call his butler for a sandwich and lemon ginger tea in time for his arrival at his penthouse. The meal did the trick, as he’d slept soundly after a warm bath without a splitting headache and regrets the next day.

It’s Monday, after all, and it’s back to work as usual. He has a few meetings to attend before flying back to Seoul, one of which is with the team. He gathers the energy to get off the bed for a half-hour exercise before getting ready. He eats the breakfast that the butler orders for him then heads to the office where he briefly meets with Lucas.

Settled on his desk, he proceeds to virtually meet with the team, who all promptly greet him from the conference room. He asks how their weekend was, with most of them looking surprised because he rarely asks them about it, but they answer anyway. That’s when he notices that you’re not around, prompting him to look for you.

“I’m here, Mr. Jeon,” you answer off camera before appearing on screen with a candle-lit cake in your hands.

He’s surprised when the team sings him a happy birthday, your eyes fixed on him as you mouth the words with a soft smile on your face. Do-hyun giggles at his silence, saying that he probably forgot it was his birthday or he maybe didn’t expect that they’d prepare something for him.

“We like you now, Mr. Jeon,” she teases, earning him a nudge from Chin-sun but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does he.

It’s what makes him laugh, hoping that the pink on his cheeks aren’t visible on screen. He hadn’t expected this. He also knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’d bet that you had everything to do with this.

“You’ve probably been too busy to celebrate but we haven’t forgotten. More like, Ms. Cho made sure we remembered,” Manager Lee chuckles. “We hope you enjoy this little something we prepared.”

“It’s an ice cream cake so it’ll just be in your refrigerator and you can have some when you return,” you say.

“Thank you,” he finally manages to say. “You didn’t have to but I appreciate it. I’m looking forward to having some when I get back. Ms. Cho should also buy another one big enough for the team to share.”

You nod in acknowledgment of his instruction before starting with the meeting. There’s a lot to talk about, given the Arts Center construction and activities, as well as the upcoming year-end events that they have to organize and coordinate. It goes on for over two hours and it ends with your gentle smile after he says goodbye.

The rest of the day feels too long for Jungkook, especially during the late afternoon flight and eventual ride home. He stares at the photo you sent of the cake, making sure he sees the greeting on it.

“Get home safely, Mr. Jeon,” you text him after he says thanks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With the reminders of the impermanence of things and people this weekend, Jungkook finds comfort in the stability that you provide. It’s in your smile, in your reminders and organization of his life, in your thoughtfulness and patience. It’s in the assurance that tomorrow is another day, one in which he gets to see you once again.

The cake is simple but sophisticated. The mint chocolate flavor is exactly how he likes it and in ice cream cake form, it’s really delicious. He’s glad he gets to have this all for himself, as the team was able to enjoy one yesterday as per his instruction, and you’d sent a group photo of everyone enjoying it to him, the small smile that formed on his face no longer surprising him.

For one, the comfort is there. He’s seen just how much better the team is working together because of it - they’re more open to giving him feedback and receiving his, any moment of frustration is easily mended with laughter, and his encouragement and affirmation have been motivating them as well. In the midst of it is you who makes sure that communication flows smoothly and that everything is on track, acting as the glue that keeps everyone together.

He sees firsthand just how good you are at handling things, and how despite all the stress, you manage to get him seaweed soup and a cake for his birthday. It’s more than just the details regarding work that you’re on top of; it’s also details about his life, and how he’s responding to it tells him that maybe, whatever change there is like what Suzy observed, a big part of it is because of you.

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Jeon,” your voice cuts through his thoughts.

He looks up and sees you with a portfolio in hand, motioning towards the cake that’s now one fourth eaten.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, not denying it. “I feel like I haven’t had sweets in a while. Where did you buy this?”

“Oh, uh, I asked the baker who made desserts for the Arts Center event if she could make a customized ice cream cake,” you explain. “Fortunately she could. And thankfully it’s delicious. She enjoyed working with us so she gave us a discount.”

“You… had this made for me?”

He’d expected it to be store-bought, but learning you made the effort to reach out to someone reminds him once more of your thoughtfulness, of your care.

“Yes, I, uh, I just assumed you’d receive a few and I thought to give you something a little different.”

“It’s the only one I got actually,” he says, catching you off guard. Your face falls a little so he follows it up. “Like I told you, I don’t celebrate my birthday so I don’t let people know about it. And the ones who do also know that I don’t make a big deal out of it so they don’t really give me anything.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little sad.

You’re not one to have big celebrations but you do have a bit of it. For your 30th birthday at the start of the year, Jimin and Soomin threw you a little party in your humble home in Daegu where they performed some of your favorite songs and enacted your favorite drama scenes to make you happy. There was no need for anything fancy - just your loved ones and your mom’s and Min-woo’s amazing cooking.

But even before that milestone, your friends always made sure to at least get you seaweed soup and a birthday cake; they want you to remember that there are lives impacted because you were born. You can’t really say that Jungkook’s impacted your life the same way but you still value his existence; a small cake is just a little something to celebrate that. But the idea that his family and friends pass up on the cake - and perhaps the gifts, too - makes you think that there’s really not much in Jungkook’s life he feels he could share with others, that there’s not much he could give and receive in return.

“I hope I didn’t cross a line if it’s something you don’t like people knowing,” you continue. “I just thought… it would be nice to receive something from us.”

“It actually was,” he admits, his voice soft and low. Turning away, he says, “it’s been a while since I actually thought about my birthday as anything other than ordinary. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes. So thank you, Ms. Cho. For the soup, too. I appreciate it.”

Perhaps it’s his honesty that does it, but you can’t help the smile that forms on your face. If learning how to express gratitude is something you could teach him, you already feel accomplished.

It’s the next day when you find yourself back in Jungkook’s office, staring at the potted plant in your hands. You’ve gone from debating on whether to leave it on his desk or the coffee table, to even giving it at all. You won’t lie and say you didn’t know what you were thinking when you passed by the plant store after work last night to get this specifically for him. You did - you wanted him to feel that joy of receiving a gift, which you suppose doesn’t happen, especially for someone who can literally buy anything he wants.

But still, it doesn’t mean that your good intention will be received well. You’ve given Hoseok a small gift every year for his birthday, partly because he likes receiving them and also because it’s your way of saying thanks.

You want to give this to Jungkook as a form of gratitude, too. Despite how you both started, the amount of things you’ve learned from him and continue to have somehow made up for it, and you also know that he’s learning from you as well. He’s given you agency to make decisions. He’s also given you events and small projects to manage, making you realize it’s what you really enjoy doing. Seeing things come together the way you envisioned it is so satisfying. Perhaps without intending it, Jungkook’s showed you a way out, a path that you want to explore so much that you’re willing to let go of all that you know in this company for something new, for something that feels more like you.

Your thoughts have completely digressed and with the time you took debating and reflecting, you hadn’t heard his footsteps, and so you jerk a little when he calls out your name.

Turning around, you bow in greeting, remembering at the same time that you have something that you’re not 100% sure yet you want to give right now. But as always, he calls you out on it.

“Is that a snake plant?” He asks, walking towards his seat.

“Yes.”

“Is that the one on your desk?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you laugh dryly, knowing you can’t turn back from it now. “I… I meant to give it to you, sir. I just thought that, uh, the money tree on the shelf might be too lonely so I got you a desk plant. I heard it’s good for positive energy and to filter the air.”

“It is,” he hums. “Is that why you got yourself one?”

“I suppose. I figured it could help improve my mood. Yoongi suggested it before but I just kept pushing it back. I finally got some for my apartment last weekend,” you explain, just so he knows it didn’t come out of nowhere.

“And you think this will improve my mood?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” you shrug. “We’ll probably need a dozen of them here but we could start with one.”

He matches your soft laughter with his own, which you’re thankful for. He reaches out for the plant, nonchalant like you when your fingers brush against each other.

“Hopefully this will work,” he says as he places the small, white pot next to his desktop.

You leave him so he could prepare for a conference call while you’re set to meet with the marketing team. Jungkook gazes at the plant and notices the little note attached to the string around the stem.

Happy birthday, it reads.

This wasn’t just something to match the money tree that Hoseok left for him that he hasn’t been caring for much. This was a gift for him. You probably assume that if he doesn’t receive birthday cakes, he wouldn’t be receiving gifts, either. And you’d be right. His best friends just throw him parties. And once he left Seoul to obtain his MBA in Singapore and stayed to work in their Southeast Asian headquarters, the distance between him and his parents grew. They’d reach out but he didn’t bother much, so he’d stopped expecting anything. After he broke up with Chaerin, he stopped receiving anything at all. This is the first time he’s gotten something from someone after a long time.

It’s simple in its meaning and honest in its intention, and he doesn’t hold back the smile that forms on his face.

You watch the realization dawn on Jungkook from outside. You’d remembered the silly note you left right as you sat down and didn’t have time to take it back, which really wasn’t much, but you suppose it’s enough to tell him that the plant indeed is a gift. You don’t know if someone like him even receives them, or would even appreciate something so cheap and humble, but the gentle smile he has on tells you that he probably doesn’t get much, but that this is something he welcomes.

Your smile follows soon after but it feels different this time. There’s pride somehow that your little gift could elicit something so rare out of him. There’s also a bit of awe; this is the softest he’s ever looked, with that tinge of gratitude and yearning, a complete contrast to what you know of him, to how you’ve always seen him. It’s… it’s actually beautiful.

And this is when things start to get confusing, especially as your phone beeps with that SMS from him.

[From: The Boss] Thank you, ___.

It’s the non-work message. It’s the use of your name. This is personal for him and you acknowledge that it’s the same for you. Perhaps there’s a reason why you made the effort to get the gift last night, why it mattered to you that he received something to celebrate his birthday, and why seeing him appreciate it the way he does is making you giddy and satisfied at the same time.

Maybe it’s the care you’re starting to feel for him that’s beyond just wanting to make your job bearable. You’ll dissect what that truly means later on, but right now it’s just you, him, and the glass wall in between the both of you. There’s distance, there’s a boundary, but there’s a transparent barrier that allows you to see what’s on the other side, one which allows you to know who he is behind the man you’ve come to know. And you admit, he’s not so bad after all.

The construction of the Arts Center is going better than expected. Given some of the delays due to the wrong materials delivered and some permits that took a while to get, the workers were able to make up some ground, largely due to Jungkook’s supervision. When you both visited a few weeks ago, there were many things to work on, and he managed to identify the priorities and find ways to get the project back on track.

It was during those few days of constantly being on site that you saw how efficient and effective he really works. You admired his precision and attention to detail, how he instructed the team leads and project managers and laborers, how he put together the design of one of the rooms just as he’d envisioned it.

He was commanding and decisive, and you appreciated his thorough and simple explanations that allowed you to keep up with him. He’s said that he wants you to understand what’s happening so that you’re well-informed should you need to communicate to others on his behalf, and what initially intimidated you turned into something you became interested in. Since then, you’ve been watching design shows to help you further. The challenge was welcomed, and now you feel like everyday, you’re learning something new on the job.

His instructions from that time were followed, and you’re back today to inspect the rest of the spaces. Everything is so massive, and with one half of the wall of the performance hall already done, you can clearly see the upgrade. The details are impressive, and the way that the traditional designs merge with modern elements is a feature itself.

You’re immersed in the intricacies of the ceiling, walking towards the wall to get a closer look that you don’t immediately notice the workers walking past you with a massive slab of marble. The moment that you do, you step back too quickly, tripping on your heels, and just as you brace yourself to hit the ground, you instead feel your back against a firm chest, with hands on your elbows breaking your fall.

You sigh in relief, even leaning your head back because nothing could be more embarrassing than falling on your ass in front of many people, including your boss. That is, until the familiar scent of jasmine and bergamot wafts through your nose and you realize that what you just did is debatably more embarrassing than what could’ve happened.

The familiar clearing of the throat is what finally does it for you, and with wide eyes, you turn around and face him to apologize.

“I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“Was so much in awe that you didn’t notice the workers passing by,” he finishes, his slightly teasing smile calming you down.

“Ah, well of course. The details are too pretty,” you reason, stepping back only a little. You look at him shyly. “But thank you. I was about to fall.”

“I know. And I was about to lose it if my assistant got injured on the job.”

“True. It’s bad publicity, I guess,” you shrug. “And distractions could cause delays. And that’s bad, too.”

“Or you know, I simply just can’t have you injured, simple as that,” he says with a little frown on his face.

“Imagine if I didn’t see them? They could’ve dropped the marble and I would’ve completely lost it!”

“Why?” He arches an eyebrow.

“That slab is like, two months’ worth of salary, Mr. Jeon.”

“It’s actually more but that’s not the point,” he fully frowns now. “If you didn’t see them, then they could’ve hit you, and then you would be whining in pain right now. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, ___.”

His voice is firm and low, and you nod in acknowledgment because you also know he’s right. The workers’ vision was limited but yours wasn’t; you were just too distracted and if you hadn’t pulled early enough, that marble really could’ve done damage to you. And if it wasn’t for Jungkook catching your fall, then something bad still would’ve happened to you.

“But are you okay? You didn’t twist your ankle or anything?” He asks.

“No. Uh, the heel’s just a bit loose but I’m fine,” you reply, still trying to wrap your head around how he’d said your name - informally, in this setting, as he told you that you could’ve gotten hurt. Maybe you weren’t imagining the worried tone of his voice earlier.

“Okay,” he sighs. “You have to be careful next time.”

“I will, sir,” you reply.

You step aside and Jungkook sees you from his peripheral vision as he returns to assessing, staying put and only glancing at the ceiling unlike earlier. He’d seen you marvel at the design of the hall earlier, and while he was initially doing the same, seeing you wide-eyed and impressed caught his attention more.

Many times, he’s seen you look dejected, frustrated, angry. He’s seen your moments of focus and joy, too, but this is the first time he’s seen you be in awe. There was this softness on your face that was still filled with emotion, and he’d been drawn to you enough to see that you were about to fall. He’s glad he has quick reflexes and was able to get to you in time, the worry he felt at the thought of you getting hurt in any way was quite overwhelming for him. And while it’s partly because you’re his responsibility in this case, he also knows it’s more than that.

He gestures moving to another room and you follow him outside, and just as you try to stay close to him, Jungkook also makes sure you’re away from any kind of danger. He moves to your side when there are workers nearby with their heavy equipment and large materials. He shields you from the drilling. He glances at you as you both walk towards the other performance hall. And when you get there, you see the ceiling installation is ongoing, and Jungkook immediately calls for hard hats for the both of you.

He hands you one and you put it on, fumbling with the strap underneath your chin. You groan in frustration when you’re unable to lock it, and that’s when you see him move towards you.

“Let me,” he says.

You stop your movements and shyly nod in agreement, and he waits for you to let go before he fixes it himself.

It’s a little odd being on the other side, since it’s always you who fixes his tie or his coat. But you’re the one watching him now, with his furrowed brows and seriousness in securing this safety gear on you making you feel warm inside.

He steps back then looks at you, trying hard to control his laughter.

“Are you laughing at me, sir?” You pout.

“No. I don’t make fun of people,” he says, turning serious now, but you don’t miss the grin on his face.

It’s unfair that he looks good even with a hard hat on.

One of the project managers calls him and he goes around, with you staying close by. This performance hall is bigger and boasts of a more traditional design, which would hold the cultural performances that the Culture Minister is very excited about. You watch Jungkook inspect the space with thoroughness, checking each wall panel and each seat.

It’s amazing to you just how involved he is with this project even with the project managers handling things relatively well. He wants to be on top of everything, he’s said; it matters too much for him to not know what’s going on.

You see Yoongi enter the room and approach him. Once he sees you, he laughs as well.

“Do I look that bad?” You groan. “Mr. Jeon was laughing at me, too.”

“It’s a little big, and I guess I’m just not used to seeing you in one,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Why don’t you have one?”

“I don’t need it. I’m here all the time and nothing happens.”

“Well, I’ve been here a few times and I almost fell earlier,” you say, recalling the almost-embarrassment.

“I know, I saw it,” he chuckles.

“You were there?!” You gasp.

“No, I was totally in the other room that’s why I witnessed you almost get hit by the marble then trip on yourself,” he deadpans.

“I didn’t see you, that’s all,” you shrug.

“I was by the doors. I checked these spaces yesterday and I just wanted to be around in case Jungkook had new instructions,” he explains. “But I gotta say, you guys were kinda cute earlier.”

“Almost falling on my ass isn’t cute, Min Yoongi,” you scowl. “I could’ve either ruined the marble slab or hurt my bum. Either way, it would’ve been embarrassing.”

“I didn’t mean just you. I meant you guys,” he gestures towards Jungkook. “He caught you, didn’t he?”

“Yes… That was embarrassing, too,” you frown. “What’s cute about that?”

“He looked worried. It’s just not something I’ve seen him be towards other people, that’s all.”

“It’s because an injured employee on site isn’t good, okay? Plus, if I’m incapable, then no one’s gonna be around to make his life easier,” you reason.

Yoongi stares at you for a while before shaking his head. “Wow, you really are dense.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you cross your arms in frustration.

“Forget about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, deciding not to push it.

He’ll tell you another time that he’s glad you’re becoming more of yourself again, that the light has somehow come back, that there’s now comfort you exude around the man you’d once despised. Yoongi feels assured now that there’s someone else who seems to be looking out for you, and that it’s something you don’t seem to mind at all.

“Yah! You’re being all mysterious again!” You pout, something he chuckles about.

“Me? Mysterious? Come on. I’ve always been an open book,” he teases.

You’re just about to nag him again when you hear Jungkook clear his throat, and you turn towards him and ask if he’s already done inspecting.

“There are still a few things I want to run by my design lead before leaving,” Jungkook says. “Please move my meeting to 3PM.”

“That’s noted, sir. I’ll give Mr. Hong’s assistant a call.”

You excuse yourself and step outside, leaving both men alone.

“Angering my assistant, are you?” Jungkook asks Yoongi, the curious yet playful tone in his voice evident.

“Nah, just teasing. That a problem?” Yoongi answers back.

“No. It’s good she has someone she’s comfortable with at work.”

“Could be you, you know? That isn’t so bad,” Yoongi remarks, surprising him. “And it doesn’t cross whatever boundary you’re trying so hard to stay behind.”

“We’re not… on that level. I mean, I don’t know how to be someone other people are comfortable being around,” Jungkook admits.

“I don’t know about that. Seems like you’re already that for her,” Yoongi says. “I was just teasing her about how you guys looked cute earlier, when you broke her fall.”

“You were there?”

“Both of you really don’t notice other people when it’s just both of you, huh,” Yoongi laughs. “But yeah, I was. I saw her relief. And I saw you worry.”

Jungkook merely shrugs, not wanting to confirm. Even if he denies it, Yoongi will still believe what he wants to believe. But the older man knows you well just as much as he knows him.

“You care about her, don’t you?” Yoongi responds to the silence. “And I mean not in a superficial way, or a good boss caring for his employee type of way. Like, you worry when she’s sick or overworking, when she’s hurt or in danger. You want her to always be safe, to get rest. You like having her near. You wanna know that she’s happy.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Jungkook finally answers. “I can’t think of her that way.”

“I know. That’s why you were the way you were,” Yoongi says. “How else do you respond to things you can’t control than through anger and detachment? But just because you shouldn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that you do.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong,” Jungkook counters.

“Well, irrationally calling her out and being angry were wrong, too, and you did those because you weren’t being honest with yourself,” Yoongi argues. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, the least you can do is be true to yourself about how you feel. Because the more you deny, then the more you resist, and when you do that, you end up hurting her. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.”

“Then just… accept things - what you feel, what you both are, what you can or can’t be.”

Jungkook looks at his friend as if some epiphany had just transpired. It’s been difficult for him to make sense of what he feels around you. There’s always that air of familiarity, but the warmth and comfort are new. There’s the reality that you come from different worlds, but that you both somehow feel and experience and maybe desire the same things. There’s that sense of fear over change and of what he can’t control, yet you somehow provide the calm and stability that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

It’s all these contradictions that have been messing with him, and Yoongi’s right - because of all the times that Jungkook had wanted to create that distance, all it did was hurt you. That’s the last thing he wants, he realizes now. He’s seen you struggle, and even if that’s just a fraction of what you normally go through, it’s enough to tell him that he doesn’t want you to experience that again, especially not because of him. It’s too early to say the extent of his care towards you, and it’s not something he’s willing or ready to explore right now. But just as Jungkook’s about to comfort himself that it’s fine, and that he shouldn’t dwell on it anyway so as not to further nurture it, Yoongi speaks again.

