#hoping for some delicious angst next chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahundredtimesover · 4 months

Text

I Want You to Stay (02) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 11.9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii really touched with all the love for this story! I don’t know about you but this hits harder with all the boys away and we’re missing them so badly. But we’ve got this! 💕 But thank you thank you for all the messages (sorry I can’t get to each one!) and the interest and excitement. Hope you enjoy this one ☺️

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

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

Despite hoping that he wouldn’t, Jungkook, in fact, pushes you further away on his second day on the job.

To his defense, it was partly your fault. You smiled at him last night - perhaps due to your delicious dinner that you didn’t even know was from him - and it disarmed him.

The words you uttered after just flew over his head and he just nodded, too out of it to confirm what you’d said. It probably had something to do about you not coming to his penthouse, because it’s Tuesday morning and you’re still not here. He’d expected that like yesterday, you'd prepare his breakfast, and after all that transpired, debrief after yesterday’s meetings and discuss the next steps. That was his routine with Lucas, and for all the things that you seemed to know and do right - from his room design, the doneness of his eggs, and his coffee - this was a miss.

“Aren’t you supposed to be assisting me from the start of the day?” Jungkook says over the phone, his tone sounding annoyed. “I’ve been waiting for you since 6:30.”

Your heart drops at his words, the memory from last night of him agreeing to you sticking to the same schedule you had with Hoseok suddenly feeling like some made up scenario. You remember telling Jungkook that you go straight to the office the rest of the week; you’d only go to Hoseok’s house on Mondays to prepare his clothes and brief him because he’s able to manage from Tuesday onwards. Your new boss, for some reason, perhaps misheard your question. And now you’re the one in trouble.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bring yourself to say, your voice in a panic because regardless of who’s in the wrong, making him wait is not a good start to his day nor yours, and especially not to your already rocky relationship. “I can get a cab then head to you.”

“So you want me to wait for you some more?” He chides, his dry laugh making you want to throw your phone just so you won’t hear his voice anymore. “Just stay wherever you are, but I want the meeting minutes from yesterday ready when I get there since you’re not here to go over them with me.”

Jungkook hangs up and your head thumping on your desk is immediate. It’s barely the start of the day and you already want to go back home and probably never come back.

You left the office at 9 last night, knowing you were too exhausted to continue working on the annotated documents, and then got soaked in the rain on your way home. You planned on coming to work early - given that your boss didn’t require you to go to his penthouse, a claim you stand by - so you can continue, but now he wants the meeting minutes in an hour, and that isn’t usually due until three days later.

Neglecting the sandwich you planned on eating for breakfast, you work on your notes from the first meeting and then move on to the next. Every footstep you hear makes you anxious, and you breathe a sigh of relief every time you find out it’s not him. Every minute counts and you’re thankful for each one. Until, of course, you run out of it.

“Send them to me now and meet me in my office,” his voice echoes through the hallway that leads to his room.

Jungkook walks straight past you and doesn’t even give you a look.

“Yes, sir,” you squeak, quickly sending the email then scurrying to where he is.

You find him seated on his chair, his leg crossed over the other one as he goes through the notes on his iPad, his furrowed eyebrows making you sweat in worry. He doesn’t seem pleased. But from what you’ve witnessed so far, you doubt there’s much that pleases him.

He encircles words and scribbles on the sides, mumbling “incomplete,” “what does this mean,” and “this is not what I said.”

Jungkook sets the device on his desk and groans. He turns to you with a hard glare, and you clearly see just how displeased he is. Not that you have any defense - it’s your job to do what he asked in a manner that’s up to his standards - but you already felt discouraged in the morning, and your meal skipping caused you to lose focus in the afternoon, resulting in your less than satisfactory documentation of the meeting.

“Ms. Cho, do you know the value of these documents? And why I require them to be comprehensive and done on time?”

“Uh, ye-yes, sir,” you drag out.

“Why?”

It’s too early for this, you think to yourself. Clearly you know why they’re important; you’re just too tired to articulate the reasons to him. But you try, as the words form in your head. You’re about to say them when he stands from his chair and walks towards his desk, leans on the edge and then intently looks at you, as if he’s judging even the way you’re breathing or standing. And you’d probably fail, given how your body seems to cower in his presence.

“Because decisions are made through them,” he says, drowning out your thoughts with his stern voice. “I attend numerous meetings everyday. Decision points can be buried in the discussions unless they’re documented properly. And even when they are, they’re not actioned upon immediately unless I have access to them and unless they’ve been processed and verified. I don’t leave those conference rooms and forget about what took place. They stay in my head, that’s why I ask you to write them down, and that’s why I require you to meet me first thing in the morning so that I can process them with you, and let those points guide me for the rest of the week.”

His glare continues, so does his voice getting louder. “My job isn’t just to sit around and listen to people. I make decisions. And it’s your job to make sure I have all the correct information to make them.”

“I… I understand, sir. And I… I apologize for the oversight,” you stutter, still unable to look at him. “But about this morning, uh… you, uh last night, I—”

“Was there an explicit statement from me about not having you come in the morning?”

“No, sir.”

He lets the silence draw out, perhaps to let your own words sink in. He does have a point. You stand by your claim that you’d asked, and he nodded, but you should also know that such gestures aren’t clear responses, and that’s on you to make sure that you’re both on the same page.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say with conviction. “I made an assumption when I should have clarified. And even then, it’s your first week as Vice President. I should be assisting you in all the ways I can.”

Jungkook watches your form, hands clasped together with your nails sinking into your skin. Your head is bowed down, unable or unwilling to look at him this whole time. He knows he’s at fault, too, but he’d never admit it; he’s not exactly the type to do that.

You stand there in submission and a part of him wants to apologize, but that’s not the type of weakness he wants to show, not when he needs to establish authority and more importantly, distance.

“I require Lucas to still come every morning because that’s the only time we can debrief about the previous day’s activities,” he says, making his voice calmer now. “We go through the minutes, clarify things, finalize them, and then disseminate so that people don’t forget. Teams collaborate effectively when there’s accountability and when timelines are adhered to. It’s my job to make sure they comply. And that means it’s your job, too. I don’t have to remind you of your roles now do I, Ms. Cho?”