“Just… just a heads up, though,” he adds. “The care that I felt, that’s how it started for me.”

“What started?”

“Me, liking her.”

It’s at that moment when you come back from your call, and you inform Jungkook that the meeting’s been moved and that he has a scheduled one with some of the directors on Monday.

“Alright,” he says, directing you and Yoongi towards the souvenir shop, temporarily disregarding what he was warned about.

“You two looked so serious. Everything okay?” You whisper to your friend.

“Yeah,” Yoongi hums, giving you the most genuine smile he could give.

There’s that sparkle and softness in your eyes that had captured him all those years ago. They dimmed throughout the years and they’ve just been sporadic, illuminating only during specific moments. He’d seen them again a lot more regularly, and even today, as you looked around the halls and admired the designs of the space.

Yoongi doesn’t know if a certain person is the reason for that. He knows you enough that you wouldn’t even notice it, so you definitely wouldn’t know what caused the change. But as your friend, he hopes one day you will, so that if you’re brave enough, too, you’d try to make sure that the light stays.

The inspection ends and you get back to the office at 4. You return to piles of documents you have to sift through and encode, and your original plan of leaving on time changes.

Jungkook spends over an hour talking with Yoongi and the construction lead about the Arts Center, and once that’s over, you see just how exhausted he is. He’s massaging his temples and sighing deeply, and you know that whatever just transpired, he’s going to be thinking about it all throughout the weekend, which he doesn’t really have time for. The gala that one of the Board members throws annually is tomorrow night, an event you’ll be attending with him as well.

You enter his room to remind him about it and to give some forms for his signature. He signs them off, and when you say you’ve got a few more requests that you’ll leave on his desk for Monday, he tells you to just wait until then.

“Go home, Ms. Cho,” he says. “It’s been a long week. And it won’t end until after tomorrow night.”

“What about you, Mr. Jeon?”

“I’ve got some stuff to sort through after inspection. I’ll probably leave in an hour or so.”

You frown, a mannerism of yours that he’s gotten used to seeing. It’s mixed with a pout that often makes him internally laugh because it seems unlike you. It also always means there’s something you want to say that you’re holding back.

“Should I not?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Hmm. Just thinking that it might be better for you to take a rest tonight, too,” you advise. “The gala could be quite draining and it would be good to save your energy for that.”

“I’ll think about it,” he hums.

“Then I’ll think about going home, too,” you answer back.

Jungkook chuckles, knowing you’re always going to counter him in some way. And he’s glad that you do.

“You may go. And get a good rest, too.”

You nod and bid him goodbye, exiting the room to start packing your things. It’s five minutes later when the door opens and you see him with his bag, ready to head home as well.

You smile at his tender doe-eyes as he admits through them that you were right - he doesn’t have a reason to stay behind, so he’ll call it a night and get as much rest as he can.

He pauses by the entryway, and you pick up that he’s waiting for you, perhaps to make sure that you’re indeed going home. You quicken your pace and walk next to him, steps in pace as you both go to the elevator and down to the lobby.

“Mr. Ri can bring you home after me,” Jungkook says. “It’s late already.”

“Not late enough,” you reply. “I’m okay, Mr. Jeon. It’s not necessary.”

He concedes, and you wait for the car to arrive and say goodbye to him again.

There’s a softness on his face as he lingers before he enters. A small smile forms, and it’s what you see until you fall asleep that night. It’s the same one that’s oddly been giving you comfort lately - it’s a little restrained but somehow it still looks vulnerable. Perhaps it represents how Jungkook’s been to you - there are some contradictions, but beyond all that, there’s care.

Mr. Ri happily greets you as you enter the car that late Saturday afternoon to head to Jungkook’s penthouse. He compliments your dress, saying it’s nice to see you in something formal that fits your style - it’s simple yet elegant, and you tell him that your mother wouldn’t stop gushing over you through the screen, nagging you to send full-body photos so she could appreciate you more.

Jimin and Soomin surprised you in the morning to help you fix up, insisting that they wanted to make sure you spoiled yourself for the event. If you wouldn’t, they would, so they treated you to the hair salon and had your nails done. They’re the ones who took so many photos like some formal dance, and Jimin commented that the only downside was that they were sending you off to pick up Jungkook.

Defending your boss the way you did surprised you a little; it surprised them a lot more. You’d said that he bought you the dress, that he’s been nothing but kind, and that whatever negative feelings you had towards him are all in the past. Your friends understood, deciding not to ruin your night and then letting you go so they could eat out and meet you back at your apartment once you’re done.

You chat with Mr. Ri about how things have been at work, your friends, and your family. You also talk about the gala and how it feels a little nerve-racking attending this time, given your experience with Jungkook.

It’s a grand event that the company’s executives attend, and guests are asked to refrain from going solo. For such requests, it’s not unusual for them to bring their assistants. You’re expected to attend anyway, and assistants usually partner up with each other and it always worked. You went with Hoseok last year because A-yeong had a work event, and while you expected that Jungkook wouldn’t care for such request and maintain that he’d go by himself, you also didn’t think that CEO Jeon would insist that his son take you as his date so he wouldn’t be alone.

The elder Jeon had reasoned that business discussions usually take place during the gala, and it would be good for you to be around and be familiar with the new people on the scene. Hoseok had said that they’re expected to stay through the whole thing, and it’s much better for his cousin to have a companion so he could survive the night. That was months ago when things were still a little shaky for you both. You still remember Jungkook’s displeased look when it seemed like he had no choice in the matter, especially since he probably thought that his father just wanted to make sure he’d act accordingly. It feels like a lifetime ago, really, as you think about his soft smile from last night.

You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, why his gestures or mannerisms suddenly mean something to you, or why there’s excitement when you think about seeing him outside of work. You’re unsure why the curve of his lips when he grins or the deep huff that follows his laugh makes you a little giddy, or why his eyes lingering on you makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.

Just like right now, as they gaze at you while you seemingly do the same.

“You look, uh—” he starts, unable to find the accurate but appropriate term to describe how you look.

“Nice?” You finish, recalling the term he’d used when you tried this gown for the first time.

“Something like that,” he chuckles, earning him a giggle from you.

He playfully shakes his head, perhaps knowing that you’re used to him not making grand compliments or anything. But he does smile after, and there goes that blissful feeling again.

Maybe it’s because for the first time, you’re being appreciated. Maybe just like how it’s been recently, he likes being around you, prefers it, even. And given how you felt so unwanted during his first few weeks here, this is a blessing, as if in his appreciation of you, you’re liking yourself as well.

“Well, in my opinion, you look quite dashing, Mr. Jeon,” you say bravely. “Except your waistcoat seems to be uneven.”

“Exactly what I thought,” he sighs. “I can’t quite align it properly.”

And as you always do, you approach him, your hands immediately going towards his shoulders to flatten the vest, then his sides to pull it down. You adjust it a little bit more then fix his collar after, and suddenly this feels so natural - being close to him, taking in his scent, and smiling as he glances at you.

“Do you need help with your coat?” You ask once you finish.

He nods and you follow him to his walk-in closet where you take the last piece of clothing and assist him in wearing it. He adjusts the lapels while you assess if all wrinkles have been flattened. You watch him look at himself in the mirror and you can’t help but admire him as well. He exudes confidence, which you can say now is strikingly different from the Appointment Dinner where he still looked a bit unsure. But now, he commands respect. The deep black color of his striped three-piece ensemble with his slick hair parted in the middle makes him even more handsome, and you manage to hold in the gasp you were about to release as he faces you for a final look.

“All good?” He asks.

“All good,” you smile, turning around and walking back to the living room.

He follows, and he takes this time to bask in your beauty before he has to act like it doesn’t affect him again.

There’s a reason why he was rendered speechless the first time he saw you in this gown at the tailor shop, so much so that he had to step out to get some air. You look even more stunning now, with your classic but natural-looking makeup and your styled hair. You exude a certain kind of glow that sucks him in, that makes his heart race yet soothes him just the same.

It’s a little dangerous for him, given that he’ll be spending this entire evening with you as his date, looking the way you do while he has to act disinterested, as if his attraction isn’t slapping him in the face and his internal alarm bells aren’t ringing.

But he has to act professional. He has to stay behind the lines even if his mind is yelling all the words about your beauty that he has to ignore. So he gives himself this short moment where he gets to admire you, and when you make it to the elevator and become confined in a small space, he holds his breath as you smile at him shyly, hoping that he doesn’t give himself away.

He’ll get himself together, he orders to himself, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t scare you off.

You make it to the lobby and enter the car. The drive to the venue is quiet at the beginning. It’s technically not a work day so there’s no reason to discuss work. You and Jungkook may have started talking about non-work matters but it doesn’t mean you readily talk about actual personal things. They’re occasional, as it��s not something he seems to do much and you’re often guarded about yours. It took a while for you to open up to Yoongi and even then, there are many things he doesn’t know. You’re comfortable around him, there’s no denying that, but there are still parts of you that you don’t like to share with others, and you suppose that Jungkook is the same.

But still, you ask how his evening was and how his day went, expecting he’d give a basic answer.

“I just stayed home last night and watched soccer over drinks,” he says. “Then I did my workout and went for a swim this morning. I did a bit of work in the afternoon and then got ready.”

“Ah, no party last night and then recovering from it in the morning?” You tease, knowing that’s a usual occurrence for him. Lucas did mention about the Singapore trip and how he’d taken home a passed out Jungkook on the night of his birthday.

“Well, there was a party,” he responds. “There always is, but I passed up on it. I didn’t want to feel out of sorts tonight. There’ll be a lot of new faces and I don’t wanna mess up.”

“Oh, you won’t. You’ve been doing really well, Mr. Jeon. And that’s me being honest.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” He arches an eyebrow. “Would you tell me otherwise?”

“Well, the me of now, would. The me of a few months ago would want to but wouldn’t.”

Jungkook dwells on your answer. “Hmm. What changed, then?”

“I got used to you.”

He meets your gaze and somehow it feels too long. You don’t really know what prompted you to say it but you felt a little bold, a little too honest.

“In what sense?” he wonders, turning away now.

“I’d say I got used to the mood swings but then again, they haven’t been intense compared to those first few weeks,” you admit. “But surprisingly, it’s the calmness I’ve become accustomed to. And the seriousness and occasional zoning out, but also, the…”

Care, you want to say. Or the thoughtfulness.

“Consideration,” you say instead.

Jungkook’s throat dries up as he finds the words to say. He’s now afraid to look at you because he might give in and say something he’ll regret. He’s been praised before for his work and his designs, but he supposes that no one’s really complimented him for something he does for other people, specifically for you. Maybe that’s why he thinks he doesn’t deserve it; he’s unsure if he’s really considerate by nature or if he just is towards you. It’s why he brushes it off, insisting he just has his moments.

“But those moments could mean a lot to the one it’s shared with or directed to,” you counter. “Even if it was just once. Or even if it was so trivial that you probably forgot already. But the other person doesn’t. Or they would, but something about that moment stays.”

Jungkook thinks about the moments you’d shown him consideration. Or even care or thoughtfulness, but he wouldn’t word it that way to you. There are the big ones - when you showed your support of the Arts Center to his father, when you calmed him down during that first Board meeting, when you gave him the noodles when he was sick, when you stayed with him during his interview with the magazine publications.

When you stood up to him. When you didn’t quit after that first week.

There are also the small moments - the ginger and lemon tea on Monday mornings when he looks like he’d drank too much the night before, the biscuits you serve with his coffee, the affirming looks during team meetings, the comforting smiles from outside his office when he’s stressed.

There’s a lot of those you show him, and he realizes now that he remembers each one.

The silence returns soon after, as you both seem to prefer basking in the soft music that Mr. Ri plays.

It’s 15 minutes later when you arrive at the venue. You get out of the car and meet Jungkook by his door, surprised when he offers his arm that you take.

“This is how they do it, right?” He looks at you questioningly.

“Yes,” you chuckle. “It’s a little over-the-top but the hosts treat this like it’s some red carpet event and I just follow what the others do. Bitna says it’s the one time we could feel like proper ladies or something, whatever that means.”

“Hmm, makes sense. I guess I’ll be a proper gentleman, then. Whatever that means.”

You hold onto him lightly as you both make your way inside. You try to disregard the firmness of his arm and the way it feels under your touch, so you gently let go not long after and clutch onto your purse instead, not wanting to give off the idea that you’re anything more than each other’s dates. You greet the guests and establish your position to those who are unaware in an effort to show that this social event is a work function as well.

Jungkook talks about the Arts Center when he can, and you mentally take note of certain projects, sites, events, artists, and patrons that are mentioned, quickly typing them on your phone for future reference. He talks to you about them in between flutes of champagne and canapes that are some of the most delicious you’ve ever had.

Jungkook laughs as you down another brie and cranberry bruschetta.

“What? I like fancy food,” you pout.

“Yes, your normal people’s taste buds like fancy food,” he teases.

It’s a statement you make often and you smile that he now uses it against you.

Your moments of casual ignorance of what’s going on around you are ones you find yourself enjoying too much. You internally sigh every time a guest approaches him, and even more so when you find yourself with a few others and someone stands a little too close, or has his hand linger on your elbow, or whispers something in your ear as if you’re at a bar and the music is too loud, which it isn’t, so there’s really no reason for this son of some business tycoon to be asking you to head outside “to talk.”

“Don’t you have a date?” You ask after he insists.

“Yeah, some girl,” he shrugs. “She’s kinda boring. Lucky I found you.”

You awkwardly smile, knowing it’s not your place to reject him and make a scene. He looks to be the type who always gets his way and if he doesn’t this time, you’re afraid of how he might take it.

You don’t budge and call for another flute of champagne instead, finishing it in one gulp that has the man releasing a deep breath in front of you.

“So you’ve been working for the Jeon’s for 8 years, you say?” He speaks again.

You nod, looking around to avoid his eyes.

“That’s quite a long time, yeah? I’m sure I can get you a spot at my company,” he brags. “I mean, we sell luxury cars. That’s way more interesting than buildings and shit.”

“I don’t drive,” you say too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know how to.”

“Perfect. I can teach you then,” he smirks.

It’s the look that heightens your level of discomfort, and just as you’re about to make some excuse and run away, Jungkook calls your name that has you immediately turning towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

He’s not too far away; he comes closer yet still maintains a bit of a distance.

“Hoseok’s asking for me but I want to speak to Mr. Saito before he leaves. Can you go to my cousin on my behalf?”

“Of course,” you say, excusing yourself and scurrying away from the scene, sighing in relief at the sight of a familiar pair of faces.

A-yeong gives you a hug and you return it, then you turn to Hoseok and ask what he needs Jungkook for.

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t call for him.”

“Oh, okay. Well, he said you did.”

“I haven’t spoken to him since we got here,” Hoseok replies. “You know how this gala goes. So many people to meet. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… uh. Well, I just met Mr. Kwon’s son. And let’s just say, I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Oh, ___,” A-yeong sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. “Just stay with us. Or don’t leave Jungkook’s side.” Turning towards the man who’d just arrived, she adds, “stay close to her, okay?”

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes asking a question that you know the answer to but neither of you says anything.

“I will,” he nods.

Both of you stay where you are for a while before heading back to your seats for the sit-down dinner. You converse with those at your table, thankful that they’re all decent and entertaining. After that, Jungkook doesn’t leave your side. It almost seems like he’s your date rather than the other way around, but you appreciate his presence, especially when he calls your attention once you start looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I just… I just get a little uneasy when people I don’t know get too close.”

“I understand. I’m the same,” he says, prompting you to look at him. “But I just feel uncomfortable, not unsafe. There’s a difference. And it’s not okay if that’s how they make you feel.”

He knew without you saying the words. It takes you back to that night at the restaurant with Hajoon and how Jungkook had looked the most guilty he’d ever been when you said that his staring made you feel uncomfortable. You supposed then that it was mostly because he thought he was causing a rift between you and Hajoon but you realize now that it was more than that. For all that Jungkook is, you’ve come to see that there are things he can’t stand himself doing; deliberately making you feel unsafe is definitely one of them. Perhaps it’s why at this moment, you feel the exact opposite being around him.

And that’s how the rest of the night goes. He stays close but when he’s caught up in a conversation he can’t get out of, he gives you that look to remind you that it’s okay to step away, that you have the ability to remove yourself from a situation you don’t feel good being in. And you do, and the worry you used to have about being a mere assistant fades away. You never thought that one Jeon Jungkook would give you the permission to do that.

You’re seated on a chair some time later, the hours of walking in your high heels taking its toll on you. You wave to Hoseok and A-yeong, no longer having the energy to walk up to them for a proper goodbye. You sigh to yourself, feeling the tiredness slowly overtake you. It was still a good night, but it took a lot of energy from you, too.

“Hey,” you hear Jungkook call out.

You turn to him, still looking handsome as he stands nearby, his hands in his pockets as he mirrors your exhaustion.

“Ready to head home?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say too quickly, earning you a laugh.

You stand up, limping only a tiny bit, but you think Jungkook notices, as he offers his arm just like he did at the start of the night.

“This is what a proper gentleman does, right?” He asks.

“I suppose. Although I might say, Mr. Jeon, that’s what you were the entire time. So thank you.”

Jungkook nods in response, unsure how to receive your gratitude. He knows what you mean, as the first sign of your discomfort had him looking at you constantly. He was worried all night but he supposes there’s no reason to feel that way now, as your faint smile just signifies that you’re tired more than anything.

For the short moment it takes for you to walk closer to him, he basks in your beauty once more. The night will be over soon, and he’s glad he could give you some reprieve this time. He tries not to lose it when you tighten your grip on his arm for support though, but that’s something he can think about later on.

The walk to the car isn’t that long and you let go of him eventually. You head towards the other door then enter, the space in between reminding him of where you both belong - on either side of a line, one that he shouldn’t think of crossing.

You sink into your seat, fighting the urge to curl your body and take a nap, so you sit up straight and hold yourself together after once again feeling Jungkook’s arm under your touch. Most of the alcohol has left your system but perhaps not enough, as you boldly look at him and smile in appreciation. He returns it, perhaps knowing why you are.

You look out the window, appreciating Seoul’s night sky, until the vision starts getting unclear, as the rain falls steadily on the window. The tapping of the droplets on the glass is a sound you’ve come to appreciate, among other things that you used to be terrified of.

There’s just this calmness, as if the rain is greeting you, accompanying you in your thoughts. But the sound of the radio getting louder disrupts that a little bit, and in looking at Mr. Ri in question only to find him glancing at the rearview mirror to see the man next to you, do you realize why he’s doing so.

Jungkook’s demeanor has changed, a complete 180 to how he looked not long ago when he seemed satisfied, fulfilled, almost proud of himself for surviving the night. He’s now cross-legged and cross-armed, with his eyes closed and jaws clenched, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. Or trying his best to drown out the sound of the rain, the way Mr. Ri is trying to do for him.

Your face falls at the sight. You’ve seen Jungkook stressed and angry and disappointed; you’ve seen him anxious, too, but this is different. There’s a bit of fear in there, and with the way he flinches and how he’s clutching onto his arms, you know this comes from somewhere and this was caused by something. If it’s anything similar to what you know, then this was because of something painful.

You want to reach out to him but you know you shouldn’t. You helplessly look back on the road then glance at Jungkook every few seconds as the rain continues. It doesn’t seem like it will be a terrible downpour but it’s stronger than usual.

You try to remember instances in the past where he’d acted this way. A few come to mind, and you think now there’s a reason why he becomes uneasy when it starts to drizzle. That happened the other week while you were on a site visit with him for a small project, but you hadn’t thought much of it, given that he was on his fourth cup of coffee on the way there.

But right now, you wish there was something more you could do; anything is better than nothing. But you feel constrained - by the distance, by your position, by his boundaries that seem to always be there.

By some miracle, the rain weakens, and it’s stopped by the time you arrive at Jungkook’s apartment building. The car halts and with him still in the same position, you think he probably doesn’t realize he’s home.

“Mr. Jeon,” you say softly, gently tapping his arm to get his attention. “We’ve reached your place. And the rain has stopped. It’s… it’s okay to open your eyes now.”

It takes a few seconds but he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, then looks around. It’s just droplets frozen in time on his window and he sighs in relief. Somehow the assurance that he’s okay means something to you this time; you hate to think of what burden he carries that he hides away.

He opens the door, and there’s a bit of disappointment you feel when he closes it and leaves without a goodbye. You suppose he just wants to get to his place immediately and rush to safety. But you don’t want to intrude, not if distance is what he needs, so you settle with just watching him walk away.

But then he turns around, and with that bit of boldness left in your body, you open the window and give him another smile. You wish he feels the tenderness in it; you wish somehow it’s enough to let him know that you understand, and that he’s not alone.

“Good night,” you manage to say, and he hears it despite the distance.

“Good night, ___. And thank you.”

It’s the use of your name. It’s the softness of his smile and the words of gratitude. It’s the way he lingers as the car starts to drive away and you’re left watching him even from afar.

It lets you know that he knows. And it’s the reason why you sleep soundly that night and why for the first time since you’ve met him, you can’t wait to see him again.

Series Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati--c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @gukssunshine @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink @jvngkooker @stopeatread @craftymoonchaos @alpacaparkaseok @coletaehyung

Series Taglist:

@xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junniesoleilkth @junecat18 @peachytokki @baechugff @coralmusicblaze @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows @peterstarkchrishiddleston @kgneptun @cynicalbitch666 @roxexexee @llallaaa

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook series #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #boss jungkook

1K notes · View notes

sainzproductions · 7 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

where you belatedly realize, you and carlos may never want the same things in life

SHOWBUZZF1 carlos sainz and y/n y/l/n are reportedly broken up, according to several media outlets. y/n's absence in the monumental race week of monza had raised early suspicions regarding their current score, and the succeeding grand prix's after seemed to further the speculations. her absence was dearly missed during carlos's outstanding feat in singapore and the celebrations thereafter. although the couple's relationship has been widely regarded as a private and lowkey affair, in this instance, it seemed to confirm that the childhood sweethearts had ended their eight year relationship quietly.

username oh fuck me....

username this is my roman empire😭😭😭

username the og wags are slowly being chipped off one by one☹️

username these men are really brutal. once you start to try and assert more importance in their ever busy life, they will drop you. eight years or not!!

username fuck him sideways and frontways. wym eight years!!! that's a WHOLE ass child😭😭

username yn is better than me, i would have said sm "he don't know how to eat the cat" or something!!

username ah the right of passage once every driver reaches their prime

username fr he's gonna do a lewis 🐐🐐

username shut up, you're corny <33

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 5,194,920 others.

carlossainz55 qué hermoso fue amarte, my greatest and dearest love.

translation: how beautiful it was to love you.

username my heart hurts for some reason.... 💔💔💔

username my parents 😭😭😭😭

username how beautiful it WAS to love you

username a stab would have been sweeter 🥲🥲

username how dare he be so beautiful and sad😭💔

username why😭would😭you😭say😭that😭

username what if this was my 13th reason, then what!!!

username this can't hurt me because i can't read 😌😌😌

username we win illiterate girlies!!!

username **delusional girlies!!! fixed it for you 🥰🥰

username thanks, you live in xxx-xxx-xxx county right? expect me!!! 🥰🥰🥰

username STOP i was joking 😭💔💔💔

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 2,193,029 others

yourusername eternally grateful to have known and loved you.

username PLEASE FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY!!! THROW SHADE AT EACHOTHER!!! BE MESSY!!! SAY HE CHEATED AND SAY SHE'S A GOLD DIGGER OR SMTHING!!!

username fr when they're being so kind and so angsty about this... makes me wanna hurl 💔💔💔

username convincing myself sainz sr. paid her to do this cause carlos wants to be a politician in the future

username are you confusing them for the kennedy's

username let me COPE in the way i know 🫠🫠🫠

username seek help : ))))

username theraputic or a psychotic one????

username whichever one applies miss ma'am!!!!

username nice. always wanted to see what's inside her private account. didn't want it to be like this 😃

username there's no pleasing people nowadays, is there!!?

username tbf i would have taken the private account over a breakup 🥲🥲🥲

username yeah all i got was #distressed

username🕯️be pregnant🕯️

username 👁️👄👁️

username evil ass manifestation 😭😭

username WICKED DEVIANT HAG!! MAY YOU HAVE TRIPLETS!! QUADRUPLETS!!! MAY YOU HAVE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE YOU GO!!!!

username i got u sis yourusername,, i cursed her back😌😌😌

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

SHOWBUZZF1 in separate posts, sainz and y/l/n shared a very brief but heartfelt anecdote indirectly adressed to eachother. the pair seemed to allude that their breakup was entirely amicable, without any ill will directed to eachother. sources tell media outlets, that the decision to part ways was, "well communicated and thought out. both sainz and y/l/n have very different paths, and this seems like the only reasonable decision." adding, "they're still very friendly, but not really friends— you know? i think they could never be as close or as truly open with eachother as they used to be, but there is still love regardless. you don't throw away a connection of more than a decade, just like that.... maybe this just closes a chapter, to make way for a new one."

comments on this post have been disabled

956 notes · View notes

aclowntiny · 5 months

Note

Skz as type of dads? 🥹

CRYING YES QUEEN/KING/MONARCH 👑🥹 kept this open for the kids to be biological or adopted or perhaps some of both for all family types 🥰 plus I’m a huge supporter of adoption personally hehe

Today is US Thanksgiving but fuck that ‘holiday’ here’s a post 🤙🏻

Stray Kids as Dads

Bang Chan

♡ Such a caring and protective dad, like his kids will never get hurt on his watch or his name isn’t Christopher Bang

♡ Being an eldest brother, he’s an absolute champ caring for them, like the moment they’re born he’s rolling up his sleeves and helping out, screw gender norms or the idea of the dad not helping. Being present with his children is a joy and honor.

♡ Would probably like the idea of a mid-sized family, probably a family of three like he had! Still manageable but no one’s lonely or received unfairly high expectations. Especially if they end up being closer in age, that’s ok because they’ll get along better instead of being teens enlisted to care for a baby or something of the like.

♡ Such a multi-talented man is a wonderful mentor to any interests the kids have, easily able to foster and participate in nearly any hobby- sports, singing, dance, acting, playing instruments, you name it!

♡ I can so see him loving to run around with the kids on his shoulders, grinning at the way they laugh and coming up with all sorts of vehicles and steeds to be, whether they want a spaceship ride, a horsie, a plane, or a dragon! Absolutely soft for their pleading to indulge their play.

♡ As a boy dad, Chris views it as super important to model what it truly means to be a man- no toxic masculinity here though! He treats you like royalty so his son(s) know how to treat and provide for their partner someday. He teaches them to fight for what they believe in and be brave. Many of the same things are true for girls, too, but he treats them like absolute princess(ess) too to make sure they don't settle for any less from a man! Indulges dress-up and teaching them martial arts alike because they're his princess(es) but also they must be protected and unafraid to fight back! No one gets the better of his babies!

Lee Know

♡ Acts like he’s got everything under control, but on the inside he’s freaking out a little 🤏🏻

♡ Proud dad OMG. Every milestone and first that gets experienced, he is sharing it and telling everyone even if it’s completely normal. Like crawling for the first time? Amazing. Absolutely stellar. That’s his kid, you know.

♡ Leans more toward a smaller family like he had, maybe one or two children…and the cats, of course! He adores the idea of being able to pour all the love and care into his little family and give extra attention to you and the kid(s).

♡ Loves kitchen time with your kid(s), doing anything remotely dangerous like cutting or frying on his own but otherwise giving them near free reign! It's messy, sure, but it's also a life skill and a way they can provide for others in the future, too. Minho's kid(s) will appreciate the effort and quality that can go into meals for sure.

♡ Can be firm when he needs to be, but it's mainly in situations where they show any form of disrespect or intolerance. Beyond being happy and loved, he wants his kids to be beacons of love to everyone they meet, and that starts with teaching them that being a bully is never ok, even if it's to an annoying sibling or cousin.

♡ Boy or girl, he’s making a dancing machine out of that kid(s)! I mean, he won’t force them or anything but absolutely indulges it and becomes their biggest coach if they have any interest in dance or choreography. With a girl he’d be so soft when he twirls her and lets her stand on his feet to slow dance, a smile across his face the whole time. His son would be busting idol moves at a very young age 😎

Changbin

♡ His affection toward you increases tenfold if that's even possible once you two are starting a family! And that carries over into the kids for sure.

♡ Honestly the sappiest and goofiest dad, like he won't go a single day without telling his kids he loves them, often in a cutesy voice. Plays with them and gets down to their level so well and gets so invested in any make believe they do.

♡ The idea of having a big family is cute to him, so numbers like four or five don't scare him! But he can be talked down if you like too- Changbin mostly just wants his kid to grow up with at least one sibling like he did.

♡ Playground days are a must for him- heck, he'll be right there going down the slide with little ones in his arms and spinning on the merry-go-round with eager squeals of his own. Becomes their own personal playground, having them hang off of his arms and spin. You have so many silly pictures of them like that.

♡ Plushie theatre! Changbin will act out the most elaborate scenes with teddy bears and stuffed dogs on leashes and anything else provided to him and he will take it as seriously as if he was reciting Shakespeare. May even play music to set the scene. The kiddos laugh so hard and just eat it up every time.

♡ Has the perfect balance to be a boy and girl dad. Lets his daughters put makeup and bows on him with the biggest sappy grin and asks if he looks pretty, then turns around and plays drill sergeant with the boys. Half-jokingly, half-seriously encourages them to mix play with each other and that’s how you find Changbin in camo with blush and the boys smudging lipstick on each other’s faces while the girls try to shoot their action figures away from their dolls.

Hyunjin

♡ Really invested and emotional about the whole process, especially in the beginning. His heart just fills and overflows whenever he looks and sees the life you two are raising.

♡ The dad who’s been practicing diaper changes on dolls or others’ kids if allowed so he knows he can do it right the first time for real 🥹

♡ In his mind, a small family sounds nice, maybe spaced apart so you can spend some time with each. But when he holds his little one for the first time suddenly he looks up like ‘I want ten’. Hyperbole, don’t worry. But suddenly bigger numbers like four or five or six don’t sound so terrible if you’re game 👀

♡ Unafraid to get messy with the fam in the name of art! Hyunjin's at the table when you come home, colors splattered all over his hands and the kids' as they finger paint. Don't worry, he's covered it all up with paper and made sure at least one of the paintings is a portrait of you 😉

♡ Dresses up the kids in the most stylish outfits, like you're about to have little models on your hands! Also has a soft spot for coordinating outfits with them, whether it's family photo day or just an afternoon out with the little ones.

♡ He values all his children so much, especially the awareness that they’ll bring different beauty to the world and be perceived differently. Because of this, he encourages fortitude in all the kids, boy or girl, to be themselves and stand firmly in their interests whatever they are.

Han

♡ This man is the sweetest dad for real! Adores his kids and is always happy to show them affection 🥰

♡ Also the type of dad who tries really hard (sometimes a little too hard but that’s why you all love him 🤭) to be hip on the trends and name their generation’s memes.

♡ I can see him once he gets into the swing of things as the type to want a bigger family, maybe even more than he thought! Nothing crazy, but in his head he thought he’d feel complete after one or two, now that he has them though? Three or four doesn’t sound bad, just look at how cute they are with a sibling to play with! Kind of reminds him of the feeling of having so many brothers.

♡ You have to stop him sometimes from buying every cute toy he sees. “Do we need another playset?” “But babe, then he can run his own sushi restaurant 🥺” “Shit, that is cute, ok.”

♡ Cries when his kids cry, laughs whenever they do or at any joke they ever tell him, can hardly bring himself to scold them because he just loves them so much and doesn’t want to break their hearts!

♡ Honestly doesn’t mind if he has boys or girls, like both sound great so you’d never catch this dad sulking at a gender reveal! In the end though I can see him having one of each, and it warms your heart to see how he teaches his son(s) to respect their sister(s), value and cheer them on from a very young age. He is all of their biggest cheerleader, though, handing them mics when he’s recording or playing around in the studio, showing up to every event of theirs he physically can, and just going ‘that’s my son/daughter’ with a huge smile all the time.

Felix

♡ The type of father to describe his kids as the twinkles in his eyes! Just constantly looking at them with adoration- they’ll never wonder if they’re loved 🥹

♡ He's always wanted a family, so having little ones of his own is Felix's dream come true for sure. You'll practically have to pry them from his arms, he loves showering them in affection so much!

♡ For some reason, I see him wanting three kids, the classic 'nuclear family' size or in his words the perfect number to fill up his arms! You guys are ever-so-slightly outnumbered, but your life's also full to the brim of cuteness.

♡ A pro at bath time! Felix is the epitome of 'organized chaos' during this time, managing to get all your little ones to love the water and keep it in the tub. He knows all their favorite toys and has a voice for each one.

♡ One Mother’s/Father’s Day you awake slowly, eyes fluttering at a few clattering sounds and shushes. Your eyebrows furrow in concern, but sleep swims too quickly still beneath your eyes to pull you up. Your internal questions are answered in moments as Felix and the kids burst in with a tray of all your favorites for breakfast, all clearly handmade as the notes and drawings scattering it.

♡ Absolutely no difference in his intent with raising boys or girls… but real talk, the sweetest girl dad on the planet OMG. While he is conscious about modeling caring and providing behavior in both, curiosity and discovery regardless… he has at least one girly girl that just steals his heart and has him wrapped around her finger. Will play as whatever princess needed, incredibly active in every single tea party he can make, you name it, he does it.

Seungmin

♡ The do-it-all dad. He learns sooo much about all of their interests when they're older and reads up on everything baby/toddler before then. An absolute champ at juggling care and keeping the house afloat!

♡ All he wants in life is to do right by his family and be a man you can be proud of. No fear with jumping right in to any aspect of raising your family, even if he does crack the occasional joke.

♡ He's a bit open on number, probably leaning between two or three but more wouldn't hurt if you'd like bigger!

♡ Bedtime is one of his favorite times. Just being able to lay down with the kids and read them stories, doing funny voices and raising and lowering for suspense, fills his heart. He'll sing them lullabies until their eyes stay closed and watch for a few moments wondering how he got so lucky to have this with you of all people.

♡ Invents a whole secret language with the kids one day, so you come home and can't understand any of them. Teases the dickens out of you, grinning and bumping your shoulder and egging the kids on to say more until relenting and letting you in on the secret!

♡ He can’t decide if he’s more excited to have a son or a daughter! Practically weeps imagining playing dress up but has also always wanted a mini me??? (See what I did there?) He takes photos of the kids often, which ends up sparking an interest in photography that he’s happy to foster. Heck, maybe through that his daughter will become his mini me and he gets the best of both worlds!

I.N

♡ Playful dad! It’s not uncommon to come home and find him rolling around with the kids in a big ball of laughter!

♡ He hadn’t always thought about having a family, but when he met you and you guys began your journey, he wondered how he would have ever considered anything else.

♡ Because of this, he never had some dream number in his head and he’s happy to give you the floor on that question whether you’d like one or three or six!

♡ S-Class (see what I did there) nurse. They'll practically demand that he's the one to care for wounds and put the bandages on because he's so good at distracting from the sting of cleaning it and kissing where it hurts.

♡ They love his trot voice. Thus he hams it up plenty, bringing out his most exaggerated moves and probably bringing props too. Would not at all be adverse to them becoming his backup singers or dancers.

♡ Loves the idea of at least one mini you and one mini him- his words! Y’all definitely get a mini him though, OMG: your son wants to be JUST LIKE his dad, practically following him around all the time. He takes after his dad’s goofy smile and performances so soon you really do have two trot performances to watch! Jeongin is so honored and floored by this that he’s always saying he has to be the best man possible for his son as well as for you 🥹 he always encourages his son to say the sweetest words to you too- but don’t say it was from him, shh!!!

321 notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that cruel smile—

Better to avoid him altogether.

A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit.

“Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.”

“I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

“You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head.

“Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.” You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head.

“One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

“Fit for a queen.”

“The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

“I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

“Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array.

“Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress.

More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

You suppress a shiver.

“Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt.

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?”

Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

“I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.”

You grind your teeth.

The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it.

”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you.

“Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.”

Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it.

“Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you.

A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.

As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle.

Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful.

Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly.

“Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears.

“T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought.

“Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can.

“Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

“Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there.

“Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.”

You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride.

That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

“No, no, it’s nothing—”

“Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?”

You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

She is angry.

You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal perfectly, even without her input.

You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

“Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.”

—

The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth.

Everything is dead here.

The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden.

It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips.

Your father stands before you.

He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut.

He is horrible.

He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

“No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

“A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.”

The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so.

I slept… unusually deeply.

You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind.

You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you.

After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces.

To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow.

It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress.

“I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow.

“Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

“I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

“ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

“The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

“Yes, thank you. I would.”

Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request.

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence.

“Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly.

“So that the gods might receive their prayers.”

The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color.

“Is it not beautiful, lady?”

“Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest.

It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead.

If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now.

“Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest.

“Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?”

“She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word. “Heathenistic rituals.”

The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation.

“Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?” His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way.

“Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.”

“Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat.

“Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him.

“Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name.

“My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.”

“That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly.

“He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.”

“Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection.

“Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?”

Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.”

“This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey.

“W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

“I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.”

“H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra.

“My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.”

“By all means.”

Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

Geralt’s, and the wolf’s.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

920 notes · View notes

felicia-the-sissyconsultant3 · 5 months

Text

REBLOG this post if this is your dream too💦

Undergoing $!ssification is the best thing a amateur $!ssyboi can do for herself💅

The sooner a $!ssy takes action towards becoming a ¢um$lut, the better off she'll be in her future💋

To accept your $!ssy-destiny is the first step towards $!ssyhood. It's the hardest part for a betaboi, all because of the social conditioning. It gets butter-smooth after that👙

Those $!ssies who start their training at the right time benefit a lot from it. Being a woman starts coming naturally to them👗

My advice to $!ssies who are still hesitating to go all the way is that they should start gradually. Stop getting scared. It's not that just because you got yourself enrolled in a $!ssy-training program, you'll end up with an irreversible change overnight🍑

You'll obviously have time to think for yourself. But, it's a fact that most $!ssybois start loving their $!ssification so bad that they end up with an alpha c0¢k in their mouth in no time🥰

So, Stop pretending to be a man and failing in the endeavour every f¢uking time. Don't embarass yourself like that♀️

You're failing in it because you're not meant to be a man. Do you expect a fish to fly ! No right !!

Get yourself into $!ssification today by CLiCKING the L!NK below👇

#faggot sissy #feminine sissy #humiliated sissy #sissifyme #submisive sissy #extraordinary tgirl #cute tgirl #feminization captions #feminization kink #tgirl babe #tgirl tummy tuesday #tgirlsdoitbetter🌈#transgirl #beta sissy

240 notes · View notes

cozy-cinnamon-roll · 13 days

Text

Stitches (Part II)

(Read Part I Here! used to be We Interrupt This Broadcast... changed the name because I feel like this fits better 😅)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). And again, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect some angst (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

"Almost ready" I said. "Basically finished" I said. Sorry y'all, the Chronic Illness Fairy struck. 😅 I will say this was my favorite part to write, but also the one I'm most uncertain about... bit more angst in this installment and I'm not much of an angst writer lol... but with Rosie in the mix (especially as a ler), angst never lasts long. 🥰

Also I changed the title. Hopefully it's not confusing that way... cuz without Part 1 this fic makes zero sense 😅

One last thing... I'm so happy y'all like Trudy! Was thinking about posting a lil sketch of her at some point (I need a new insomnia project now that this fic is done 😅). I've been having a truly awful few weeks on the anxiety front, so all the positive feedback on Part I has been quite literally making my days 💕

Hope you enjoy!!

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Ooh, you stubborn little bastard. You're still gonna refuse to laugh?" Rosie mutters.

Alastor doesn't dare try to speak. All he can manage is a defiant shake of his head.

"Look, my friend. If you 'don't mind a little tickling,' and getting all giggly is your specialty…" Rosie tweaks his bottom rib, eliciting a noise that comes just short of a squeak. "What, exactly, is the problem here?"

"I'm supposed to be in control!" he grinds out through his twitching grin.

"You are in control, sir." Trudy abruptly withdraws her hands, holding them up innocently. "You can tell me to stop at any time."

Alastor cringes. He was sorta hoping no one would point that out.