“No, sir,” you respond, finding the strength in you to finally look at him, his hardened stare still unnerving you.

He uncrosses his arms and walks back to his seat. “My cousin and I work very differently from each other. It’s on you to adjust.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in acknowledgment. “I’ll be at your apartment at 6:30 every morning and I’ll do better with my documentation and preparation of all the files.”

Jungkook just hums then proceeds to work on something on his desktop, which you take as your cue to leave. You bow again and excuse yourself, but his voice stops you as you open the door.

“Push back this morning’s meeting to 9:00,” he says. “And make sure you have something to eat. I can’t have you be unfocused again like yesterday.”

You survive the rest of Tuesday. You eat snacks rather than proper meals, and you find that that helps you more with time and focus. The meetings for that day are less intense, but with you still figuring out exactly how Jungkook wants the documents prepared, you stay up after hours and work on them for the next day, with you constantly going over the recording to make sure that you documented everything correctly.

You arrive at his penthouse at 6:30 every morning during the week. You make his breakfast while he takes a shower, which is really whatever’s in his fridge or pantry. He doesn’t seem to mind what you prepare for him, and you’re glad that he doesn’t find any more severe reasons to dislike you. There’s still the occasional correction of your minutes, but you chalk it up to him just being too particular. There are terms he uses that you’re not familiar with; he’s an architect by training after all.

Perhaps it’s why he’s as specific and detail-oriented as he is, and more visual than anything. Hoseok is a perfectionist like him, but the older man has everything organized in his head and then executes them, whereas Jungkook needs them all laid out before him. Whether it’s about a policy, a process, and especially a design, he makes sure they’re drawn out, and the way they all just make sense to him is immediate.

You suppose that’s what he’s used to. Plans need representation beyond words; he doesn’t seem to be the type to use much of them, in fact, unless he’s correcting you. But that’s what you’ve noticed. At some points during the meeting, he’d draw something on his iPad and send it to you; you both discuss it the next morning, with you finding the words for it for proper documentation.

But his mind doesn’t seem to stop, as you catch him on the way to work sometimes doodling some design on this leather notebook that he carries with him everywhere. Whether it’s the Arts Center or something else, you’re not sure, but you know that any moment he pulls it out, he’d spend a good amount of time on it before getting out of the car.

He remains distant and disengaged as you expect him to be. Unlike Hoseok who asks you how your evening went or how the trip to his house was, Jungkook doesn’t talk about anything that doesn’t concern work. And so when he isn’t talking about it, there’s just silence - whether in the car, in the elevator, or the walk to his room. There’s none of the laughter or the questions about how you’re coping with all your tasks, and there’s definitely nothing about his life that he shares. Not that you thought he would, but the difference with your old boss is striking, as you think of the times when Hoseok happily talked about the salsa studio he was at with A-yeong over the weekend or the movie they watched together the night before.

The comparisons remain in your head throughout the week. You try to focus on your responsibilities but you realize that you haven’t properly moved on from the culture and environment that you used to enjoy when Hoseok was still leading the team, and that has affected your work in obvious ways, and especially your approach to it.

There’s anxiety with every task that Jungkook asks of you, even if they’re things you’ve done so many times in your three years as the VP’s assistant. You find yourself constantly clarifying his instructions, prompting him to question your ability to take them. You feel like he’ll be displeased regardless of what your output is, yet you still end up spending too much time going over files that you forget to eat or clock out too late. You don’t get proper sleep either, nervous about what the next day will bring. You second-guess yourself constantly, and all the confidence you built in all your time here doesn’t seem to have as strong of a foundation as you thought.

So when you make another mistake the following Tuesday, whatever belief in yourself that you have left dissipates.

“Ms. Cho, where is the folder?” Jungkook asks, his gaze hardening the longer you look at him without a word.

You’re currently at a restaurant, given that your boss has a meeting with Mr. Hu, the owner of the company that produces quality materials that Jungkook wants for the Arts Center. This was scheduled just yesterday, which is also when he’d asked you to put together the rough draft plans and design that he worked on last weekend. The project is in its early stages but the plans are clear to Jungkook and he wants to secure this deal early on, especially with Mr. Hu leaving the country for a few weeks.

You finalized this last night and left it on your desk along with the portfolios that Yoongi and the support team have been taking from your shelf. Given the week you’ve had - lack of sleep and frustration more than anything - you rushed to get ready and mistakenly took a portfolio and not the folder meant for this meeting.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir, but I seem to have taken the wrong files,” you stutter, eyes on the ground as you clutch the portfolio for support. “They… they were on my desk along with others and I left them in the office.”

There’s a long pause before Jungkook speaks, the irritation clear in his voice.

“Do you at least have a soft copy?”

“It’s on a USB, sir,” you reply, nervously raising your head. “I left it as well.”

You try your hardest not to look at him, even if it seems like he wants you to, just so you can see the burning way he does it. Because you feel him huffing, you can see how he’s clenching his fists as he controls what he’s feeling, which is definitely anger towards your stupid mistake.

Jungkook clears his throat before turning back to the man seated across from him, his voice apologetic as he explains that you weren’t able to bring it.

“Ah, what a shame,” Mr. Hu says, judgingly glancing at you. “I was really looking forward to seeing your plans, Jungkook. I could’ve advised my people to check on the materials you want this early.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jungkook says. “Perhaps I can email them over to you?”

“Oh don’t bother, I’ll be chasing the Italian sun for the next three weeks,” the older man chuckles. “I’ll see you when I get back. By then, I hope you and your assistant have sorted things out and could give me actual information about what you want.”

“We will, I assure you,” Jungkook says, before saying goodbye to him.

He walks past you and you follow, with no words said as you both wait for the car and enter.

You can hear him panting, and you know enough that's due to an extreme emotion he can’t express. He won’t look at or say anything to you, and that feels more terrifying.

His phone rings, and not only does the person on the other line talk about what just happened, you happen to hear it, too.