"Which is why I find it so fascinating that you haven't yet." A sly smirk creeps across Rosie's face.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I- I'm humoring you!"

"Humoring me?" Rosie tilts her head. "My dear, I hope you're not doing this just for my sake. If you don't want Trudy to check for further injury-"

"No, I do! O-on my terms!"

"This is on your terms."

"Yes, but-"

"In fact, you insisted."

He stumbles again, before mumbling another meager, "…to humor you!"

Trudy shoots her boss a disoriented look - but Rosie, as usual, is hearing her friend loud and clear.

"Alastor." Rosie rolls her eyes, gestures for Trudy to step aside, and scoots over to place a hand on his knee. "Adam is dead. Everyone in hell thinks you're either succumbing to your wounds in some remote gutter or hiding in whatever alternate dimension you just spent the last seven years. You're not even 'on air'." She leans in. "You can drop the act for a moment, if it's what you need."

That certainly hits the mark. For the first time, Alastor's smile falters - not completely dropping, but certainly losing much of the strained quality it's had since he arrived.

"I wish I could, my dear."

Encouraged, Rosie continues. "Well, what's stopping ya? As much as I love spending time with Alastor the Radio Demon… if you wanna take this opportunity to let out whoever's underneath that effervescent grin of yours, you know we wouldn't mind."

Alastor swallows - and for the first time in a decades, Rosie finds his expression difficult to read. "Rosie, I'm afraid I can't really..."

"I mean, you've been holding that same silly show-host-smile for years! Don't tell me you've never gotten tired of it!"

"It's sewn on, Rosie."

"…What?"

He hesitates. "Let's just say today wasn't the first time I've been, ah... stitched up." As he speaks, he gestures to his toothy grin. And for once, there's not a trace of distortion in his voice.

Rosie's dark eyes go wide when she realizes what he means. The cannibal overlord just stands there for a beat, in an uncharacteristic moment of shock.

But, being Rosie, she quickly recovers. "Well, so what?"

"I'm just saying, I'm afraid I can't really drop the act."

"Nonsense! Since when has your act had anything to do with your face?" Rosie flicks her hand, as if brushing the thought aside. "Who cares if you can't show genuine Alastor. I wanna hear him."

"But my microphone..."

"You're doing just fine without it."

Once again, this attempt at reassurance only makes Alastor look more disturbed. "Th-this can't be me!"

"...Well, no. This right here sure isn't the Alastor I know. But…"

Alastor is barely listening to her anymore. His broadcast persona has been his sole identity since he was alive. Now his radio tower has been reduced to rubble, his microphone snapped clean in half, even his carefully-styled clothing left in tatters…

If this is the Genuine Alastor he's now stuck with - panicked, stuttering, weak - he can't imagine how he'll ever be able to face the rest of hell…

But these racing thoughts are once again interrupted by nails tracing up his sides. A sharp yelp cuts the air as poor Alastor just about jumps out of his skin.

"…Perhaps I can offer a little help?" Rosie suggests gently, once she has his undivided (and adorably flustered) attention. "On your terms, of course?"

Alastor just gazes back at her for a long moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"I happen to know something about you that even you can't fake."

The radio demon hesitates… before heaving a sigh and, to Rosie's surprise, giving a small nod of consent.

She breaks into a brilliant (and frankly terrifying) smile.

Before Alastor can brace himself, Rosie's hands have both found his sides and begun working into his waist. Having just watched him squirm around under Trudy's thorough probing twice (and adored every second of it), she already has a pretty good idea of where his worst spots are.

Which is made abundantly clear by Alastor's reaction. Within seconds he's gone from still trying to hold it all in by habit, to giggling into his hands, to cackling hysterically.

And it's the kind of laughter she's spent the last seven years missing. This isn't the confident, taunting chuckle he brings out for battles or brushing off rivals; this is bright, helpless, occasionally hiccuping laughter, the kind that is nearly impossible for him to stop once he starts - and the kind she only has the privilege of hearing when something truly amuses him.

"You can't sew your laughter on," Rosie reminds him. "This is all yours."

Rosie's fingers creep up under his shirt to scribble on bare tummy, adding a couple new sweet spots to her mental catalogue. This technique brings out even more of her favorite little quirks: the way he bats playfully (and completely ineffectually) at her wrists; his repeated attempts to speak around his laughter that only result in frantic spurts of incomprehensible, giggle-laced gibberish.

As she traces her nails across his lower belly she also finds a tiiiny layer of unexpected pudge. Which probably shouldn't surprise her - he's been out of the battle scene for seven years, after all. All those deer carcasses have to go somewhere.

Regardless, she finds it terribly endearing for some reason... and the surge of affection translates into a corresponding surge in the intensity of Rosie's tickles.

"AHaha! Ro- Rosie!" he blurts, his voice jumping a full octave higher than normal. "Stop!!"

Rosie removes her hands immediately. "Stop?"

"Aha- ah- well- I mean, er…" He stumbles breathlessly, and gives a sheepish cough.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?"

Rosie resumes with a chuckle, reeling herself in just a little. "How 'bout we say... oh... 'enough,' if you really want me to quit?"

Of course, she has to go and say it out loud.

"M-more of a reflehex..." he admits reluctantly.

Alastor tosses a shaky thumbs-up at her, already too lost in his own giggles to manage a verbal reply.

And he's gotta admit… Rosie was absolutely right. He wouldn't stop her right now for all the souls in hell. There's a reason Alastor has the most recognizable evil cackle of any other overlord. He can't help but find dissolving into laughter as cathartic and exhilarating as always - even if this time, it's not at some poor soul's misfortune. It's a result of his best friend's affection for her darling deer demon.

"As fun as getting your soft little belly is," Rosie muses, pausing to let Alastor catch his breath for a moment, "I can't help but wonder if you're ticklish anywhere else…"

Alastor may be off the air, but Rosie can practically hear the screech of microphone feedback just by the look on his face. "….I plead the fifth."

"Have you considered his ears?" Trudy pipes up shyly. While she'd managed to restrain herself behind an impeccably professional bedside manner earlier, it had taken everything in her power not to stroke Alastor's ears when she'd been close enough to do so. They were just. so. fluffy.

"Ohhh, heavens…" Alastor, for his part, curls in on himself at the mere suggestion.

Rosie grins. "Hey, 'no' is always an option."

A long pause. Alastor can't believe he's considering this. But the sensation of being tickled, as unbearable as it is, does feel awfully pleasant… and it's been so long since anyone has dared to touch him…

And what else does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

"I suppose if you're… very gentle…"

"Are you aware that your ears are the softest thing in the nine circles?"

This stipulation ends up backfiring. When it comes to his ears, gentle is worse. So, so much worse.

Poor Alastor is too busy clutching his stomach and snickering madly into his sleeve to reply.

"I should know, I work in retail. These right here-" Rosie traces her fingers down the feathery-soft edges, sending the radio demon into a new round of hysterics. "-Would fetch a pretty penny."

"They're nohot for saHA-ale!!"

"Nooo, I should say not." Rosie's hapless victim lurches back into the cushions as her fingers find the fluffy region at the base of his ears. Even without the microphone, his cackles have no problem filling the room. "You're the only demon classy enough to wear them."

"And don' you - GAHaha! - f-forget it!" He's so drunk on laughter now that he's beginning to slur his words. His careful elocution has gone the same place as his steady tone, and lack of stutter.

Luckily, he's also far too drunk on laughter to care.

...Right about there, Rosie notices that the faint hum of radio static in the air is no longer just in her head.

He is laughing his heart out for the first time in weeks. Genuinely laughing for the first time in decades. And laughing completely for himself, for his own enjoyment, without need for intimidation or control or image or audience, for the first time since long before he died.

While Trudy typically can't say much for her self-preservation instinct, she's got enough of one to feel hesitant joining her boss in tickling the most powerful overlord in hell (outside the pretense of medical intervention, at least). So she just stands back, watching fondly as The Most Dangerous Overlord This Side of the Pentagram utterly destroys the deer demon.

...At least, until she notices a flicker of green light out of the corner of her eye. Lying forgotten on the end table, the splintered ends of Alastor's microphone are sparking and crackling like live wires.

The surgeon creeps over for a closer look, staring in fascination. And then - just as Rosie gets poor Alastor behind the ears and delivers a scribble to his tummy at the same time - she ever-so-gently nudges the fractured ends closer to one another.

To her surprise, a bright green spark arcs clear across the gap. For a fraction of a second, the whole staff radiates a flash of a familiar green glow.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Keep him laughing, Rosie," Trudy murmurs over her shoulder. It appears the Radio Demon's downfall will be nothing more than an intermission.

Thanks for being so patient with me y'all! Hope it was worth the wait 💕

💜- Cozy

#lee!alastor #ler!rosie #ticklish!alastor #oh deer he's ticklish #hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #ticklefic #dr. trudy sawblade #my ocs

66 notes · View notes

a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 months

Text

The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions; Unplanned Pregnancy; Reader is a Mom Note: Written for day 12 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Unplanned Pregnancy" from Waitress. Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic 🥰 I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey Garcia always expected the greatest honor of his career would be when he was accepted into Top Gun. However, he never imagined he would be chosen to return as one of the best of the best a few years later. Yet he had done it! Selected along with his pilot and close friend, Payback, as one of the few to train for a top-secret mission. It was a dream come true.

He met most of the other aviators the night before at the Hard Deck, and with one possible exception, everyone seemed very nice and supportive. Then, after the debriefing this morning, he was excited—if a little nervous—about the next few weeks of training. He still can’t believe he was selected as a potential member of the mission. He doesn’t have high expectations for being chosen, but he is still going to try his very best.

After running back out to his car to grab some paperwork, he’s heading for the row of hangars so he can meet Payback to prep their plane for their first practice, a wide grin spread across his face. The fact he is about to fly in a training dogfight with Maverick—the Maverick—still feels like a dream to him. It feels like he’s being trained by Han Solo or Captain Kirk! He is a legend that other legends look up to and Mickey had never imagined he would get an opportunity like this. Could this day get any better?

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

As he reaches the tarmac, Mickey suddenly stumbles to a stop and his face drops as he catches sight of the ghost from his past standing in the way, almost as if waiting for him. But it’s impossible. He double-checked the roster ten times just to make sure there was no chance you were going to be here.

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Falcon…”

You worry your lip between your teeth just like you used to when you got nervous or were deep in thought, but your eyes shine brightly when your callsign slipped from his lips. “Hey there, Fanboy.”

Oh, God… that voice. Instantly, a thousand memories flash through Mickey’s mind: the first time he laid eyes on you at boot camp with your brilliant smile and Death Star tattoo; flying with you as his pilot, and how he instantly knew he never wanted to fly with anyone else; you dubbing him Fanboy after seeing him nearly burst into tears after running into William Shatner in a coffee shop and him naming you Falcon after the iconic Star Wars ship; all the stolen, secret moments and rendezvous as your friendship blossomed into something deeper despite the risk of Command finding out; the morning he found your letter left on his bunk saying you had transferred and had already left without a warning or a goodbye.

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. I’ve been an instructor at Top Gun for the past two years.” Your leg is bouncing slightly and you keep clenching and unclenching your hands. “I guess you were in the class the year before I started, but I was so proud when I heard you made it. Of course, I always knew you could.”

Instructors. Mickey groans softly to himself. He had been so focused on what other aviators had been recruited for the mission it never crossed his mind to check who the instructors would be. But it’s too late to do anything about it now.

“So, does that mean you’ll be teaching me?” It’s hard enough seeing you standing before him. But if he has to see you on a daily basis, listen to your lessons, follow your orders…there is no way he’ll make it the next three weeks.

Luckily, you shake your head. “No, it’s all top secret and I don’t have the clearance. I’m not even sure what your mission is. All they’ve told us is that they need the best of the best in the hopes of completing it, so I wasn’t surprised to see your name on the list. I never flew better than with you in my backseat.”

Mickey silently sighs in relief before he jams his hands in his pockets and coldly asks, “If you don’t have anything to do with my mission, what do you want, Falcon? After you disappeared for almost six years, I don’t really have anything I want to say to you. I think it’s better if we keep things the way you wanted it and just pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

He starts to walk around you, but you step in front of him, holding up your hand to block his retreat. “Is that really what you think I did? Left and never gave you another thought? Because you’re wrong. I think about you every single day, Mickey. And I haven’t been able to get into a plane without you in my head. No matter who I’m flying with, your voice is in my headset giving me directions, or doing systems checks, or failing to stump me with random trivia about another movie or tv show just like it used to be.” You take a deep breath as you let your hand drop to your side. “But maybe if I didn’t care, it would make all of this easier. I–”

You are close to tears as your voice trembles with every word, but Mickey is having none of it. “No! Uh uh. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you’re the one who was hurt here,” he says, jamming his finger accusingly at you. “You’re the one who put in for a transfer without even talking to me about it first, so don’t act like you’re the victim. One day, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, flying with the woman I love at the stick, and the next, I wake up to a note telling me you’d left to fly with another unit. No explanation. No nothing. I never even got to say goodbye! You just disappeared from my life and you took my heart with you. But you never gave a shit.”

“Yes, I did! I swear!” Tears now begin to flow freely down your cheeks. You try to close the distance between you, but when Mickey steps back, you stop. Clutching your arms across your chest, you beg, “Mickey, I loved you. If there had been another way, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to stay with you but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?”

“Command. They heard from a few different people that we were ‘fraternizing’ outside of our duties. That we had started sleeping together a few months earlier and that it had evolved into an actual relationship.”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

Smiling warmly at him, you say, “I never doubted that. And just so you know, I didn’t either. But someone must have found some sort of evidence and turned us in. I tried to find out who, but I never had any luck. All I know is I got called into the discipline office and they said they were starting an investigation into our alleged relationship and if it were true…”

You take a deep breath as your arms tighten around your chest. “I knew if they went looking, they’d find out about us so I did the only thing I could think of to save our careers. I told them it wasn’t true but if they were still concerned, I would voluntarily opt for a different WSO or even transfer to another unit if that would clear things up. And they took me up on my offer.”

Missing pieces of Mickey’s past suddenly start to click into place. While it was against regulation for pilots and their backseaters to “fraternize” with any kind of romantic or sexual relationship, the rule was hardly ever enforced. However, around the time you disappeared, a pilot in another unit almost botched a mission saving his injured WSO instead of carrying out his assignment. When it was discovered they were in a romantic relationship at the time, Command began taking the regulation very seriously. Mickey recalls the two of you even had a nervous conversation about it at one point but just agreed to be more discreet while on base.

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“But why did you do it? Some anonymous jerk claims we were dating and that’s it? We could have fought it. If you had told me what was going on, we could have both denied everything and there was no way they could prove it.”

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

All the air is sucked from Mickey’s lungs. He feels like he’s doing barrel rolls in his jet as the world spins around him and an immense pressure weighs on his chest. “You… you were… what?”

You nod gently. “I had only found out a few days before and I was trying to figure out how to tell you. But then the investigation was brought up and it changed everything. All they had was the word of someone else we were dating, but if they knew I was pregnant with your baby, well, that’s pretty solid evidence. I didn’t know if you wanted kids. Hell, I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. So, I didn’t say anything and they transferred me two days later.”

“How could you not tell me?” Mickey whispers, trying to wrap his head around this life-changing revelation. “I would have been by your side for every minute. We could have figured it out together, we could have found a way to make it work. But even if we couldn’t, I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you. And if that meant giving up everything else, I would have done it.”

“I know you would have. And that’s why I couldn’t say anything.” You take a few steps towards him. This time, Mickey doesn’t move back, but you still keep a little space between you so you don’t overwhelm him. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t let me leave and it would be the end of both our careers. We’d both worked so hard to get where we were, I couldn’t let you throw everything away for a kid I still didn’t know if I even wanted. And by the time I had decided, it was too late to change what I’d done. So, when I reported to Command I was pregnant a few months later, I said it was from a nameless one-night stand I met at a bar right after I transferred.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…”

It is the final straw. Stumbling over to the nearby wall, Mickey slides down it until he is sitting on the ground and rests his head on his knees. He has a son. A four- or five-year-old son that he never knew about. Someone who was already walking, and talking, and going to school. Who was his own person with his own personality and likes and dislikes. Who Mickey knows absolutely nothing about.

The two of you had never talked about whether you wanted kids or a family. Until the moment you disappeared, Mickey had never doubted you both loved each other deeply but your relationship had been too complicated by rules and regulations to face what might happen in the future. So, the two of you had lived in the moment and tried to enjoy what time you had together instead of talking about the future. But that didn’t mean Mickey hadn’t thought about it. He had known from a young age he wanted to be a father. He helped take care of his younger siblings growing up and he couldn’t wait to have a family of his own.

So to find out now that he has a child is simultaneously exhilarating and devastating. He could have had everything he had always dreamed of, but you had taken all those early milestones, all those precious irreplaceable moments with his son, and Mickey doesn’t know how to accept that. What if his son never forgives him for not being there? Mickey might not have known he even existed until a few moments ago, but that doesn’t change the fact his son has had to grow up not knowing what it was like to have a father. To have a void in his life where others around him had a loving, supportive presence. Will his son even want him in his life at this point?

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye.

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Mickey raises his head to glare up at you, all of his swirling emotions finding a much-needed target to explode at. “Even if I accept why you let them transfer you or that you didn’t tell me right then, why didn’t you tell me at any point during the last five years! Is it just because I’m here? If I hadn’t come back to Top Gun, would you ever have told me?”

You open your mouth to respond but then close it again as you try to find the best way to answer. “Those are all fair questions. I figured if I told you while I was still pregnant or right after I gave birth, we would still get in trouble. My superiors weren’t happy that I had just transferred to fly with one of their WSOs and this happened but they had to accept it. I flew for another month or two but then I was placed on desk duty until I got this job at Top Gun. I hated being grounded but at least I was someplace consistent where I could go home to my family every night.”

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

You seem confused for a moment but as soon as you realize what he is asking, you quickly clarify, “Oh, no, no, no! Nothing like that. My mom moved in a month before I gave birth and stayed so she could watch the kiddo while I was at work.” You duck your head to stare at the ground as you mutter, “But no, there, uh, there hasn’t been anyone like that since you. I’ve got one little man who has my whole heart, and between him and work, I don’t have the time or the energy to spend on anyone else.”

Mickey hates the way his heart warmed slightly at that. He should hate you right now, not be happy that you aren’t with someone. Quickly changing the topic before he lets himself dwell on that for too long, he says, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why now? Why are you telling me about him now?”

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“Well, not you specifically but he started asking about his dad. He doesn’t understand….” Your voice breaks as your lip begins to quiver. Mickey’s resolve wavers and he starts to reach for your hand but then he remembers the reason you are upset in the first place and lets his hand fall. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He’s too young to understand and I’m too selfish to admit it’s my fault you’re not there, so I just told him his dad was a Naval aviator like me and he’s off protecting everyone from danger. I was hoping…I don’t know what I was hoping, but it didn’t satisfy him like I thought it would. Two weeks ago, he told me all he wants for his birthday next month is to meet his dad.”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

You nod. “And I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea where in the world you were, if you had your own family by now, or if you would even want to meet him once you knew. But then a few days ago I saw you were coming here and…it seemed like fate. I knew telling you would be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I couldn��t go home and look into our son’s eyes if I didn’t at least try. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“So this is just a way for you to clear your conscience?” Mickey asks. “You finally tell me I have a son, and that’s supposed to absolve you of everything? You took nearly five years I could have had with him away from me! I missed out on so many firsts!” Mickey suddenly freezes, all the anger evaporating in an instant as a sober realization sets in. “I still don’t even know his name….”

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.”

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

You smile at the reverence on Mickey’s face. “It was the only name I ever considered.” Pulling out your phone and tapping the screen a few times, you offer it to him. “It turns out it was perfect. He’s the spitting image of his namesake.”

With shaking hands, Mickey takes the phone from you. Looking down, he sees a little boy staring back at him with a wide grin that’s too big for his face, a mess of dark curly hair, and rich brown eyes that make Mickey feel like he is looking into a mirror. You weren’t far off. Miguel looks almost exactly like the baby photos Mickey had seen of himself at that age. However, he can also see traces of you in the toddler’s face; in the shape of his lips and the cut of his jaw. There’s no way to deny it any longer. This was his kid. Yours and his together.

Watching the waves of emotions washing across his face, you murmur, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you…either of you. I just didn’t know what to do and then, once I made a decision, I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. The longer I put it off, the more impossible it got to tell you. But you did nothing wrong and I just thought he should have another piece of you to carry with him, even if he doesn’t understand it yet.”

Mickey swipes his finger across the phone and the photo changes to one of you balancing Miguel on your hip as you point towards the camera. He looks younger here but the same joy is evident on his face as he clings to you with one arm and to a ratty-looking Spider-Man plush in the other. Another swipe shows Miguel blowing out a candle on a birthday cake shaped like a Stegosaurus. There is a big “4” balloon floating in the background next to a woman Mickey recognizes as your mother. He swipes again to see a picture of you fast asleep in a rocking chair with an infant Migual curled on your chest. He is so tiny that he could only have been a month or two old. You look disheveled and exhausted even in sleep, yet Mickey doesn’t think he can remember a time you were more breathtaking.

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply.

There is a small framed drawing hanging on the wall just above Miguel’s crib. It’s of two stick people looking at each other with little hearts above their heads. He doubts a single other person would have ever noticed it, but he would recognize it anywhere. He had doodled it on a note he slipped you right after his friendship with you had developed into a romance. And you had kept it all of these years then hung it so it would watch over your son.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

“Okay, then yeah, of course you can,” you say eagerly as your face lights up. But then it dims slightly as you add, “But, um, I think it’s better if we wait just a few days.” Mickey starts to protest but you hold up your hand. “I know I’ve already made you wait far too long for this, but we need to figure out some things first and I’m sure once you’ve had time to process everything, you’ll have a million questions. I just want you to be as prepared for this as possible so you both feel comfortable. It’s a big deal and Miguel is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, but he is pretty shy around new people and I don’t want to just spring this on him without talking to him first.”

Mickey can’t help smiling to himself. He was the exact same way when he was little. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I already have a thousand questions and I’m sure by tomorrow, I’ll have a thousand more. How ‘bout we say Friday after training? I could come over or meet you guys somewhere or whatever you think is best.”

You hesitate for a minute. “I have an appointment Friday afternoon and I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Why don’t we do Saturday morning? We could meet for pancakes. That’ll definitely get you on Miguel’s good side.”

“Pancakes it is.” Mickey climbs to his feet and holds out your phone to you. But just as you are about to take it, he pulls it back slightly. “Um…do you think…could you send me some photos of Miguel?”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

You duck your head. “I couldn’t delete it. I stared at it countless nights with my finger hovering over the call button, but I always chickened out. However, I knew one day I’d find the strength to tell you everything, and when that happened, I’d need a way to contact you so I kept it. I’m still just so sorry it took me this long.”

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

“Yeah…” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself once again. “I felt like I was in my own personal Kobayashi Maru except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out how to cheat the system.”

Oh God. The ease at which that perfect Star Trek metaphor slips from your lips once again has Mickey flashing back to all the little reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. However, after the secrets you revealed today, he can’t let himself fall back into what was.

“That might be true, but another part of me doesn’t know if I can ever forgive you for stealing these last five years I could have had with my son.” He scrubs his hand over his closely buzzed hair. “Right now, I just don’t know how to feel about you or what you did. However, I do know that I can be pleasant and get along when we’re around Miguel, though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back to a point where we’re friends again.”

You bob your head, tears dampening your eyes even as a small smile spreads across your face. “That’s fair. That’s more than fair. Honestly, I half expected you never to want to see me again after I told you, so I’ll take pleasant. Thank you, Mickey.”

He nods and holds out your phone. As you take it, your fingers brush against his and Mickey feels a jolt run up his arm as he touches you for the first time in almost six years. And based on the way your eyes widened, you felt it too. The two of you gaze at each other, your hands still both holding the phone between you. Mickey feels his heart start to race slightly in his chest, and he wonders if maybe he’s wrong and forgiving you won’t be as difficult as he thinks it is.

But then you pull the phone from his hand and slip it into your pocket. Taking a few steps back, you mutter, “I’ll send you those pictures. And please do text me any questions you have this week. Otherwise, I’ll call you Friday to figure out the details for breakfast Saturday.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

For several minutes, Mickey continues to stare at where you had been standing, still half wondering if anything that just happened was real or not. He always knew returning to Top Gun would be life-changing, but he had never expected this in a million years.

Still in a daze, he stumbles off towards the hangar where his plane is housed. As he approaches, he sees Payback already dressed in his flight suit and busy checking out the plane. He looks up when he hears Mickey approaching.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

“Yeah, guess I have.” Just then, Mickey’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see you have sent him a link to a folder filled with hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel. Just a brief scan of them makes tears begin to well up in his eyes once more. But when he looks back up at Payback, the smile on his face is so wide it hurts. “But it’s all good. In fact… It’s never been better.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @blue-aconite, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld, @wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @roosterforme, @clancycucumber230, @mamachasesmayhem, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989, @ohtobeleah, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

58 notes · View notes

itjazzbicch · 4 months

Text

What Wasn't Meant To Be

Pairing: Shang Tsung x Fem Reader

Summary: This is a prequel to my Escaping False Fate Mini Series!

Escaping False Fate PT. 1 - Escaping False Fate PT. 2

After a man interrupts Shang Tsung during a sales pitch, claiming his work to be fake, the day takes an unfortunate turn; the reader comes to check on her business partner, who holds a special place in her heart after bonding for so long, where she learns vaguely that their lives are about to take a drastic turn...

Warnings: NONE! Just fluff🥰

Quick Note: I thought that this would be a cute little idea after thinking about the mini-series and based on the photos I use below!

Word Count: 1k

"You surely cannot be without this medicine that I prepared..."

Shang Tsung was managing by making 'medicine,' which I couldn't insult as I did similar things to make money in the cruel world that we lived in. However, tonight, I had a gift for him that I worked very hard on. A medicine that would work.

Today was quite an eventful one, not for the better, unfortunately. A man came after Shang Tsung and practically started a mob, ruining his product, and I knew that the scene that occurred was weighing on his shoulders.

It was likely going to ripple his future, and considering we were partners, just trying to make money to live, I wanted to help him in any way I could.

"Shang?"

Coming to his stand, I didn't notice him inside, the heavy rain not helping with my vision, but as I turned the corner, he stood in the rain, staring off into nothingness.

"You shouldn't be standing in the rain like this."

Something was going on, but I didn't know what. Either way, I wanted to help him and give him my gift, taking his hand softly and guiding him inside:

"Come inside. I have something to show you."

"Something to show me, hm?"

Looking down at his hand in mine, he hid an evident smile. It made my heart feel lighter. I smiled softly as I nodded, following him inside his mobile stand.

I was familiar with it, sitting him down and getting him a change of clothes, questioning:

"Any particular reason you were standing out in the rain?"

Silence. He was staring off into space, that grin on his face. It made me even more curious now. I didn't want to push him, so I sat his clothes next to him, kneeling gently in front of him so I could get him to stop staring at nothing and find my gaze.

"Would you like to see your gift?"

"What a lovely surprise," He chuckled with a grin, "What is it?"

He had some dry patches of skin on his face, and he was far too handsome to deal with such a burden that wasn't necessary. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a jar with some cream inside, opened it, and put a small amount on my finger.

"This will help with those dry patches," I explained and offered, "I promise, it will help."

"How thoughtful of you," He grinned, closing his eyes softly as I rubbed it into his skin, getting the patches on his cheek and temple. I couldn't help but smile when he sighed, relieved; it was working already.

"Just keep using it, and your skin will glow," I hummed, gazing into his eyes deeply as he looked into mine, continuing to grin.

Every time I looked into his eyes, my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't describe the feeling, but it surged within me. I nearly got lost in admiring the handsomeness held along with his deep brown eyes till that grin caught my attention again.

My patience was wearing thin because of my curiosity, whispering to him:

"Any particular reason as to why you're grinning like that?"

"I have a question for you." He whispered back, nearly staring into my soul, and his gaze told me this question was necessary.

"I'm listening."

"If our lives were to change drastically, would you continue to be loyal to me?"

This wasn't what I expected, but Shang and I had been business partners for quite some time, and I would be a liar if I said I didn't trust him or that I wasn't loyal to him. As much as I hid it, he had a spot in my heart, and there was never any running from the feeling.

"I'd hope that the change you speak of would be for the better," I sighed, then smiled into his eyes, "But whether if it's good or bad, I'll continue to be loyal to you, Shang."

"Our lives will be changing for the better, dear."

Something must've happened before I came here, and I could only stare as I tried to think of what could have happened, my heart racing as when he called me, dear.

"Did something happen?" I wouldn't dig for too much, but I would've liked an answer.

Shang started to smile, a bright one, nodding and saying vaguely, "I have been presented with an opportunity. An amazing opportunity."

I cocked my eyebrow, my eyes asking for a more direct answer, then he cupped my face, thumbs caressing my cheeks. My heart raced even quicker as he did, softly telling me:

"Imagine being as strong as a deity, having the realms at our feet. Never having to live like this again. Just imagine, dear."

The thought of that made my blood rush. I hated this life, and to come from this life to this power he spoke of? It was like a drug straight into my veins.

"We will achieve such power. All I need you to do is trust and be loyal to me."

"Y-Yes," I nodded, a crack of thunder roaring in the sky as I smiled with a tear of happiness, "Always."

"With time, we will have the realms at our feet. We'll never have to live like this again," He was nearly panting from being so excited at the thought, another crack of thunder roaring when he brought his lips to mine.

I'd never felt my blood run so hot, something in his kiss telling me that every word he spoke was accurate, the spot he had in my heart growing and taking over me as I deepened our kiss, holding his cheeks to keep him close, his lips curling into another grin as I poured my heart into his lips.

When our lips parted, I shook with every breath I took, slowly gazing up into his eyes, and the more he smiled, so did I, to the point where we started laughing, pressing my forehead to his as I whispered:

"I knew that when we met, our lives would change. It almost feels as if we defied a cruel destiny."

His eyes were filled with determination, seeing his gears going and creating a plan, squeezing my cheeks as he smiled, "We will defy that cruel fate, my dear Y/N."

2024 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat fic #mortal kombat fluff #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung x y/n #shang tsung imagine #shang tsung fic #shang tsung fluff #mortal kombat x y/n #read and enjoy

99 notes · View notes

orchidyoonkook · 6 months

Note

I wish you would write a fic where: UTWT Yoongi and Reader were cuddling while it was raining outside. 🥰

(This is just for that post you shared - although I would be over the moon if you did do this. But you do whatever your heart desires!!)

You're the best and I hope you have a lovely week. 💕

Rainfall Brings Tomorrow | MYG

Pairing: UTWT Badboy! Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Genre // Rating: (T) | fluff, touch of angst, some self reflection

Summary: You leave tomorrow, and there's one thing you need to say goodbye too.

Warnings: none! I think. Reader just thinks a lot.

Word Count: 923

Release Date: October 19, 2023, 3:00PM

A/N: Well I wrote this from 2am to 6:14am. I didn't even see this ask until about 1:30am and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I hope it lives up to your expectations, dearest Anon.

A/N 1.5: This was written in 3 hours and then only edited twice. I think it's coherent but if there are mistakes, please forgive.

The soft patter of rainfall falls around you, filling your ears with earthsong. His soft breaths flow in a steady rhythm to its beat, and the patio umbrella you shoved into the ground is doing its job well, keeping your resting forms dry from the delicate cadence of an afternoon shower.

Your pond vibrates in its own little symphony of ripples, ducks hidden away in their nests while it plays. The boughs and branches of your home away from home rustle in its light wind, their tune mixing in beautifully with the rest.

It’s cold and overcast out, but his body keeps you warm, as yours keeps his. He sits in your usual spot, back against the years worn wooden truck, while you sit against his chest, both covered by his leather jacket, preserving the heat you two were just beginning to learn to share with one another.

It’s the day before you leave.

The day before you say ‘fuck you and goodnight’ to everyone and everything in your town, hop on the back of a motorcycle and never look back.

But you needed to have one last visit to the place that brought you and Yoongi together for the first time, plus all the times after. And you wanted him here with you when you did.

To say goodbye. To the one thing you would miss more than anything else.

Your willow tree.

Yoongi’s arms circle your waist as you lean your head back against his shoulder. His touch still sends sparks anywhere it lands on your skin, and you hope that it never goes away. Hope it never dulls or fades. Because you’re learning way too fast that it’s becoming one of your favourite things, and you don’t even want to think of what you’d do if you lost it.

A gentle kiss at your exposed neck, under your ear, lets you know he’s finished the page. But you still have a couple sentences to go as you hold The Mysterious Island open with a hand through the jacket sleeve for both of you to read.

You found it suiting, to truly bring this chapter in your lives a full three hundred and sixty degrees before closing it forever. And that’s what you need more than anything, you think.

Closure.

Because as much as you hate it here, and as much as you can’t wait to go, it’s all you’ve ever known. And while this change is good and needed and necessary, it’s also incredibly scary.

You hate that a very small part of you doesn’t want to go, for the sake of familiarity. It’s safe here. You know what to expect. You know what will happen, when it will happen, what to do, where to go, who you’ll become. There’s a guideline written into your future by your past here. One you’ve never wanted to follow and always wanted to change.

But there are the absolutely terrifying ‘what if’s’ that comes with big change. What if you leave and it’s no better than where you were? What if you somehow mess all of it up? What if nothing goes to plan, everything goes to shit, and you’re forced to come back?

That’s your biggest nightmare, and it could very easily become your reality.

But it’s not enough to change your mind.

You’re going. Tomorrow morning, you’re leaving, come hell or high water or…maybe rain water if this keeps up. And you’re taking the man currently drawing you closer into him with you.

He takes a quiet inhale of your hair, happily drowning in your scent. Yoongi’s still settling into the fact that the woman he’s holding is his. At least for now. The one that always caught his eye. The one that he never knew he could want so badly. The one who reads with him on a rainy afternoon in their shared space so she can say goodbye to the only thing that was kind to her, with him here to support her.

He’ll support you however you need, forever if he can.

His girl.

Pulling your legs up to rest the book on, you flip the page though your focus wavers, and you stare out into the shower blurred haze of your favourite place.

This is the last time you’ll ever be here, so you take in every detail you can. The way the grass feels underneath you, the shape of the pond and the colour of its water. You commit the height of the tree and the ebb and flow of its leaves to memory as best you can. You take in the feeling of Yoongi behind you, remembering how he used to sit a foot away from you.

How every day, whether you realized it or not, he got just a little bit closer.

And before you can stop it, a silent tear slides down your face. You wipe it away but Yoongi catches it, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“You okay?” he asks.

You are.

It’s just finally hitting you that your years of pain and loneliness and misery are ending. You’re finally taking control of your life like you’ve always planned, and better yet, you aren’t doing it alone. You have someone now.

You can’t remember the last time you had that.

“Yeah,” you say, lifting your chin to look at him. “I think I’m going to be just fine.”

Holding the book back up, you see you’ve reached the final chapter. And somehow you know, it’s the first chapter of your own.

A/N 2: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, Yoon <3

118 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

could you do more about single dad!steve and daisy mae w stepmom!reader - literally the cutest stories ever

AN | Steve’s running late, so you pick up Daisy by yourself for the first time 🥺🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you had gotten the call, you were internally freaking out. Cool and collected on the outside, but screaming on the inside. But he had sounded so desperate, so worried that you weren’t able to say no. Because not only had you been Steve’s first resort, but because he had trusted you with his daughter. If that wasn’t the ultimate sign of faith and trust, you didn’t know what was.

That’s why when you were done with work, leaving your own classroom for the day, you headed over to Daisy’s daycare to pick her up. You’d never once gone to pick up a child; you were usually the one waiting with the children after school until their parents came up.

A part of you was nervous - what if she wasn’t happy to see you? What if she only wanted Steve? What if they didn’t let you take her? So many questions caused your mind to spiral, and made you feel like throwing up from nerves. Realistically, it wasn’t a huge deal; it was like a babysitting gig. But in reality, it was a huge step in your relationship with Steve. You’d never been alone with Daisy like this.

The two of you had been dating for a few months, and things had been wonderful, but this was something new. You knew, you’d known for almost as long as you’d been dating at this point, that you loved Steve and his daughter. You could only hope that they felt even a fraction of the same about you.

But when you arrived at the daycare center, any worry or fear that you had remaining dissipated. As soon as Daisy Mae Harrington saw you, she squealed in excitement and ran to you, almost causing you to stumble backwards from the sheer force of her small, happy body wrapping your legs up in a hug..

“Hi Daisy,” you crouched down and beamed at her, brushing some unruly waves out of her face, “I know you were expecting me, but I hope it’s okay that I’m here. Your daddy asked if I could pick you up because he’s running a little behind at work.”

“That’s okay,” her pretty brown eyes were glittering with excitement, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Really?” your heart softened as you pulled her into your arms, moments away from crying when she fiercely hugged you back, “I’m glad I’m here too, baby. You always make my day better, Miss Daisy.”

Without even hesitating, you picked her up and set her on your hip, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head when she clung tightly onto you. It was almost strange how quickly and easily this had come naturally to you.

Once you grabbed her bag and sweater, you checked her out, relieved that Steve had made sure to leave you as an alternate pick-up person. You wondered if that had been an addition he’d made today or if he’d made it some time ago. It didn’t matter, really, but you were happy either way.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I hope you don’t mind coming to my house,” you realized she’d never been here before. Steve had been over on a growing number of occasions, but Daisy had yet to come over. A moment of panic settled in your bones as you realized how utterly unprepared you were to have a child in your house. You had no toys, no clean clothes, or anything; you’d make it a point to change that in the future.

“‘s okay,” she smiled at you from the backseat of the car. At least you still had a booster seat from the last time you’d gone out with Steve and Daisy and he’d nonchalantly told you to keep just in case. It was almost like he knew, “I’m excited. Can we bake cookies?”

“Cookies?” you parroted as she nodded, her eager little gaze trained outside at the passing scenery. It was a rainy, chilly mid-winter day; and all you wanted to do was change into comfy clothes and to get under a warm blanket. But you weren’t opposed to a change of plans, “I think that’s a brilliant idea. Its perfect cookie making weather!”

“And maybe we can watch a movie too?” she caught your eyes in the mirror before sheepishly smiling, her ruddy cheeks growing rosier with each passing moment. But how could you deny her? She might have been the sweetest and kindest little girl, and she’d had your heart from the day you’d met her in that cafe that you came to love. If you could help it, you’d never say no to her.

“We can definitely watch a movie,” you agreed happily, “and maybe daddy can join us too.”

“Yay!” her pouty little lips pulled into a huge smile as you matched her. It was easy to imagine a lifetime of movie nights with the Harringtons. It was easy to imagine a forever with them, “you’re the best!”

“No,” you shook your head, “that’s you, princess.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your entire house, although small, smelled of delicious, warm spices, and the distinctive notes of gingerbread. Once you’d gotten home, you’d made her a snack and upon her insistence had drawn her a bath and changed her into some fresh clothes she’d had in her backpack. You were glad Steve had enough foresight (or perhaps experience) to pack a change of clothes, otherwise she would have looked hilarious in your oversized clothes. Mr. Beans, your companion in the form of a big, black cat had been drawn to her as well, coming and weaving around her legs without hesitation.

After her bath, the warmth and bubbles must have gotten to her, because she crashed as you put her in your bed and was down quickly for a nap, Mr. Beans curled up next to her, purring softly. You’d called Steve at his office, and let him know everything was okay and that you both looked forward to seeing him soon. The fact that he said he couldn’t wait to see his girls wasn’t lost on you, and that fluttery feeling in your tummy bubbled up.

But now, refreshed after her bath and nap, she was going full speed ahead, excitedly helping you to decorate the cooled cookies the two of you had made.

At her insistence she’d help every step of the way, and you didn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the mess. A mess could be cleaned, but the memories you’d made were forever. Daisy was sitting at the kitchen table, concentrating on putting frosting on the cookies and making them ‘happy snowmen and gingerbread men.’ She wasn’t even phased when a few beats of knocking came at the front door.

“I’ll be right back,” you ruffled her hair affectionately as you padded towards, taking a moment to breathe before opening it. You knew it would be Steve, but that didn’t stop the wild beating of your heart at the sheer excitement. You slowly opened the door and found Steve standing there, a pretty smile on his handsome face, “hi.”