“Hey, I heard what happened with the big boss,” the man says. “Did you really go to the meeting unprepared?”

“It wasn’t me, but yeah, what a mess,” Jungkook huffs, his head leaning back on the chair, his eyes closed as he calms himself down. “What did he say? Is he angry?”

“Nah. You’re a Jeon; he can’t be. He was just a bit annoyed because he was supposed to have a meeting with another client but he chose to see you.”

“Fuck. What an embarrassment,” Jungkook groans.

“Well, he does have high praises for your father.”

“And this is his first time working with me. My dad’s gonna hear about it and give me shit for it.”

“Just another normal day at the office, right?” The man laughs. “So, was it your assistant that screwed up?”

Jungkook hums his yes, knowing you’re two seats away from him, although he’s unsure if you can hear their conversation. For your sake, he hopes you can’t.

“See? This is why you should’ve taken Lucas! That guy was always two steps ahead of you.”

“That’s what I said, but when are my requests ever granted? Never. Another normal day at the office, huh?”

“If she’s pretty, maybe you can forgive them and just suffer through her incompetence,” the man laughs again. “I mean, she’s got to have some redeeming quality somehow. If she doesn’t, that just sucks for you.”

“You really enjoy making fun of my misfortunes, huh?” Jungkook huffs.

“Just sometimes. Not used to you not having your way, that’s all.”

“Well, nothing is going my way, that's for sure. But whatever, I’ll figure it out. Make sure Mr. Hu holds out for me, okay? I need you to help me this time.”

“Hey, I may laugh at your misfortunes but I always have your back,” the man says. “Good luck, VP. I’ll see you soon.”

Jungkook drops the call and you feel him glance at you but you remain stiff on your seat, unwilling to move nor look anywhere else that isn’t your lap. You’re glad that he decides to close his eyes for the rest of the ride, though, so you take your chance to shift towards the window and watch the buildings fly by, willing your tears not to fall.

You hold out until you arrive at the building. That is, until Jungkook heads straight to his room and asks you to follow.

“Own up to your mistake and look at me,” he says, his voice seeping with disdain.

You lift your head and meet his eyes, his gaze piercing right through you and you’re unable to move, to speak. But you try - a futile attempt, really - at appealing to the compassionate side of him, if it even exists.

“I’m so, so sorry Mr. Jeon,” you plead for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to forget the folder. It’s been a tough week and—”

“A tough week?” he mocks, his voice getting louder now. “As if you’re the only one who’s had one? I come here and find myself doing your job. I spent the weekend drafting the designs because I need that deal early only for you to screw it up! My father’s been on to me about this project and I need everything done right but I can’t seem to because my assistant, who’s supposed to be assisting me, can’t even get the most basic things done. All you had to do was bring the folder. You didn’t even have a contingency plan of having a soft copy. Were you not trained for this role?”

You visibly shake but Jungkook doesn’t let up.

“Answer me.”

“I… I was, Mr. Jeon,” you tremble. “I know I’m not the smartest but I work hard and I—”

“You work hard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what?”

“In preparing your files and organizing everything for you and…” you try.

A month ago, you’d be saying these things and more with so much conviction. But all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to break you down and make you doubt every single skill you’ve developed and been praised for the past few years.

“And I can criticize each of those tasks in just this one week you’ve been my assistant.”

“I… I just needed guidance, sir, because it’s a new—”

“I need guidance. I need assisting,” he sneers. “My father wanted me to keep you because you apparently know how things are supposed to be done but you’re asking for guidance from me?”

There’s silence on your end and you’ve never felt as small as you do right now. The way Mrs. Byun abused her power over you and humiliated you during your first years here continues to be unmatched, but being treated this way by a man whose family you respect somehow hurts you more.

You want to give up now. You’ll lose everything if you decide to just quit but it’s not like there’s much left of you to go by anyway, given the week that you’ve had. But if there’s anything your mother taught you is that the lowest you can go is when you don’t fight for yourself, so you gather what little dignity you have left and look him in the eyes.

“You do things very differently from Mr. Jung like you said, and I admire your thoroughness,” you start, trying your hardest to calm the tone of your voice. “You’re adjusting to your new role with a new team and a new assistant that you didn’t choose but somehow you have to trust and that’s unnerving if you’re used to being in control of everything. With all due respect, however, perhaps if you let the people around you adjust as well, we would all find a way to work together effectively and respectfully. A little bit of compassion wouldn’t hurt, and it goes a long way.”

At his silence, you continue, digging your nails deeper into your skin to help you remain stable.

“I apologize for all the mistakes this past week. I know it has been unpleasant for you as well. I’ll do better, that I can promise. But if the way I work is not something that is up to your standard, then there’s only one thing to do. Me quitting would put you in a worse light; you can fire me if you think it is best,” you bravely state. “I can deal with the consequences.”

Jungkook continues to just look at you, unable to say anything this time. Perhaps he isn’t used to someone speaking to him like this. Maybe he’s finding the right words to hit you back and break you even more. The tiniest part of you wants to think you’ve softened him up a bit; hopefully he’ll be less angry at you the next time.

“Is there anything you need me to work on, Mr. Jeon?”

“No,” he answers. “Just hold off all calls for me for the next hour. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon.”

You bow and head out the door.

Jungkook watches you leave, and the farther you become, the more he wishes you’d stay.

He’s unsure why. Perhaps it’s the way you spoke to him, similar to the way you did the first time you met over a week ago - with conviction and grace despite you putting him in his place. Maybe it’s him, trying to find the words to apologize without seeming weak, or to encourage you without being comfortable. The tiniest part of him just wants you around; he doesn’t know what it is about you but he finds himself feeling intense emotions because of you - frustration, fear, and an overwhelming feeling of sadness and regret.

He returns to his seat and glances through the window, the angle of his chair allowing him to see you outside, although he’s unsure if you’re able to see him. Either way, it’s not like you’ve ever looked his way anyway, so he feels a little safe doing this now.