“Hi baby,” he stepped inside and wrapped his arms around you without a moment of hesitation, kissing you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. When he pulled back, he nudged your nose with his before pressing a few more saccharine kisses to your lips, “you’re so beautiful.”

“Hi Stevie,” you positively beamed at him, radiating golden warmth despite the cold night, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Hmm,” he hummed contently before kissing you again, “you’re a lifesaver. Thanks for getting Daisy. I hope she’s been good.”

“You know when I’ve told you that she’s my favorite kid?” you pulled him inside and out of the cold, enveloping him in delicious warmth, “I wasn’t lying. She really is; she’s a bundle of chaos, but she’s a good girl. We’ve had a lot of fun and we have a surprise for you.”

“You’re an angel…angel,” he kept an arm wrapped around your shoulder as you led him to the kitchen. As soon as Daisy heard him, she stopped what she was doing and slid off her chair, running over to him. The love and adoration the two of them had for each other was immeasurable, but it made you beyond happy, “Daisy Mae, my baby girl!”

He scooped her up in his strong arms and held her tightly against his chest before peppering her in featherlight kisses, which only made her giggle, “hi daddy! I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he promised, “I miss you whenever we’re apart. But it sounds like you still had a pretty good afternoon?”

“Yes,” she grinned that pretty little smile before looking at you, “it was lots of fun! I got to play with Beans! And we had pizza for dinner and we made cookies! They’re for you, daddy!”

“Pizza and cookies,” he made his eyes wide as he pretended to be shocked. For a moment you worried that you shouldn’t have given her pizza or allowed her to make sweets, but the way he looked at you reassured you that you’d done okay. More than okay in his mind; to him, you were perfect, “I think I showed up just in time!”

“And we’re gonna watch a movie,” she clapped her little hands happily, “is that okay? Can we all watch a movie?”

“I think that’s okay…but we have to make sure we’re not overstaying our welcome. Hopefully you haven’t been too much of a menace, huh?” he turned to you and laughed softly, “is that okay with you, sweetheart? We can go if you need or it’s getting too late.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” you winked at him, “I’m forcing you Harringtons to stay here and watch a movie with me while we eat some cookies.”

“See!” Daisy wiggled so he’d put her down and immediately went back to her cookies, “told you so!”

“You did,” his hand found yours as he tenderly laced his fingers through yours, “what am I going to do with you, huh? She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“So does her father,” you kissed his cheek quickly, “but I’m not complaining. I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Daisy didn’t even make it halfway through the movie before she was fast asleep, snoring softly as she laid on Steve, her head burrowed in the crook of his cheek. The sight was enough to make your heart constrict; he really was a wonderful father.

He caught you studying him, and turned his head slightly before reaching up and brushing his knuckles over your cheek, “it’s rude to stare, pretty girl.”

“Can’t help it,” you scooted closer so there was almost no distance between the two of you, “appreciating the art.”

“Mhmm,” you were both whispering so Daisy wouldn’t wake up, “I didn’t think she’d fall asleep so soon.”

“Because I gave her all the sugar,” you offered up a sheepish smile, “we can put her in my bed so she can sleep a little before you have to go? Seemed like she had a good nap in there earlier.”

“You don’t mind?” he asked as you shook your head, “alright, let me get this one settled and I’ll be right back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you watched as he slowly stood up to keep her situated and walked down the hall to your bedroom, her new best friend Mr. Beans trailing after them. You heard him whispering softly to her before he shut the door part way and came back to you. As soon as he got comfortable, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tucked you into his warm frame.

“You know…if you wanted to stay the night, that might be easier since it’s so late…but I-I know I don’t have much for her, but I’ve got the spare bedroom she could sleep in or she can stay in my bed. But I totally get if you want to take her home. I just thought since it’s Friday, it would be okay, but you know, I-I don’t want to make it weird for either of you or overstep my boundaries or make her uncomfortable. It’s just..an idea.”

“You want us to stay?” he asked softly, his brown eyes big and bright as you nodded shyly, nerves easing at this happy response. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’d love that. I’m sure she would too. You know, if you’re not too tired of us tomorrow, maybe we can stop at ours in the morning to change and then we could get breakfast and then there’s that farmer’s market that should be fun…as a thought.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of either of you,” you promised softly, “I’d love that, Steve. Really.”

“Good,” he grinned happily, his heart feeling like it was full to bursting, “I know we’ll never get tired of you. I…fuck. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” you sighed softly, “and Daisy. More than anything.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #joe keery x reader #joe keery x you

643 notes · View notes

a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 months

Text

The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions Note: Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic 🥰 I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Falcon…”

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…”

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye.

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

You nod. “And I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea where in the world you were, if you had your own family by now, or if you would even want to meet him once you knew. But then a few days ago I saw you were coming here and…it seemed like fate. I knew telling you would be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t go home and look into our son’s eyes if I didn’t at least try. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.”

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter, @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @kkrenae, @zebralover, @startrekfangirl2233, @memeorydotcom

34 notes · View notes

maidragoste · 5 months

Note

Please please please say we will get more of your fantastic one queen two kings thing story?

I love that story.

Need to have more dad Aegon and dad Aemond with Queen mom reader.

Has the kids asked about her and their uncle eggs siblings? And what happened to them?

Imagine trying to explain when they ask about readers parents and what happened. Maybe they heard somewhere that Aegon killed Nyra and so they come to see if it is true. That their dad killed their beloved mothers mother. Drama!!!!

But seriously I love this series. Seeing them with the kids. Love to see some cute fluffy moments but as wrote above the fluffy can be after the drama hahah.

I need to see the two dads with twin daughters. How much they would love and spoil them etc. also how protective Aegon would be with all his kids as we saw in the one shot about his oldest daughter that he had with Helena. I imagine he would be so protective of all their future children after what happened to his two sons.

So sorry this is long. Really love your stories. :)🌸⭐️

omg anon I didn't expect this at all, it's been a long time since someone wrote to me about "The Queen and her Husbands". I'M HAPPY THAT YOU ENJOY THAT UNIVERSE SO MUCH 🥰🥰

Honestly I have so many wips and ideas with dad Aegon, dad Aemond and Queen Reader mom but I haven't finished writing them.

This is sad but I don't see the Queen talking to her children (except Aemon) about Rhaenyra and her brothers. The Queen didn't like to think about her mother, she has unresolved problems with Rhaenyra but she also regrets how she treated her, so if she can avoid talking about her the better. But I imagine Egg sometimes talking about Rhaenyra to his nephews, it makes him sad but he knows that it bothers Aegon II that he talks about Rhaenyra so he keeps doing it 🤪

I can see Alyssa going to Aegon after Egg tells her a story about Rhaenyra.

Alyssa: Why did you kill grandmother Rhaenyra? She was great"

Aegon II: She wasn't great! She killed your brother Jaehaerys!

Alyssa: Oh…

Returning to the Queen. She thinks about her brothers every day and she always misses them. But she doesn't talk about them because she knows that would upset Aemond. Just imagine Reader telling how wonderful her siblings were and then Daella saying "I want to marry someone as kind as Uncle Lucerys was", Baelon and Daeron saying "When I grow up I want to be like Uncle Jace" or Baelon and Alyssa going to complain to his father why he murdered his uncle. AEMOND WOULD LOSE HIS SHIT

Now why does the Queen talk to Aemon about her brothers? I have the headcanon that she accompanies her son to the yard for him to train, in that she finds the mark (that mark that Jace shows to Luke in chapter 8) and without thinking she tells Aemon the story of that mark. After that she makes him promise that he won't tell anyone, that it's a secret. Weeks pass and the Queen realizes that Aemon kept the secret so she begins to tell him more stories about Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey. I can see Reader talking to her other children about her siblings but only on specific occasions. For example, Aelor feels self-conscious about being a bastard and she tells him about Jace, how he always pushed himself to reward something that wasn't her fault; Another occasion could be when Baelon is desperate to have his own dragon and Reader is scared that he will do something stupid. "Never think about getting on a dragon that already has a rider. I don't want you to end up like your uncle Joffrey." 😭

About the twin daughters, for now I don't think it will happen because the Queen already has too many children hahaha but I promise you that I will try to finish my wip quickly where Aemond lets his daughter comb his hair I 100% confirm that Aegon is protective of ALL of his children after losing Jaehaerys and Maelor

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING TO ME ANON, IT REALLY MADE ME VERY HAPPY. IF YOU HAVE MORE THOUGHTS ON THIS SERIES, DON'T HESITATE TO SHARE THEM 🥰🥰💖💖

39 notes · View notes

twogyuu · 2 years

Text

impossible to ignore you [one]

Pairing: Jeonghan x fem!reader

(Featuring: Jimin, Sooyoung (RV Joy); mentions of Namjoon, Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Chan, Jun, and Wonwoo)

Synopsis: When the stranger you met on the curbside of the club becomes perhaps the best thing you never had.

Genre: Fluff, angst, smidgen of crack if you squint, businessman!Jeonghan, notniceguy!Jeonghan, gradstudent!reader, overzealous!reader, bestfriend!Jimin, S2L

Warnings: Use of profanity, alcohol use, attempt at fwb w/o success (i.e. a man makes OC very uncomfortable asking for the dirty deed), mentions of food, burnout, insecurities

Please note, even though there are no explicit scenes in this chapter, there maybe suggestive scenes in future chapters - not suitable for minors, otherwise read at your own risk.

WC: ~ 11K

A/N: It’s here 🤗🥰 Part 2 to come soon!

A special thank you to @sleeplessdawn and @wonwoonlight for beta reading, helping better develop this fic, and everything in between 💙

masterlist || next

“Make some noise!”

The crowd let out unified shriek, tones of various pitches, some lasting longer than others. Hands all around him were thrown up in the air while the dance floor beneath him shook under the weight of people jumping up and down. Jeonghan ducked his head to avoid getting smacked in the face by the girl in the bubble pink dress flailing her equally fruity purse around. He dodged yet another offender, a presumably intoxicated young man headbanging rather violently. Elbowing his way through the sweaty bodies, Jeonghan made his way to the edge of the dance floor.

Oh, how he regretted coming out with Soonyoung tonight. The club was not Jeonghan’s scene, let alone one that played EDM music. No – he liked to spend his Saturday nights laying on his new couch, perhaps a new Netflix show playing on his TV, or soft acoustic music filled his apartment, while he ate some delivery fried chicken, excited, knowing well that he didn’t have to do any dishes this evening.

Yet, here he was.

Without Soonyoung, or anyone else from their party, in sight – they were all probably chasing after the women in tight tube tops and slinky dresses eyeing them at the bar earlier that night.

A heavy sigh leaving his lips, Jeonghan roughly shoved open the glass door of the club to leave the retrid place. A blast of wind whipped him in the face, ruining his hair and sending a cold sensation up his spine despite his navy blue suit jacket hanging loosely around his form. Nonetheless, it was nice to smell fresh air, nothing of the stench of alcohol and feet inside. It was also less claustrophobic and nauseating, only a few people lingering along the sides of the brick building, either engaged in quiet conversations, or quite frankly, stoned and stuck in their own world.

Hands tucked in his black jeans, Jeonghan’s leather shoes clicked against the ash gray pavement as he walked towards the curb, grateful to finally find somewhere relatively clean to sit and rest his aching legs – better than the sticky floor where people spilled god knows what. He hissed as he settled on the pavement; his bottom meeting the hard surface, it turned out to be much icier than he was expecting. Another cool breeze passed, and, this time, Jeonghan was more prepared for it than the first. He relished in the way it swiped away any remnant of sweat from the club from his face. He didn’t really care if it messed up his hair anymore; he didn’t really intend on impressing anyone tonight.

His peace didn’t last long, however, the sound of sniffling evading the quiet chatter surrounding him. Jeonghan turned his head to the right to find a woman, a sparkling navy blue jacket shrouding her shoulders, slumped over her phone, the screen lighting up her face. Her bare legs were stretched out before her, her feet without shoes – he noted a pair of black stilettos sitting next to her. She was young, perhaps the same age, or a few years younger than him. It was hard to make out the features of her face underneath the dim-lighting of the club’s neon sign, but her hair was curled into soft waves that seemed to frame her face well. A loose fitted, black slip dress hung from her shoulders, stopping just shy of her ass. Move any further and it would ride up – Jeonghan certainly would be in for a view.

Had it been anyone else, Jeonghan wouldn’t have bothered, but there was something about her that intrigued him. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he wanted to talk to her – perhaps not necessarily to offer solace or comfort, but merely fulfill his selfish curiosity and boredom. Why would a pretty girl be sitting out here on the curb on her own, sniffling and staring at her phone, when she should’ve been inside dancing the night away in the arms of someone like Soonyoung?

Jeonghan scooted over, slowly but surely in her direction. He was attempting to do it obvious enough to catch her attention, but still discreet enough that he wouldn’t come off as a creep trying to hit on her – because he wasn’t. He had an inkling she didn’t want to be bothered tonight. When he was a good foot or two away, Jeonghan cleared his throat loudly. Much to his relief, her gaze flickered in his direction.

Rocking back and forth, he opted for a corny conversation starter, hoping to garner some sort of laughter from her. “The weather sure is nice tonight.”

He lost her attention just as quickly as he got it. Her sniffling had ceased (maybe you just had allergies?) and you turned your head in the opposite direction.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t the type to be into small talk.

Jeonghan opted for a straightforward approach.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asked bluntly.

You gawked at him momentarily before looking around to see if he was talking to someone else. Your eyebrows creased together, and you pointed at your chest. “A-are you talking to me?”

Jeonghan chortled and nodded.

You sighed and bowed your head forward, a tired expression on your face as if you were bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders. Jeonghan waited patiently for your answer.

“Look dude,” you held up a hand sluggishly, fatigue written all over your face as if this wasn’t the first time you’ve been approached by a creep tonight, “I’m flattered and I appreciate the advance, but I’m not in the mood to be hit on tonight. This,” You waved a finger between the two of you, “... isn’t going anywhere.”

Blunt. Jeonghan was right – you were direct and didn’t like to play games, at least for tonight you did. This was kind of nice; a refreshing change from the usual push and pull he had to play with girls he met.

As you plainly stated your intentions, he decided to as well. “I’m not trying to hit on you,” Jeonghan shrugged, noting the way your brows furrowed together in suspicion at his declaration. “I’m merely trying to pass time and make conversation with the only other conscious person outside.” He looked over at his shoulder at the few stoned people loitering around to make a point. “I don’t like clubs and my friends ditched me, so I’m here.”

“You could just go home,” you deadpanned.

“My friends may have left me to fend on my own, but I’m not an asshole,” Jeonghan tilted his head in your direction. “I’m the DD for tonight – as I’ve always been. Soonyoung gets pretty shit-faced.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“No,” the corner of Jeonghan’s lip perked up in a lopsided smirk. “You’re hard to convince, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head to the side and shrugged.

A soft chortle escaped his lip.

Feisty – how cute.

“Your turn,” Jeonghan tried again. He planted his feet on the ground and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. “What are you doing out here?”

Tongue in cheek, you narrowed your eyes at him to scan his form. His mid-length hair must’ve been combed back neatly before; either he had sucked face with someone who rustled it up or it was just a result of headbanging too hard inside. What stood out to you the most, however, was that he wore a fucking business suit to the club. It was navy blue, slim fit to his lanky form. He paired it with a white dress shirt underneath without a tie. The first few buttons were unclasped, exposing his sternum. Most people wore a dress shirt with slacks at the fanciest at the club – the fact that he wore the whole ensemble puzzled you. Though you do recall him telling you the club wasn’t his scene; maybe he wasn’t lying after all.

“I’m bored,” you vaguely explained.

Jeonghan glanced down at his watch. “It’s only ten.”

“Exactly,” you raised your eyebrows at him before looking at your phone.

“Then . . . why don’t you just go home?” Jeonghan threw the question back at you.

Surprisingly, a pleased smile formed on your lips. You quickly ducked your chin into your chest in an attempt to hide from him though he already caught a glimpse of your grin. It tickled a part of Jeonghan’s brain, knowing he was slowly cracking away at your icy demeanor. Unlike most, it wasn’t sweet nothings that made your heart flutter apparently; you liked a good tease it seems. You’d get along well for the rest of the evening if it keeps going this way.

You regained your composure, clearing your throat, and pointed your thumb back at the vibrating building. “My ride’s inside.”

“I heard Uber’s are nice these days,” Jeonghan pointed out.

You scoffed. The audacity of this man – was he trying to talk to you or get you to leave?

“I’m here with a few girlfriends,” you started, “It’s only the second time I’ve been clubbing? I was hoping it would make me feel less shitty, but it only made me feel worse.”

Stroking his chin, Jeonghan asked, “How come?”

You chuckled half-heartedly, tearing your gaze from him and hanging your head pathetically. “It’s stupid.”

“Shoot your shot – I’ve heard many stupid things in my short time twenty-seven years of life.”

Though you knew you owed him nothing, a part of you felt the urge to explain to Jeonghan your situation. It’s not like you’d ever see him again and to be frank, you were having a rather rough night. Venting and pouring out your heart to a stranger didn’t seem like a bad idea. He didn’t seem sketchy or untrustworthy either. What was he going to do with this information? At best, it would make for a kicker of a Reddit story on r/dating.

“I got dumped,” you said quickly.

“Aahh –”

“But not really.”

“Huh?” Jeonghan’s chin crinkled at your response.

“I thought for once, I’d be different and instead of waiting around for someone to ask me out, I shot my shot with someone.”

“And you got rejected?” Jeonghan concluded.

“Mmmm . . . not at first,” you closed your eyes. “We went out for dinner, really nice guy, honestly, and I thought it went well, but, jokes on me – he doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Hm,” Jeonghan hummed, “Did you like him?”

“I mean,” you fumbled with your fingers, “Kind of? We had a good conversation and I off-handedly mentioned I liked cooking and he said we should cook together sometimes – I thought he wanted to see me again.”

“Well,” Jeonghan let out a sigh. He leaned back on the heels of his palms. “Nice guys usually end up being jackasses anyways.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan shrugged as if the answer was obvious and gestured towards you. “Just look at you – you thought he was a nice guy, but he ghosted you.”

“That’s one person – and hey maybe, it is just a ‘me’ problem,” you argued.

“Well how many other nice guys have you seen before this one and they never called you again?”

“To be fair, I didn’t really like them.”

Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a small blueberry. “Yeah, keep blaming yourself – that ought to solve all your relationship problems.”

“Clearly, you’re not a nice guy,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“I’m not,” Jeonghan admitted, “Nor do I pretend to be.”

He was frustrating, no doubt. However, you found yourself enjoying this back and forth. There was no filter you had to put on, no niceties, no pretending to be a normal person. Not to mention, it was getting challenging to keep up with him with his forwardness. You didn’t mind, however; it added flavor and spice to conversation you weren’t used to.

“Fair – at least you’re honest about it,” you said.

“Why lie when they’re going to find out anyway?” Jeonghan sighed, picking at the invisible lint on his pants.

“I like you,” you said simply, but suddenly, cocking your head to the side.

Jeonghan only blinked at you, a blank expression on his face. “Pardon?”

“I like you,” you repeated, sensing that you rattled his ‘cool guy’ complexion with your blunt statement, “In a platonic sense – I appreciate the straightforwardness, owning up to your personality. Nothing romantic.”

“Not the response I get from most people, but alright,” he muttered, but nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

“I’m not most people,” you chuckled.

“I’ll take it,” he shrugged, an equally amused chortle seeping through his teeth. A comment like this was whatever to Jeonghan. Again, it wasn’t like he was looking for anything else other than good company this evening.

Silence ensued, and albeit you were strangers, it wasn’t uncomfortable. With his pointer finger, Jeonghan found himself drawing invisible circles on the cracked pavement, contemplating your odd character. It must’ve been pure luck that he approached someone as chill and low-key as you. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you pulling at the hem of your dress, presumably so you wouldn’t accidentally flash him, you tucked your knees into your chest. You turned to him to show some level of interest that you did want to talk more than just this – even if it was for a little while longer.

“Why’d you come to the club if you don’t like it?” you peeped.

Jeonghan glanced up in your direction, “It’s one of my buddy’s birthday.”

You wrinkled your nose. “And he wanted to come to the club?”

“Chan’s young,” Jeonghan explained. You assumed ‘Chan’ was the birthday boy in question. “And he likes to dance, so naturally, these places make sense.”