You’re seated and turned away from the desk, with your fingers pressing over both your ears, as if you’re blocking out the sounds of the room; perhaps you’re blocking out his voice that’s probably still echoing in your head. He’d seen you do this last week, too, after you failed to show up at his penthouse in the morning. He thinks it’s your way of dealing with stress, a quiet one, in contrast to boxing like what he prefers to do. It’s the only time he’d ever allow himself to express anything, after all, other than getting mad at you apparently.

You finally turn around, but it’s not long after when Do-hyun arrives and takes your place, leaving him to wonder where you’re off to. He focuses on his work like he meant to do, opting to read and send emails while he calms himself down. His eyes always turn to your desk, though, and when he sees that he’s halfway done but you’re still not back, he decides to head out.

“Mr. Jeon,” Do-hyun stands up and greets him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Where’s Ms. Cho?”

“She had to go to the washroom so she asked me to cover for her first,” she responds. “But, uh… She’s been gone for half an hour. I… I’m not sure what she’s up to but I can—.”

It’s at that moment when you return, and the way that both Do-hyun and Jungkook look at you that you know they can tell. You can’t exactly cry for 20 minutes and then expect to ease the swelling of your eyes for the next 10. But you act like nothing’s amiss, so you dismiss the younger woman and turn to Jungkook.

“Was there something that you needed from me, Mr. Jeon?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Just, uh…” he stutters now, taken aback by the casual way you speak to him despite your glassy eyes. “I’m meeting the CEO and President tomorrow to discuss the Arts Center. Put the initial plans in presentation format and send it to me first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, returning to your seat and not sparing him another glance.

You work on the presentation in between the other things you need to finish. You draft memos and letters for Jungkook’s approval, and it’s half past 4 when you enter his room to have them signed.

“I’m heading out at 5 for dinner,” he says as he signs the documents. “I’ve added points on the shared file for the presentation. Make sure to include those.”

“I will, sir.”

There’s a brief moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d offer an apology.

He wishes you’d say that you’re okay.

You want to tell him that the Arts Center already sounds amazing; you hope it turns out the way he imagines.

He wants to tell you that he won’t fire you, that despite how he’s been, he doesn’t want you to go anywhere.

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

He leaves at exactly 5, merely nodding at you as he leaves.

Jungkook sees you again that evening, four hours later as he drives home after having dinner with Seokjin and Taehyung, the brothers he’d grown up with. The office is on the way, and it’s near the bus stop where he spots you, trying to catch a cab that someone always gets to before you do.

The rain has started to pour, and his anxiety builds; he was never fond of it, given the memory it holds. But it’s you in your thin coat that suspends that for a while. You’re clearly shivering, unable to get a ride, and getting wet from the downpour. You cross the street, seemingly just submitting to the weather, and you disappear amongst the crowd of people just trying to get home.

He checks his phone as he gets a message and sees the email you sent 20 minutes ago - the presentation he’d asked you to submit in the morning. This is you, making up for today, he guesses. He’s why you’re braving the rain. If he’s being honest, he’s why you’re suffering at all, and he can’t help the way his heart stings at the thought.

The convenience store is bright and dry unlike the streets outside, and that’s why there’s a substantial amount of people seeking shelter from the downpour that came out of nowhere.

You welcome the rain. It served as a distraction when you were growing up and your mother’s ex-partner would yell nonstop. You’d hide in your room and cover your ears like your mother taught you to do. When she was able, she’d stay with you and cover your ears with her own hands and tell you that it’s gonna be okay, that even if you can’t stop the scary sounds, you can drown them out enough that they’ll stop bothering you.

You didn’t think you’d ever do so again but you’ve done that twice in one week, and all it took was one Jeon Jungkook to lecture you about what your job entails. He didn’t yell, but his voice was still piercing, firm and low as if he reserves that intensity for instances of pure frustration.

That kind of thing takes a lot out of someone. It’s different when a boss is out to abuse their power and take advantage of you. Mrs. Byun made you do her work so she could spend her lunches out and then take credit for outputs without acknowledging you. She sucked up to the directors to overcompensate for not knowing how to answer their questions. And then she had the guts to embarrass you and call you out in front of the team for not being able to do your primary tasks, which was only because you were doing hers. It took a while but her incompetence caught up to her and her departure felt like freedom. But the experience with her was constricting, suffocating, humiliating. It was dehumanizing, too, as you went home to an empty apartment every night, feeling less and less of yourself.

But the way Jungkook treats you hits differently. You’ve survived the worst and ended up in a good spot under Hoseok’s leadership where you built your confidence. During those years, you felt capable, like you were trusted; you felt that your hard work earned you respect.

Now, you feel all that crumbling. You feel exposed, bare; as if you’re realizing you’re not that good after all. How you’ve been isn’t like you. You’re meticulous, analytical; you’ve sat in so many meetings as an observer and know how things work, how the directors think, and the kinds of outputs expected from you. But recently, you find yourself just lost, questioning everything all the time, and so incapable.

You let yourself feel the burden weigh you down as you eat a small cup of noodles and call it dinner. You walk down the aisles and pick out your favorite snacks, first eating the roasted almonds as you head out the door.

The rain has let up, with but a drizzle left this late evening. You catch the bus and munch on pepero and chocopie this time. You’re in your neighborhood by the time you tear open the frosted mini donuts. You’ve been mindlessly eating the whole time, but once you get off your stop, you start walking towards the community center. The public library is closed but something about sitting outside the door gives you comfort, just like it used to when you were growing up.

Your mom couldn’t really afford daycare. She’d spend her lunch break picking you up from school then dropping you off at a library where her friend worked; that nice woman always looked after you until your mom came back to pick you up. Some days when she wanted to take you away from the mess that was her partner, she’d take you there, too.

You read mostly picture books and colored on your coloring book and played with your paper dolls. Even as you grew up, you didn't really read; you just liked that the library was quiet, comfortable, that it made you feel safe.

Your phone beeps and you see a photo that your mother has just sent of her dry living room floor.

[From: Mom] it isn’t leaking anymore!

You smile, imagining her sigh of relief and the way she’s probably humming about the house. You decide to call her; another bit of comfort would definitely help.