“Same,” you nodded, “Sooyoung likes to dance too, so she lets loose in places like this.”

“Soon-young?” Jeonghan asked, wondering if he misheard. Did Soonyoung invite you to the same party and he just wasn’t aware?

“No, no,” you waved him off, “Soo-young. I doubt she knows you.”

“And what makes you think she doesn’t?”

You rolled your eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him with a bored expression gracing your face. “Calm down hot shot.”

A chuckle escaped his pretty pink lips – not that you were staring, you just noticed them when his eyes crinkled into crescents, revealing his pearly white teeth.

“I have a friend with a similar name – Soonyoung,” Jeonghan explained.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you told him, “You mentioned him earlier.”

“Jeonghan!” a cheerful voice shouted from behind the two of you, followed by a bout of bubbly laughter.

“Speak of the devil,” you heard Jeonghan mutter under his breath. He scooted in his place, turning around to face Soonyoung. You followed his gaze to a group of men. The one with silver hair, who you assumed was Soonyoung because he was the only one laughing, had his arm slung over one of his friends.

“Hey Jeonghan!” Soonyoung shouted again, his speech slurred. He tried to take off in a run, but his other friend held him back from tumbling forward. “Let’s, let’s,” Soonyoung hiccupped, “Home! Let’s go home – Seungcheol said I need to . . . drink, sleep and, and, go to water.”

A low chuckle bubbled from Jeonghan’s chest. “Looks like I get to go home now,” he whispered to you teasingly.

You checked your phone, the screen reading 11:24. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as to just how long you’ve been talking to the stranger.

As if he read your mind, Jeonghan added, “Time flies when you’re having a good time.”

You didn’t bother to say anything further, just huffing and staring back at the club door to see when it would be your turn to leave. The pink and purple flashing lights and the music growing heavier by the second, you doubted it, however.

“The name’s Jeonghan, by the way,” he told you, interrupting your musing. He stood up from his spot on the curb. “Yoon Jeonghan.” He reached his hands up into the air, stretching his limbs from the crumpled state. You blushed at the way the front of his dress shirt untucked from his slacks, exposing the soft skin underneath momentarily.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered in return.

Reaching into his suit pocket, Jeonghan pulled out a cream-colored business card and navy fountain pen. Quickly, he scratched down something on it before handing it to you. You blinked at him a few times before taking it into your own hands. You skimmed the front, the side holding his name and presumably the business he worked for engraved in gold letters. Flipping it over, you saw a phone number written in near chicken-scratch, some of the numbers already smudged with faint fingerprints from the both of you holding the business card earlier. You had to squint to make out the two at the end.

“It was nice talking with you tonight, Y/N,” Jeonghan said before you could ask him why you gave him this card and phone number. He looked down at his leather shoes before returning his gaze to you. “If . . . you’re ever in need of a friend, I’m just one call away.”

“T-thanks?” you asked more than you replied, confused why he would just casually drop his number, let alone to be friends. Earlier he had claimed he was just passing time. People didn’t do this, unless . . . was he romantically interested in you? Then again, Jeonghan had been fairly honest with you tonight.

“See you around,” Jeonghan gave you a small wave before turning away, sauntering towards his friends.

“Bye,” you said more to yourself than him. You watched him duck under the silver-haired boy’s other arm and hobble towards a sleek black Lexus. Two other men, a shorter fellow with an otter-like smile dressed in a silver bomber jacket, and one who was tall with broad shoulders with the facial structure of that of an actor (he winked at you on their way to Jeonghan’s car), skipped behind.

You looked back down at the business card, flipping it back to the front:

Pledis Co.

Senior Consultant

Yoon Jeonghan, MBA

Black Lexus, MBA, senior consultant, the sleek navy suit, and fancy fountain pen. . . Jeonghan had to be rich, and of a high-class.

Why’d he ever want to hang out with a broke graduate student like you?

Sometimes, you wondered why you opted to return to school when you absolutely abhorred it. You fell asleep fifteen minutes into your lectures every class, your only friend in the program, Jimin, too kind to wake you. The calculations you had to do for homework looked like alphabet soup. You were pretty sure you were vitamin D deprived because you’re stuck in the dungeon of your department building (aka your lab) for most hours of daylight. Not to mention, you were also technologically challenged, your codes crashing your laptop and the university computers frequently because they were that inefficient. And, worst of all, you still had to work your internship on top of all of this, where you were paid minimum wage to look at spreadsheets – it wasn’t nearly enough for you to afford the packs of ramen noodles you bought every week, which was all you could afford these days in light of inflation.

Frustrated, you pushed back your laptop, the screen offering the only source of light in the study room. You had been working on a code to automate data extraction for your research project for the past three hours – and you still couldn’t get it to work properly. It took ten minutes to load, only to overheat your laptop and give you an error message. You tugged at the drawstrings of your hoodie as the opening closed in on your face, the fabric muffling the inhuman sound you made out of frustration and annoyance. Without much else left to do, you pouted in your seat, reaching for your bag of Konjac jelly and violently inhaled the lychee flavor.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Jimin commented from the other side of the table. He peered over the top rim of his laptop, shooting you a concerned look while adjusting his thin-wire framed glasses.

Crushing the empty plastic container in your hand, you frowned at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything?”

You pointed at him, “You were thinking it.”

“Thinking what?”

“That I have anger issues and that I’m an idiot for going back to school.”

Jimin sat back in his seat, an incredulous expression on his face. He scoffed and shook his head. “You’re projecting again – you really need to work on that.”

“Jimin, I can’t do this anymore,” you whined, immediately shoving your face into your arms.

With a heavy sigh, your friend rolled over in his chair, offering you small pats on your back. Jimin was used to this; it was a regular occurrence since the beginning of the last year of your master’s program. You were all burnt out more than most because of your ongoing internship.

“One more year, Y/N. We’re almost done,” he told you.

“That doesn’t make it go any faster,” you muttered.

“Trust me,” Jimin sighed for the umpteenth time that day, “You don’t want it to go any faster – before you know it, it’s going to be the end of the year which means scrambling to finish research, graduation theses, and interviewing for jobs.”

You let out a whimper at the thought he planted in your head.

“How about we take a break?” he offered instead.

“How am I going to –”

“Cursing at your screen while angrily sucking in Konjac jelly isn’t productive,” Jimin interrupted.

“Fine,” you relented, reaching over to slam your laptop shut. You started collecting the sheets of paper scattered around you to tuck them away in your blue plastic folder.

Jimin offered to buy you a warm bowl of kimchi tofu soup from your favorite shop on campus and you willingly agreed – you were not one to turn down free food, after all.

“How was the club on Saturday?” Jimin asked as the two of you started down the street. The streetlamps were already starting to turn on because the sun was setting. You frowned knowing that it wouldn’t be much longer until you’d walk out and it’d be pitch black and cold outside.

“It was meh,” you replied.

“Meh?” Jimin inquired.

“Yeah.”

“Details, Y/N, details.”

“I-I dunno,” you protested, “We left around 8:30, took some cute pictures, and then started dancing, but I got tired pretty quick, so I left to go sit outside, around 9:30? 10? I’m not sure.” You made a point to leave out Jeonghan, not wanting Jimin to sprout any bright ideas.

The space between Jimin’s brows dipped, his mouth opened agape in horror as if you just committed the worst crime known to man.

“What?” you frowned.

“You went to the club, dolled up all cute like you did in Sooyoung’s Instagram story, just to sit outside?” Jimin deadpanned.

“Y-yeah –”

“The point of you going was so you’d let loose and show that asshole Moonbin what he was missing out on!” Jimin exclaimed.

“Jimin,” you said, a warning lacing your tone, “You know I’m not about that revenge life.”

“Yeah, but I am – even if you don’t want to, I’ll manifest it for you.”

“Look,” you waved him off, “It wasn’t all bad. Moonbin was nice – really charismatic, sweet, and flirty. It was a good time at the very least.”

“But he gave you false hope and you went around moping the next day,” Jimin sniggered.

“And what of it?”

Jimin moved to stand in front of you, halting you in your stride. Placing his hands on either shoulder, he gave you a stern look, his brows hidden underneath his mat of overgrown blonde hair kissing his lashes coming into view as he furrowed them together.

“Y/N,” he stated firmly.

You returned the gesture, placing your hands on his shoulder as well. “Jimin.”

He frowned, knowing you weren’t taking him seriously. “Truthfully? It makes me kind of sad seeing you put yourself down over men.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“Just because Moonbin, or the guy before, or the guy before that one, rejects you, doesn’t make you any less,” Jimin’s hand moved up to cup your cheek. You felt his thumb brushing up against the apples gently.

“Park Jimin, you’re being overdramatic,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m just tired of seeing you throw yourself at men who don’t deserve you, alright? Quit it, you’re a whole ass golden trophy,” he stated firmly.

“Where are you even –”

“You don’t have to say it for me to know, Y/N.” His hand fell from your shoulders, shoving them in the pockets of his khakis instead. Jimin’s eyes fell to the ground, kicking the invisible pebbles with the toe of his red Converse sneakers. “We’ve been friends since middle school and you’ve asked that question every year,” Jimin paused, scrunching up his face and crossing his arms over his chest. In a high pitched voice, he mocked you. “‘Jimin, why don’t boys like me? Am I not pretty enough? Am I too mean? Even Hyerin managed to get a boyfriend before me – I’m tired of being so lonely.’”

“I do not talk like that,” you protested.

“You did in middle school,” Jimin scoffed. “The years after that were just different variations of the same question.”

“Okay! So what?” you waved your hands, “I’m kind of lonely and I want a taste of what you and Sejeong have – is that such a crime?”

Jimin linked his arms with you, tugging you along to keep the two of you moving towards the soup restaurant before they closed. “It’s not, but I want you to stop blaming yourself for things not working out.”

“I mean, I’m the only common denominator amongst all these failed relationships.”

“Again,” Jimin rolled his eyes, “You’re being dramatic. They weren’t even relationships to begin with.”

“You know what I mean,” you mumbled.

“You deserve everything that’s good, and that includes enjoying yourself at the club,” Jimin rounds back to the beginning of the conversation.

You hummed in response, knowing there was no use arguing with him. For a while, the two of you walked with your arms linked, only the sounds of your sneakers tapping against the sidewalk echoing in the distance and your thoughts occupying your brain. You knew Jimin had a point: It was the twenty-first century, where women were mostly given equitable opportunities. You were working towards your engineering master’s, a promising job in sight if you continue your internship, and you had a handful of loving friends. What more could you ask for? You were well-equipped to take on life on your own, and not to mention, you had been doing so for the past twenty-six years. Jimin and Sooyoung never failed to remind you of your accomplishments thus far. For some reason though, no matter how much your friends told you and you tried to convince yourself, your heart still ached at the thought of how lonely you were.

You wanted to love someone wholeheartedly and someone to love you back just the same. On chilly nights like this, you wanted to feel the warmth of someone’s hand holding your own. You wanted sweet goodbye kisses before you left for classes each morning. When you got back after a long tiring day, you wanted someone to envelop you in their embrace, as if absorbing half of your burden. And if it was an extra hard day and you were crying, you wanted someone to wipe away your tears with the pads of their thumbs, gently caressing your face. When you loved, you loved hard – you just wanted someone to do the same for you. Though you hated admitting it, It’s why when nice people like Moonbin show the slightest hint of interest and kindness, it sparked something in you and your whole future together flashed before your eyes. Thus, when the dates don’t go anywhere, you felt like a fucking embarrassment. So quick to fall in love, and quick to be dropped.

Was fate so cruel that you wouldn’t ever know the feeling of love?

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly called, interrupting your internal moping. He looked at you cautiously and sucked in a sharp breath.

You side glanced at him momentarily, adjusting your black beanie, waiting for him to continue. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the soft golden glow of the kimchi stew restaurant spilling onto the sidewalk in the distance.

“I know I just said all that but,” he chortled nervously, “Do you, um, I don’t know, wanna meet someone else?”

“Really Jimin?” you weren’t even surprised. Half of the people you’ve gone on dates with this past year were setups through Jimin. Though the both of you were extroverts, his network of friends was far more extensive than your own.

“He’s a good guy – really, really great, I promise,” Jimin begged. He tightened his grip on your arm as you pulled open the wooden door. Mrs. Jung, the restaurant owner, recognized the both of you from the cashier, waving hello before gathering two menus.

“What happened to ‘being happy on my own’?” you asked, searching the sea of people for an empty table.

“I want you to find your soulmate and the man of your dreams too, alright?” Jimin pressed. “His name’s Namjoon – he’s one of Sejeong’s friend’s older brothers. Has a nice corporate job, smart, easy to talk to; he could make a conversation with a bag of sand interesting!”

“Should I be concerned?” you spotted a small wooden table in the corner by all the worn posters and made your way over. The sturdiness of it was questionable as it was tilted to its right, but your stomach was starting to rumble, the Konjac jelly from earlier clearly not holding you over.

“No,” Jimin huffed, settling in the metal chair across from you, the legs screeched against the concrete floor as he slid into the table. “It means he’s good at talking – I think you’ll like him a lot.”

“Hello my dears!” Mrs. Jung greeted the both of you. “I’ll give you a couple minutes.” She handed you menus before stalking off towards a customer waving and calling for her. You offered her a kind smile as she waved goodbye for now, though it fell the moment you glanced back at Jimin.

The plastic-covered menu in front of him, he pleaded you silently with his eyes. “You’ll never know unless you try,” he sang, knowing well that your curiosity always got the better of you. He glanced down, skimming over the various entrees, though you knew he’d always get the classic bibimbap.

Holding in your breath and squeezing your eyes shut, you silently cursed yourself for being so desperate. Jimin was right – at this point, your forever lover could literally be anyone.

“Fine.”

Jimin grinned excitedly, perking up in his seat. “You won’t regret it, I promise! Namjoon’s not the type to lead you on. If he likes you, he means it.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” you grumbled.

After placing your orders, you fumbled with your phone for a while, pretending to be busy. As it was the weekday, your Instagram feed was quite dry and Twitter was full of the same old jokes. All of your unread texts had been answered, no replying back quite yet – then again, the only two people you ever texted frequently were Sooyoung and Jimin. Out of sheer boredom, you pressed on the contacts button, as if the white silhouette of a person in the light blue square was calling your name. You really had no reason to be scrolling through your contacts, but there was one name that caught your attention: Yoon Jeonghan.

It glowed in bold black letters, the only name under “Recently Added.”

Admittedly, during the drive home from the club, huddled away in the back seat among the other sleepy girls, you had secretly added him, tucking away his business card in your purse. You didn’t anticipate ever contacting him, but you didn’t think it would hurt to just have his number handy.

You never know until you try right?

The crackling of your soup in its hot stone pot tore your gaze away from your phone. Not bothering to click off the screen, you tucked it away in your lap as Mrs. Jung’s husband happily placed your meal in front of you. He wished you to eat well before returning with Jimin’s equally hot bowl of bibimbap.

You stared at your phone once more, your eyes scanning over his name again and again.

Yoon Jeonghan.

Unknowingly, the corner of your lips twitched up, threatening to curl into a smile as an idea sprouted in your head like a weed amidst the green lawn.

“What are you smiling at?” Jimin asked. His silver spoon hovered over his steaming bowl of rice and mixed vegetables, a perfectly fried egg with browned edges sitting atop.

“Nothing, nothing,” you brushed him off.

He frowned, wondering what was on your phone that got you preoccupied. He clanged his spoon against your stone pot. “Eat – before it gets cold.”

You nodded, gesturing to him to have his first, yet you didn’t pick up your utensils. You waited for Jimin to be busy with his food before returning to your phone.

Hastily, you clicked on Jeonghan’s name, then the text message icon.

You figured you might need him after this date with Namjoon.

Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh, shifting uncomfortably in the leather office chair. He glanced over to Wonwoo beside him, his assistant much more focused and engaged in the conversation than Jeonghan himself. This meeting about their newest client had gone on longer than he had expected, Jeonghan waiting for their boss to announce the end of it any minute so he could escape to the safe haven of his office – or even better, home. It was nearing 6PM and the discussion at hand was not anything new; Mr. Lee was just reiterating the concerns expressed at the meeting last week and the email sent last Friday. They were beating a dead horse with no resolve and he was tired. Alas, money had to be made and that involved being here, listening to Mr. Lee drone about this company’s horrid structure.

Saved by the bell, a soft buzz suddenly vibrated in Jeonghan’s pants pocket. He fished out his phone, noting the text message icon next to an unknown number. For all he knew, it could’ve been a phishing scam, but he’d take any distraction he could get at this point. Swiping at the screen, he pretended it was an important message he needed to check.

[unknown number]: hi hi this is y/n – from the club a few nights ago.

The corner of Jeonghan’s lips twitched, threatening to curl into a smile, though he’s not sure why. He shook off the feeling of uncertainty, just grateful for your message as a source of entertainment during this dull period. He pressed his lips into a thin line, attempting to maintain a serious demeanor for show. Pushing his glasses up, Wonwoo glanced at Jeonghan momentarily, catching a glimpse of the message. He snorted at Jeonghan’s fingers hovering over the touch keyboard, debating how to reply to you. Too absorbed in formulating his response to you, Jeonghan barely noticed Wonwoo’s prying eyes before he turned back to his legal pad, scribbling away a few notes. Though you’d just met, it was as if you knew Jeonghan needed saving from the boredom of this meeting. Another message popped up in the blue speech bubble.

[unknown number]: i figured it was only fair you had mine – in case you get a random call from a stranger one of these nights ya know lol

[unknown number]: i hope you’re having a good day~

Jeonghan couldn’t hold it in much longer, finally allowing the smile to spread across his face. You were cute – blunt, but cute, even in text. He finally started tapping away, opting for a simple message before clicking his phone off and tucking it back in his suit pocket.

[jeonghan]: thanks.

The last thirty minutes of the meeting were a little more bearable after that.

That was the last you heard from Jeonghan: a simple text saying ‘thanks.’ It would be a lie to say you weren’t disappointed that it was all he replied with. However, you figured he was an important and busy man based on his business card. To be fair as well, you were merely a stranger he met at the club – no more, no less. As the weeks went on and work piled up between classes and your internship, thoughts of him became far and few. For a moment after your date with Namjoon, you considered texting Jeonghan, but decided against it since it wasn’t all that bad.

As they all were, Namjoon was nice. He had spilled orange soda down the front of your white shirt, but apologized profusely, letting you wear his oversized hoodie for the rest of the night. It would’ve made for a first meet cute to tell at your non-existent future wedding (yes, you thought this far out by the end of the movie), but by the end of the night, both of you felt nothing more than just wanting to be friends. Indeed you were disappointed, but you were content with the clear communication of your mutual feelings. Jimin was at least right about one thing: Namjoon wasn’t the type to lead you on, and for that, you were thankful.

You could only hope your next date would be the same.

Yes, that’s right – next date. You already had another one lined up for you: Haneul, a friend of Sooyoung’s friend. Though you had hardly noticed him then, he had apparently taken interest in you the night you went clubbing but didn’t have a chance to voice it before you disappeared outside. This was the first time you’ve heard of someone admiring you from afar, and admittedly, it was very heart fluttering and flattering.

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaned into your full length mirror while smacking your lips together once more to evenly distribute the bright color before looking up. In your reflection, you saw Sooyoung standing against your dresser, holding a folded windbreaker in her hand. She usually came over before your dates to help you get ready. Before her current job as a fashion magazine editor, she worked a few years as a licensed cosmetologist.

“Soo,” you spun around, a frown already planted on your lips.

She hung the jacket from her fingertip in front of you. “Bring it – the forecast says it’s going to rain tonight.”

“It doesn’t match the fit,” you argued.

“Do you want it to match or do you want to get wet?” she asked. Reluctantly, you took the windbreaker from her, knowing well that she had a point. “You didn’t have anything else. We need to go shopping sometime soon.”

“Just in case, I guess,” you mumbled.

“Just in case,” she chirped. She glanced at her gold rimmed watch. “What time did Haneul say he was coming to pick you up? It’s almost 8PM.”

“7:30,” you said quietly, your voice trailing off. You picked up your phone and tapped on the screen revealing no new messages. Perhaps you were more excited for this than you should be.