“Hi, darling,” she answers after the first ring. “Min-woo went to the hardware store when he arrived in the afternoon so he could fix the roof. What a relief.”

“That’s great, mom,” you reply, wishing you were back home with her. “You can have a good sleep tonight, then.”

“I will. What about you?”

“I hope so.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“Hmm, yeah,” you hum.

“And where are you now?”

“Outside the library,” you say.

There’s silence that comes after, a way in which you both say things without words sometimes. Your mom is good at that, and even if you can’t see her, you know there’s love in her eyes. And even if she can’t see you, she knows there’s sadness in yours.

“So, work has been tough lately, am I right?”

Even without any confirmation, she already knows. She probably knew when you said that everything was fine after she asked how things were going during your visit over the weekend. She probably picked up the faintness of your smile and the way you fell asleep on her lap while you both watched TV and she combed your hair like she always did.

“The new boss is quite hard on me,” you admit. “He expects too much, asks me to do too much… I’m trying but I keep making mistakes. I’m missing things I normally don’t. I’m not like this, mom. I… I’m better than this.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs, wishing she’d hugged you a little tighter before you left. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Maybe you’re still adjusting. That’s valid, you know? It’s only been a week.”

“Yeah, but he acts like he’s the only one who needs to adjust and that I just magically know how to do things his way,” you groan. “It… it just makes me feel like I’m not good enough. That I… that I shouldn’t be here.”

“___, you didn’t suffer through your first few years there just so you would continue to doubt yourself,” she responds. “You deserve your role, regardless of what he thinks. You work hard and that means everything.”

“Not to him apparently. Even if I work hard, if it’s not up to his standards, it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t even do anything about it because he’s the CEO’s son.”

“You can quit, you know?” She says after a beat of silence. “You don’t have to stay if it’s too much, and especially if it’s unfair. Just because you know you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should.”

The thought settles in your head. You did just tell Jungkook that you’d rather he fire you, which honestly terrifies you because much as he’s insufferable, you do need this job. Helping your mom over the weekend reminded you of that. From the health insurance to the salary, you don’t have to worry too much because you can finally repay her for all her hard work in raising you, in protecting you, in surviving for you.

“I know,” you sigh. “Maybe I just let the tough first days get to me.”

“Whatever it is, you shouldn’t suffer. And you definitely shouldn’t suffer alone,” she advises. “I’m glad you came over during the weekend even if for unpleasant reasons. I got to hug you even if I didn’t know you needed it.”

“I always need it, mom,” you admit. “I don’t have to say it. It’s the only one I get anyway.”

“Well, it’s because it’s the only one you accept,” she points out.

“True,” you laugh. “But I… I’ll do better. I’ll get my head straight tonight and treat tomorrow like my first day and you know, show him I’m capable.”

“That’s good. And you can come over again this weekend if you want. The storm should be gone by then. The girls want to go to the park. I know they’d love to hang out with you. If you don’t have plans of course.”

“You know I only ever have actual weekend plans when Jimin and Soomin visit me. But yes, I can take the trip on Saturday. If Jungkook wants me to do any work… screw him.”

Your mother laughs, only because she knows you don’t mean it. You know it, too. Regardless of how you think of your boss or your job, you know the value of your work, and you’re not one to sacrifice it for any reason.

“Are you feeling better, darling?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “The rain’s stopped somehow. I needed to be here. And I… I needed to hear your voice.”

“Good. You know you can call whenever. I don’t have to summon you with photos of a roof or grilled makchang or something every time.”

“I know. And I will. I’ll see you soon.”

You drop the call and start walking back home. Talking with your mom is the strength you need to get through such a tough day. It doesn’t change your situation; maybe Jungkook will still be upset with you in the morning but you’ll handle it, just like you handled all the difficult times before.

Your mother taught you something else - it was grace. You’d fight back if you need to, but you can always do it with gentleness; sometimes that works wonders, especially if you can’t afford to respond with rage.

You’re quite nervous walking to Jungkook’s penthouse the next morning.

Before he left last night, you were sporting glassy and swollen eyes, after all; it wouldn’t have taken much for him to know what you were up to by being away from your desk for half an hour. But you’d been too upset to think of what he would think about it, so you acted like it was nothing when you returned to your seat, took note of his instructions, and watched him walk out. No other words were spoken and quite frankly, you don’t know what either of you could have said after what transpired. It’s a new day, though, and like you told your mother, you’ll just focus on your work and try to get that old version of yourself back, the one you’d felt slipped away this past week.

You enter the front door - as he’d told you to just go in so you don’t disrupt his workout - and immediately hear the loud sounds of leather hitting leather. He seems to be aggressively punching the sandbag, with more evidence of it coming in the form of his deep and successive breaths that you can hear as you walk towards the kitchen. You stop on your tracks, though, as a pair of red laced underwear lays crumpled on the floor.

That definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning so it must’ve been from last night. You’re not one to judge; he did have a frustrating day that you caused and releasing all that stress in this way is understandable. You just wish he had the courtesy to clean up, knowing that his assistant would be coming but then again, you also don’t know if that’s too much to ask of him.

You don’t realize that you’ve been staring at the underwear until you hear him, his deep breaths in tandem with his steps. You walk towards the counter and set him a glass of water before he notices what’s got your attention, but he still does, as he stops at the spot where you were and lets out a grunt.

From your periphery, you see him pick up the piece of lingerie then throw it in the trash. You turn to him and bow in greeting, and Jungkook merely nods, the slightest of head tilts to acknowledge your presence, seemingly avoiding your eyes, even as you ask what he prefers to eat this morning. You’d like to think that in the recesses of his bitter heart, there’s remorse over yesterday at least, if not over the past few days. But you’ll take it; his silence is better than anything at this moment.

You follow him towards his bedroom, stopping briefly as you look around and make sure you’re not intruding. You’re unsure if the woman is still here, but he picks up on that.

“She’s gone,” he says, walking to his bathroom. “I never make them stay.”

It’s a part of his life that you’ve only heard of. The gossip that Do-hyun hears from the washrooms in the office may be true, considering his weeknight bang and the left-behind underwear on the kitchen floor. He still had some energy based on his morning workout though, and you don’t know why the thought of him fucking someone and then boxing in the morning is making you feel hot all over.

You snap yourself out of it, knowing it’s inappropriate and definitely not what you should be worrying about. He’s a stressed, obviously attractive, and rich bachelor; you’re not surprised he’d have women at his beck-and-call and be nonchalant about it.

You walk inside his closet and choose the shoes and accessories he’ll wear today before heading back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. He walks in 30 minutes later, and you approach him to fix his collar and his tie like you always do, now getting used to his natural scent with hints of jasmine and bergamot. Your eyes focus on the silk necktie, hoping you’re able to control your nervous breathing being this close to him.

He may still be annoyed at you and you may be invading his space, and the realization makes you step away quickly, taking his plate from the counter and placing it on the dining table. You open your iPad and go through the presentation he asked you to do, surprised that he’s already added a few things.

“Is the presentation final, Mr. Jeon?” You ask. “I see you’ve already looked through it.”

“Sort of,” he responds. “I woke up at 5 and reviewed it before my workout. Let’s go over them now.”

He looks through his iPad as he eats, going over each slide with you as if he’s practicing. The more he speaks, the more you envision the Arts Center and how he wants it done. The way he puts together the ideas into a coherent design is impressive. You almost see it as he does, and much as you thoroughly dislike him right now, for the sake of all the good things that this center will do for people, you really want him to succeed.

You remind him of a few more things before he finishes his meal, and it’s not long after when you’re in the car, the silence thickening the tension between the two of you once more. This continues until you reach the office, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the distance between the both of you now.

While you do feel better, the anxiety remains. You don’t want to mess up. And as you enter his room to give him papers to sign and you see him going through his presentation while the leather notebook he was drawing on earlier lays open on the desk, you find yourself also just not wanting to disappoint him. He clearly works hard and despite his treatment of you, you want things to work out for him.

It’s an hour later when you’re both walking towards the elevator to head to the conference room on the CEO’s floor. It’s just Jungkook with his father and cousin today where he’ll present the initial plans for their comments and their verbal endorsement of the draft budget.

It’s a massive project that’s working within strict timelines and Jungkook is adamant on getting this ready by mid-next year. You can tell how much he wants to deliver this well - the board of directors would be his next audience and a boost of confidence would be much needed.

You make him a cup of coffee the way he likes and sit next to him. The distance allows you to keep your eyes away from him; with the pressure he’s under, you don’t exactly want to be close to where you can easily trigger him.

CEO Jeon and Hoseok arrive, greeting you with their bright smiles, a reprieve from the stoic looks and tight-lipped and furrowed brows you get from Jungkook everyday.

“Hi, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “A week has passed, huh? How has it been?”

“Challenging,” you say honestly, “but still good. I’m learning new things, Mr. Jeon.”

“That’s good,” he smiles, glancing at his son whose eyes are focused on his laptop. The elder seems unconvinced by your half smile but he nods, turning back to you. “By the way, I heard on the news that the typhoon hit your hometown pretty badly. How’s your mother and her family? Mr. Ri mentioned that there was an incident over the weekend. Is everything okay?”

You’re used to CEO Jeon asking things like this prior to meetings. He believes it’s a way to release certain feelings and not keep them hidden, and while you don’t really want to talk about it right now, you appreciate the concern.

“She, uh. A large tree fell over our house last Saturday,” you say, to the surprise of both CEO and President. “I had to travel in the morning to help my mom. A portion of the roof was damaged and she had to call a company to fix it. Min-woo and the girls were away and mom didn’t want to deal with the workers since she was alone so I had to stay over the weekend.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the elder Jeon laments. “How is your house now? And your mom?”

“The roof is sealed. But she slipped on some debris and had to be assisted; she was being stubborn about it. She’s okay, though.”

“Ah, it must’ve been a tough few days. And for you, too,” Hoseok says. “I mean, given all the work and then having to be there for her. I’m sorry, ___. But I’m glad she’s doing better. Tell her I send my regards, okay?”

“I will, thank you.”

Jungkook tries not to look affected as the older men ask you more details about what happened that he, of course, didn’t know about. There’s that guilt over how he treated you yesterday, learning now what you had to do over the weekend. You don’t seem the type to blame any oversight or mistake on something like that, but he would know that the tiredness and preoccupation could definitely affect things. Even more, he’d implied that you don’t work hard and that you’re being a burden to him, which is far from the truth.

The conversation ends and he’s unable to look at you, as he stands from his seat to begin his presentation. Everything is set up, including a pointer and a marker and a glass of warm water on his side. He proceeds, presenting his design, the materials, the budget, and the timeline.

You take note of all his answers to the questions and the ideas he comes up with on the spot, with him repeating things and stating how he wants certain points written down. You’re immersed in your own task, feeling like you’ve found your rhythm because you’ve done this so many times but the fear got ahead of you. This morning, it’s as if you’re in your element again, and there’s relief that fills you this time.

The meeting is moved to a restaurant after the third hour. There’s an event that the CEO suggests that Jungkook’s team organize as a way to build linkages with the arts and culture networks, making sure that the younger Jeon becomes known in those fields as well.

You have to go by memory as you listen and eat your meal, but the distance from Jungkook remains. You merely nod at his words and avoid looking at him unless you need to. It’s your way of getting over last night, you think. You still have his look of frustration etched in your mind and it’s still a bit fresh; you’d need at least another day before you can look at him normally again. You hope that other than Jungkook himself, no one notices.

But you suppose you’ve underestimated Hoseok’s ability to pick up on your behavior; it’s one of his strengths as a leader, after all. He’s always been good at reading people, a skill that Jungkook clearly didn’t develop.

“Hey.”

“Mr. Jung,” you greet, a wave of nostalgia hitting you because his smile is one you used to see everyday, regardless of how stressed he was. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, not really. It’s just been over a week but I’m still getting used to the bigger office and the new secretary but I just wanted to check in,” Hoseok says. “You and Jungkook have been very busy, I rarely catch either of you.”