Sooyoung pressed her lips into a tight line. “You still want to go?” She peaked over her shoulder and out the patio window. The clouds were gray and heavy, leaving an unsettled feeling in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was worried about the weather or there was something about you going out on a date with Haneul that didn’t sit well with her. He was a friend of Joohyun’s, and though she claimed he was a “good guy,” Sooyoung had only met him a handful of times, each leaving her with a funny feeling. He was nice, no doubt, but too nice, it was uncomfortable.

“Jimin said you never know until you try,” you sang, flopping onto your couch.

Sooyoung followed suit and took a seat on the empty cushion next to you. “That doesn’t mean throwing yourself at everything that has a dick.”

You let out a half-hearted chortle and lightly slapped her shoulder. “Am not – this is merely a ‘hang out’, dinner between acquaintances.”

“Sure,” Sooyoung rolled her eyes. Reaching over, she pushed baby hairs out of your face. You had always been like a little sister to her, she couldn’t help but feel a little overprotective of you. Well aware you had been on the hunt for the love of your life, she didn’t necessarily want to stop you either. Before she could open her mouth to say much more, your phone buzzed and you tore away from her touch.

“Haneul’s here,” you said breathlessly. Scrambling off the couch, you grabbed your crossbody from the kitchen island and tossed her a pair of keys. “Lock up for me? Love you! Goodnight!”

Sooyoung cupped her hands together, hardly catching the keys as it fell against her chest. The door had slammed shut when she looked up again.

“Use protection if you guys get saucy!” Sooyoung shouted even though you were probably bouncing down the stairs already.

With a heavy sigh, Sooyoung stalked over to the window. She blocked off the light inside your apartment with her hands and peered outside. She could make out your excited figure bouncing excitedly towards Haneul’s car.

Sooyoung could only hope all would be well.

You knew it was too good to be true.

He was too good to be true.

From the brush of his fingers against your own, the light hold of the small of your back walking in, to wiping sauce off your lips with his thumb and the jokes he made about romcoms, Haneul was the poster child of a good first date. He listened to you attentively, kept your side dishes replenished, and he seemed genuinely interested in your hobbies and your work.

It was good, until it wasn’t.

Sitting in front of him, with the beef burning into the grill, all the joy and happiness that was bubbling through your system ceased like water dousing a campfire.

“No,” you deadpanned at his question.

“But I drove you here and I bought you dinner,” Haneul said as if it was the most obvious trade off.

“No,” you said a little harsher. You smacked your metal chopsticks on the table.

“Babygirl –”

“Don’t call me that,” you cut him off harshly.

Haneul scoffed, “So desperate to come on a date, but won’t even do the favor of sleeping with me? Shit, Y/N, I’m doing you a favor just taking you out like this.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you gave him a stern look. Nervously, you swiped your tongue over your lips, clenching your jaw, trying your best not to cause a scene right now. “Look, you prick, I’m more than happy to pay for dinner and find my own way home if that’s what you wanted to do. Take a hint? No means no, and I’m not afraid to call the cops on you if you try something funny.”

The saccharine in his eyes at the beginning of this dinner hardened and molded into something dark and bitter. He stared holes into your forehead, though you didn’t budge. When you said you were looking for love, this wasn’t on the agenda. You were a respectable woman, and it was your body – no man should make you feel bad for not wanting it. Nonetheless, as each second passed by, it was getting harder and harder for you to hold your tough demeanor. Your mind spun 560 scenarios as to how this could go so wrong and get dangerous. You were thankful you suggested Korean barbeque rather than the movies when he asked what you wanted to do. Lord knows what would’ve happened in the depths of that theater.

“You fucking bitch,” Haneul growled. Turning around, he snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and angrily stomped out. Eyes of the guests nearby followed him until he ran down the stairs, returning to look at you, some offering apologetic smiles though you didn’t want their attention or pity. When you were sure he was out of sight, you let out a breath of relief, squeezing your eyes tight. The waitress must’ve felt bad for you, putting together the pieces of what happened, as she came over, concern knitting her brows together, asking if you were okay and offering you water. The restaurant no longer seeming as joyful and fun as you first perceived it to be, you turned off the grill and asked for a check. She was kind enough to give you a discount, which you thanked her with a nice tip.

And that’s how you found yourself here: Sitting at the counter of the 7/11 down the street, water dripping off the hem of your skirt as you stared at your phone, debating who to call. You used up all your cash at the restaurant and you left your wallet in your backpack at home, so you couldn’t even take the bus back on your own.

On one hand, you could always call Jimin and Sooyoung: your best friends, your ride-or-dies. However, you knew Jimin was spending the night with Sejeong and didn’t want to interrupt knowing they hardly saw each other during the weekday, nor did you want to end up being a third wheel again. You loved them, but they never failed to make you feel lonely at times. Alternatively, Sooyoung who was most likely with her fiance . . . you just didn’t have the heart to face her right now.

Thus, that left you with one person: Jeonghan.

“If . . . you’re ever in need of a friend, I’m just one call away.”

His words from the club reverbated in your skull. Did he mean it?

There was only one way to find out.

You inhaled sharply and pressed the call icon next to his name, squeezing your eyes tight as you pressed your phone to your ear. Whatever happened couldn’t be much worse than now – stranded, wet, and alone at 7/11.

The dial tone rang once, twice, and then a third, each one seemingly longer than the one prior. Your nerves were starting to get the best of you the longer he left you unanswered. This was a bad idea; calling Jeonghan to pick you up out of all people? What were you going to tell him anyways? You hated interrupting date night for your best friends, but perhaps Jimin would be a better bet – you’ll take him and Sejeong out for dinner when you get your next paycheck to repay them.

Just as you were about to hang up by the eleventh ring, you heard a click, then someone shuffling at the other end. Your breath hitched in your throat as you gulped down the lump in your throat.

There was a rather loud cough before he started talking.

“Hello?”

A phone call from you on Friday at 10:34PM was the last thing Jeonghan was expecting today. It had been weeks since you last talked, he was pretty sure you had thrown away his business card and your short string of texts were probably lost within your inbox now. Yet, when your name lit up his phone screen in his darkened living room like the first time you plug in Christmas lights, he wasn’t sure if should’ve been excited or annoyed.

Truthfully, Jeonghan contemplated leaving your phone call unanswered, sending you to voicemail. If it was important enough, he figured you would be the type to leave a message or even send a follow-up text. Hair dripping from the hot shower he just took and a soiled towel thrown over his shoulder, Jeonghan was just about ready to settle in for a quiet night for the first time in a long time. Because of the weather, Seungcheol and Soonyoung canceled their plans of bar hopping much to Jeonghan’s relief.

Then again . . . you were you. You wouldn’t just call to bother him for shits and giggles, would you? His finger shifted from the red ‘ignore call’ button to the green one on the left. Swiping his pointer finger across, he silently cursed himself for being a tad too caring for someone he hardly knew.

Jeonghan faked a cough into the crook of his arm before he answered.

“Hello?” he said into the speaker of his phone.

“Hi?” there was an evident shake in your voice. Jeonghan wondered where you were, making out the noise of rain pelting glass in the background. “Is this . . . Jeonghan?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan replied slowly.

“Hey, this is Y/N,” you re-introduced yourself, “From the club so many nights ago? Sorry, this must be all very sudden for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeonghan shoved his free hand into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. He dug his toe into a hole into his cream colored rug. “I remember you – and don’t worry about it. I wasn’t doing much anyways. What’s up?”

Your end of the line remained silent for a few minutes, sans the muffled sound of a bell ringing and muffled chatter in the background. He wondered where you were – that certainly couldn’t have been your home.

“Y/N?” he asked again.

“Oh right,” you chuckled nervously, starting to speak particularly fast, “Do you want to go out for drinks?”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” you replied nonchalantly. Quickly you added, “I had a bad date, and uh . . . it’s raining really hard.”

And as if to emphasize the bad weather, lightning cracked outside Jeonghan’s window. A rumble of thunder was soon to follow, loud enough to shake the lamp in the corner of the common.

Jeonghan was too stunned to speak, and he wasn’t sure if it was because you actually took him up on his offer to call when you needed a friend, or what you did to be in the situation you currently were in that you were that desperate to call him. Though his heart yearned for the comfort of his newly bought couch, his conscience suggested that you probably needed a friend more than he needed a pre-bedtime nap right now.

“Jeonghan?” you called. “If you’re busy or really don’t want to, I can –”

“Send me your location, I’m coming,” Jeonghan said, already fumbling with his keys.

Jeonghan must’ve lived nearby as it seems like as soon as he hung up, he had arrived just as fast. Glancing at your watch, you figured it might’ve taken him fifteen minutes at most to get here – impressive, especially with this rain. Stopping at the front entrance of the 7/11, he rolled down the passenger window so you could better see him with the downpour obstructing your view, and waved at you to come out. Though, you found it rather unnecessary as his black Lexus being in this part of town already stood out so much on its own.

The moment you opened the door and saw his crisp leather seats, you immediately felt guilty climbing in with your soiled garments. Rain dousing the top of your hood, your eyes flickered innocently from the seat to Jeonghan.

“Get in,” Jeonghan instructed you. Fortunately, it seemed he was one step ahead of you. Jeonghan reached into the backseats and pulled out a towel and worn, but thick brown colored sweater.

As if it would help, you brushed the rain droplets off your sleeves and sat down. The uncomfortable sensation of water seeping through your skirt immediately sending shivers up your spine. Jeonghan chortled softly at your twisted expression and tossed the towel and sweater onto your lap.

“Thanks,” you said to him, the first thing that came to your mind.

“Yeah,” he replied. Jeonghan shifted in his seat to face you, one elbow eased up against the head of his seat, his other hand resting on the wheel, he tilted his chin at you coolly. “Dry yourself off,” he pointed at the sweater, “When we get to the bar, you can change into that. In the meantime, try to stay warm, hm?” He leaned over and adjusted the heat settings.

“We’re actually going to the bar?” you blurted.

Jeonghan leaned back in his seat. “I don’t see why not?”

“Jeonghan, I don’t even have much money left on me –”

“Don’t worry about it – I’ll pay.”

You paused and stared at him wide-eyed. “Look, that’s very kind of you, but you’ve already done a lot coming out here. You can just take me home – I don’t want to be much more of an inconvenience for you.” You gestured to the items in your lap, “This is already enough.”

Jeonghan chuckled, you weren’t quite sure if he was bluffing or not. “I told you to call when you needed a friend and you did. You don’t need to pay me back anything – in return, all I ask is for company over drinks.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth to protest, he cut you off again. “A deal’s a deal. I’ve come out this far – why not finish it?”

You figured it wouldn’t be much use arguing with him. He seemed like the type – one that wouldn’t budge once he has his mind set on something. Thus, you muttered a soft ‘okay’ and clicked your seatbelt on. Peering up from your lap, you noted how Jeonghan stared at you with serious eyes, his brows knitted together. When he caught your gaze, he was quick to look out the front window. You raised the towel to dry your hair; not shortly after, he shifted gears and took off in the opposite direction he arrived.

“It suits you well,” Jeonghan sniggered, his eyes skimming over your form in the brown sweater as you walked out of the bathroom and took a seat across from him. Holding the hem of the sweater, you peered down at the front: the face of a teddy bear was plastered in the middle, its face textured with terry-like fabric. When you settled down in your seat, Jeonghan was still grinning at you teasingly. He slid over a mug of beer, bubbles floating through gold-colored liquid and foaming white at the top.

He raised his glass and titled his head forward towards you, “Cheers.”

You gave him a tight smile and used both hands to hold yours up before chugging down a good fourth of it. You could hear Jeonghan sucking in a satisfied breath through his teeth. Though your face twisted at the bitter taste, it settled in your belly, sending a satisfying warmth across your cheeks immediately.

Jeonghan set his mug down on the chipped wooden table with a light ‘clink.’ He noted how ‘LSM x CYJ’ was etched in the center, their initials surrounded with a heart. He scoffed a little, surprised adults (assuming only 18+ people were allowed in the bar) were still into these childish things. Wherever they are, he silently wished LSM and CYJ were happy and doing well.

“Thank you again for coming out,” you said hesitantly. Jeonghan lifted his gaze from the table. You moved back ever so slightly at the sight of his large chocolate brown eyes. They were . . . pretty; so pretty, you were sure you were going to get lost in them – like a goldfish swimming in an ocean. You lifted your beer and tapped the glass lightly. “The beer too – I owe you one next time.”

“So there’s going to be a next time?” Jeonghan chuckled. His fingers danced along the rim of his mug.

“If my streak of bad luck continues, perhaps,” you shrugged, feigning nonchalance. You had hoped your flush from the alcohol was enough to hide the growing blush on your cheek from his comment.

He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I’m counting on it then.”

You nodded fervently, “Okay, cool.” You raised your beer to your lips and gulped down a mouthful.

“Tell me,” Jeonghan started when you set your mug, “What happened this time?”

“Ttch,” you smirked, twisting your face in disgust at the memory. The wound was all too fresh.

“I think you owe me that much of an explanation – calling me out in this weather and treating you to beer. And besides,” he pushed his beer forward, “I could use a good story.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘good’,” you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Bad story it is then,” Jeonghan smacked the table, “Let’s hear it.”

A small burp escaped your lips, eliciting a bout of chuckles from Jeonghan. Did he really find you that funny or was his alcohol tolerance just bad . . .? His cup was barely half done.

“His name was Haneul,” you licked your lips, clasping your hand in between your thighs. “You remember Sooyoung? My friend from the club.”

Jeonghan nodded, listening rather attentively.

“Apparently he was a friend of a friend of Sooyoung’s and was there – liked me apparently, but I spent the majority of my time on the curb talking to you. So yeah, they told me and he reached out to me. So we went to get some grilled meat.”

Jeonghan noted the way you started shifting uncomfortably in your seat at what’s to come. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, the space between his brows already dipping.

You chortled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your hair was still damp, trickles of water still dripping onto your shoulder. “I like it when people are . . . honest? Yeah, that’s the word. I like it when they’re just honest and straightforward with their intent with me. And I mean, he was, uh,” your eyes flickered up at Jeonghan before they dropped to your lap again. You tugged at the sleeves of his sweater, hiding your wringing hands. “He was honest. I don’t know why I’m being so weird about this because people our age do it all the time, but he asked for –”

Jeonghan held up a hand, cutting you off. “I think I know what he asked for.” He was getting uncomfortable just watching you squirm in your seat about this. “You don’t need to repeat it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You gave him a grateful smile, sucking in a sharp breath, your shoulders visibly relaxing. A moment of silence passed while you collected your nerves.

Swirling his drink, Jeonghan pouted. “So after you said no, he just . . . left you there?”

“Basically,” you replied flatly.

“Did you pay for the meal?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Damn – asshole.”

“A little bit.”

Jeonghan scoffed, “A little bit? A lot bit in my book.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you said you weren’t a nice guy?”

“I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I’m disrespectful – that’s just . . . low, guilt tripping someone to sleep with you against their wishes.”

Interesting was the only thought that came to mind. Jeonghan was not nice, but he was more thoughtful than most guys you’d met.

Glumly, you only shrugged, returning to your alcohol. Jeonghan watched you down the remainder of it, lazily placing your now empty mug on the table. He figured you were probably tipsy, watching you blankly stare at the floor.

“So,” he said loudly, grabbing your attention. “You had a bad date when I last saw you, and another one today.”

“Well, I had one good one,” your mind flitted to Namjoon.

“But?”

“We had a mutual agreement that we didn't like each other.”

“Two bad dates, one that didn’t work out, all within two weeks . . . Why do you do it?” Jeonghan asked abruptly. He raised his beer to his lips.

“Do what?” you asked innocently.

“This,” he twirled his finger around, “Dating – you seem . . . weirdly adamant about it. One would think two traumatic experiences would halt you already.”

“I’ve been on more than two bad dates,” you giggled drunkenly.

Jeonghan waved his hand in front of him, entertained by your drunken state. “All the more reason to stop.”

When your laughter died down, the smile on your face fell and you stared up at him, glassy-eyed. “I wanna know what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?”

“Love,” you drew a heart in the air with your pointer fingers shyly. “I’ve never . . . dated before – not seriously anyways. Just a lot of crushes and one-sided pining.”

“Huh,” Jeonghan poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“What?” you pouted.

“I just think . . . love is overrated.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve bet you dated a lot, that’s why you said that,” you presumed aloud.

Jeonghan shook his head and pushed his empty mug to the side. “I’ve had maybe one or two serious-ish relationships, but nothing I wanted to keep long-term. I’m not into commitment.”

“Oh,” you said a little softer this time.

“And by that, I don’t mean I’m a friends-with-benefit kind of guy, or like, into flings.”

“Then . . .” your voice trailed off.

“Relationships are just . . . annoying? It’s not that I don’t want someone, but the thought of having to take into consideration someone else in every decision of your life is so cumbersome,” he placed a hand on his chest, “I can hardly take care of myself, I don’t know if I could do that for another person – at least, not right now.”

“Don’t you want to know the feeling of being in love though?”

“If it’s anything from what I’ve seen or experienced, frankly, no.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you suggested.

“I don’t believe in soulmates and finding ‘the one,’” he remarked.

“Geez,” you huffed, “Tough crowd.”

“Not tough, I just chose . . . this life,” Jeonghan explained.

“Hm?” you hummed in confusion.

“I simply don’t believe in fate and all that hand-wavy jazz,” Jeonghan he pointed at an ambiguous point on the wall behind you. “Life is a series of consequences from the decisions we’ve made . . . and rather than finding the one, I hope to wake up every day wanting to choose someone and right now, I choose no one.”

“Okay Aristotle,” you shook your head, the vision of Jeonghan getting blurry. You could feel the effect of the alcohol already starting to hit. “That just went way over my head, but you do you, though admittedly, I kind of like that.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, only the sounds of quiet chatter from the few guests echoed through the bar. Your hands tucked under your chin, you lazily watched Jeonghan finish the rest of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He was just so pretty – and you say this without romantic interest. The dim lighting of the bar highlighted his features so well, his cheekbones were tall, his nose belonged to that of a sculpture. His brown locks, albeit messy and wavy, sat perfectly swept across his forehead. And did you forget to mention his beautiful eyes?

How was he so . . . effortlessly perfect? Handsome, rich, seemingly down-to-earth, content with himself – you aspired to be like him.

“I like you, Yoon Jeonghan,” you blurted before you could catch yourself.

Jeonghan placed his empty glass on the table and waved over the bartender, asking for the check. “I’m aware,” he chuckled, “You’ve said that before, unless . . .”

You sat up a little, waiting for him to finish.

“Something’s changed?”

“What would change?” you asked him stupidly.

“You like me more than you make yourself out to?” he asked playfully. “If that’s the case, Y/N–”

You crumpled a napkin and threw it at his face. Jeonghan flinched and frowned at you.

“Let me make things clear, Jeonghan,” you slurred, “I just want to be friends with you. Like I said before, I like you – platonically, you’re interesting, and you’ve got a strange, but practical, outlook on life. People like you,” you jabbed a finger at him, “And me – don’t jive. If I go anything further, I’ll just get my heart broken and right now, I don’t need that.”

“A girl who knows what she wants and needs,” Jeonghan nodded approvingly, “I dig that.”

“We’ll stay friends,” you said just to be clear, “Drinking buddies at best.”

“Drinking buddies?”

“Bingo,” you snapped your fingers and winked at him. “It’s more fun and comfortable this way. I’ll have someone to vent to when my dates go awry, and if you ever want to go off about something that happened to you, I’m all ears.”

“Low-key,” Jeonghan nodded, “I’m in.”

You raised your hand for a fist bump. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered from your hand to your eyes in disbelief. “What are we? Ten?”

“Just do it, man,” you protested.

A deep chuckle rolling off his tongue, he complied.

After paying the bill and sobering up with some water, you plugged your address into Jeonghan’s phone and he took you home. By now, the rain had quieted to a light drizzle, droplets of water clinging onto his windows. It was a quiet drive to your apartment, only the hum of his engine and the wheels sloshing against the wet pavement. You had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, cheek pressed against the seatbelt – that definitely left a mark when he woke you up.

Jeonghan knew he wasn’t into relationships and commitment, but watching you dash towards the door of your apartment building wearing his brown sweater, your head ducked under your windbreaker you were using as a makeshift umbrella, he knew he did kind of want to see you again.

As a friend only, of course.

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan angst #jeonghan smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic

561 notes · View notes