“Well, he wanted to get all the introductions out of the way so he can focus on the Arts Center,” you reply. “There’s a lot happening with that one so he’s in meetings and calls all the time.”

“Ah, of course. It’s a good design and I’m sure it’ll boost the local arts scene. He got inspired during his travels in the Southeast Asia sites and has been talking about it for years. It’s good he has the freedom to work on this now.”

You merely nod, not having much to say about your boss’ passion project that’s just made him angry and frustrated. Quite frankly, you don’t know how he is when he isn’t working on such high-pressure matters, but you can already tell he isn’t someone you’d want to be around in any other context.

“But how about you? Are you getting enough rest? All these meetings and then traveling home on the weekend is tiring, ___. I hope you’re looking out for your health.”

“I am,” you try to assure him. “I can handle it.”

You smile before shifting your eyes to your desktop screen, not wanting to look at him any longer because a second more and you’d probably burst into tears. Experiencing Hoseok’s kindness for these few minutes has just reminded you of what you constantly miss - that feeling of safety and care, of someone looking out for you and not holding you back.

“I’m glad you are,” he smiles again, holding your gaze when you glance at him, and Hoseok hopes that in this short moment of calm, he’s able to give comfort that he just knows you need. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop by. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“I’ll see you, Hoseok.” And as if you knew why he came over in the first place, you add, “and thank you.”

Jungkook sighs in frustration as he watches your fading smile before returning to type away on your desktop. He was about to call you to ask for a project portfolio on the shelf but stopped once he saw you talking to his cousin. You seemed a tad bit lighter than usual; Jungkook could only assume it’s your natural state, even if all he’s seen of you is that of perpetual worry and stress.

He thinks to himself that a part of that is because of him. Maybe a big part, he admits. He wouldn’t have known about your town in Daegu or that your mother resides there and that you had to go home over the weekend, hence, your oversight yesterday. He’s at least decent enough to acknowledge that he shouldn’t have been so harsh on you in the first place. He’s just not used to things not going his way; he wonders now what the people under him suffered through to make sure of that.

Not wanting to disturb you, he decides to get the portfolio himself, so he exits his room and leans on your desk, his eyebrows scrunched as he reads through the spine labels of the folders. He doesn’t notice you stand up and attempt to ask what he needs but he does find it, reaching over on the third shelf for it.

“I could’ve gotten that for you,” you huff.

Jungkook spots a small pout as you utter the words, disarming him a little.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he mumbles, willing his mind to go back to what he was thinking about before you said something, which is the other project he wants to look at.

But you pick up on his words. “Seongbuk, 2021,” you repeat.

You look up and know exactly where the portfolio for that project is. You drag your stool with your foot and walk up the steps, carefully pulling out the folder and underestimating just how heavy it is. But before it can slip out of your fingers, Jungkook gets a hold of it, his right hand gripping the spine while his left palm supports your back.

You stiffen when you realize just how close he is to you then step down the stool, somehow nervous to look at him.

“I, uh, sorry. You were about to fall.”

You stiffen again because he didn’t just apologize, did he? Your eyes are glued to the ground and you don’t see Jungkook’s surprised look.

Because he did just that. What felt more alarming than his apology was that it had been a reflex for him to have his hand behind you, his heart leaping a bit because you really were close to falling. An injured version of you isn’t something he wants to deal with, and he convinces himself that it’s because it would look absolutely terrible for his assistant to get hurt on the job, and especially in his presence.

“Is that all you need, Mr. Jeon?”

“Uh, yes,” he responds. “Be, uh, be careful.”

He takes both folders and heads back to his room, his face buried in the pages as you sneak a glance at him from the window.

“So, how’s the second week as VP going?” Hoseok asks his cousin from across the table of their favorite Japanese restaurant during their Friday lunch. “Worse than the first?”

Jungkook, not keen on answering truthfully, merely shrugs.

“Well, I can bet you though that ___ is definitely having it worse than last week.”

“Did she say anything? About me specifically?” Jungkook asks, his curious eyes telling Hoseok that it’s more of concern than anger.

“Of course not. She’s there to protect you, Kook, not tell on you. Is there something to say? About you specifically?”

Jungkook knows how well his cousin can read people, especially him. They’d grown up together after all, and had gotten close because the older man always stayed next to him, knowing how shy little Jungkook used to be. So he narrates what happened - that he’d gotten angry, that he was being too strict, that he wasn’t leaving you room for adjustment. He’d of course excluded his own oversight and need to establish distance and authority, chalking it up to not having the familiarity and conveniences he’d been used to back in Singapore.

“I feel like working with father even closer now, it’s like I’m under a microscope,” Jungkook continues. “I don’t wanna mess up. I just don’t wanna give him a reason to criticize or question me.”

“Well, if he learns about how it’s been with ___, he’ll do exactly those things,” Hoseok responds. “He cares about his people, you know? I’m sure that’s the one thing he wants you to do right.”

“Can’t say I’d know. It’s not like he’s any more compassionate than I am. We’re talking about a man who yells at the managers who can’t get things done right.”

“They were abusing their power, that’s why,” Hoseok explains. “And I’m not here to defend the man - I’ve been on the receiving end of his anger twice and saw how he’d push people to their near breaking point a few times but he’s not a terrible person. I’ve seen him be understanding and caring to his staff way more; you just haven’t been around that much.”

“It’s not what I saw growing up.”

“Well, we remember what we want, and forget the parts that don’t make sense to us.”

Jungkook stays silent as he munches on his steak.

“He wants to get closer to you, you know?” Hoseok continues. “He hopes that with you being around, he can mentor you, learn from you. All those years that you were home, you felt so far away from him, farther away than Jeong-sik who wasn’t even here, and he doesn’t know why.”

“He can’t expect to be a rich, ambitious businessman and be close to his son,” Jungkook huffs. “All he ever cared about when I was growing up was work. Sure, he had rare good moments, but we all know it was to compensate for always being too busy. He pressured me to do well at school then missed awarding ceremonies. He scheduled some family time then left me and my brother in some cabin in the woods by ourselves. He wants to work with me here then disallows my requests. What does he want from me?”

“Your time, I suppose. Maybe your understanding, too.”

“Did he give those to me when I was younger? He had so many chances these past 30 years and he wants those now?”

“People are complicated, Kook. Sometimes they lose sight of what’s important, of what’s in front of them… doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” Hoseok says. “And it doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance. I mean, don’t we all want that? Don’t we all grow out of our bad habits and just yearn for something good?”

“Not everyone does that.”

“Maybe not, but your father has. And he just wants another chance. And whether or not it was her fault, I’m sure ___ wants that, too.”

“Did you really ask me to treat you to lunch only to advocate for the people I don’t really care much about?” Jungkook laughs bitterly.

“No,” Hoseok chuckles. “I really wanted to try it here. But also, uncle took me out to drinks before you arrived and was all honest with me, which was a little weird but I guess he thought he could get some perspective from you through me. And ___ was my assistant and I think highly of her. It’s upsetting how things started for you both. I guess I just feel kind of caught in the middle between you and the people you actually care about. So yes, I deserve this free lunch.”

Jungkook doesn’t correct his cousin, more for the fact that Hoseok really does get caught in the middle - always has, even between him and his older brother whom Jungkook never really got along with; it definitely isn’t because he acknowledges that he cares about you. There’s no reason for him to feel that; you’re just his assistant, after all.

Being beautiful and capable and hardworking doesn’t have anything to do with being cared about.

“I… I admit being too hard on ___. I get that she’s good and stuff but maybe that fits with your leadership style more,” Jungkook tries to reason. “Maybe she just thrives in a team where she’s led by someone like you, someone who’s good with people and who’s process-oriented and I don’t know, someone who isn’t as tough or meticulous like me.”

“I’m sorry, Kook, but you sound stupid. You clearly don’t know anything about her. She’s experienced all the lows - the disrespect from the men, the abuse of power from the women, all the long hours and ridiculous deadlines, the loudest of yells and the craziest demands,” Hoseok exclaims. “She’s been here for just eight years but it feels more. Sometimes I don’t know why she stayed but I’m glad she did, selfishly, and that’s because she helped me so much. Are you… are you giving her reasons to leave so you can have Lucas with you?”

“No,” Jungkook dismisses the thought, although he does admit it entered his mind before he even started. “I’m just… not used to her. And the mishaps didn’t help. I just wanna be able to do my job and do it right.”

“And you will, if you just loosen up a bit and give her a chance to show you that she can help you. It’s just that I’m not seeing that same joy and energy in her eyes and her smile,” Hoseok explains. “I was thinking last Wednesday that maybe it was because of her mom but during the meeting this morning, it was the same. I’d hate to think that’s because of you. Because if it is and she’s thinking of resigning, I won’t stop her. I might even suggest it to her. “

The thought of you being gone causes a lump in Jungkook’s throat. It’s selfish, really, because despite how he treats you, he still wants you here. It’s just as silly, and stupid, and something he doesn’t have a clear reason for. But other than his cousin not trusting that he could treat you fairly, it’s the possibility that you might just quit yourself, something you seem to be capable and willing to do. And that voluntary departure is something he doesn’t want to deal with. Once you leave, you’ll just be gone; he won’t have a reason to seek you.

“I’ll do better,” Jungkook finally says. “I’ll stop being such a pain in the ass and be… kinder, I guess.”

“She’ll probably see right through you if you fake it,” Hoseok laughs. “Just be fair. Trust me, that’s what she’d want, too. Correct her if you need to, but do it constructively. And please, try to smile every once in a while. It won’t hurt you. Nor would it ruin whatever tough guy image you have.”

Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes but he lets out a chuckle. His cousin won’t ever let go of the fact that 18-year old Jungkook had his first tattoo because he wanted to look tough.

“I still have to establish authority, Hoseok. I can’t do it like you do.”

“Well, you’re missing out. Smiling always makes you feel a hundred times better.”

“She’ll probably see right through me if I fake it,” Jungkook repeats his cousin’s words almost mockingly. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows I’m not… cheerful. It’s like, how I’m compared to you.”

The two start walking back and Hoseok takes a jab at the younger man. “Actually, I heard that I’m the handsome one, too, and the stable guy, the family man, the man you’d take home to meet your parents…”

Jungkook laughs along. He agrees, and while it was not Hoseok’s intention at all, it does make Jungkook wonder even hours later - given all the things that characterize him, which are nothing like the older man’s - who would want him? Who would even take a chance on him? Who would even think it’s worth it to be with him?

Chaerin did, and then he self-sabotaged and lost her. Maybe the women he meets at clubs and takes home, but then all they want is a good time anyway, just like him. Maybe it’s someone he’s never met, but he also doesn't know how to be someone that someone else would love.

Maybe there isn’t any. And maybe that isn’t so bad. Perhaps he’d have to start getting used to that fact; it’s easier than realizing he’s not meant to be with someone after all.

He pauses the thought and decides that’s for the weekend version of him to lament over. This Friday afternoon, he’s focused on firming up the project details with the design and logistics teams. He’d just finished his meeting with them, with you barely looking his way just like you’ve done throughout the week - which he can’t fault you for because he was doing the same - and he’s back in his room to coordinate with other units.

You, on the other hand, seem to be fixated on the quarterly reports that you’ll be handing over to him. It’s past 5 and he knows you’ll be staying up late again, given that he’d ordered you at the start of the week to finish the reviews by Friday. He’s given you too much to do, and after everything he’s done, letting you off early is a way for him to apologize without actually apologizing.

He picks up the phone and calls you.

“How many reports do you have left to review?” He asks.

“Three more, Mr. Jeon,” you answer. “I’ll finish them tonight, please just give me another hour and a half.”

“Are you going home to see your mother tomorrow?”

“Uh, yes, sir. I leave in the morning,” you say, curious at the question that you never thought he’d ask.

“You should clock out now, then.”

“Oh, but the reports, sir. I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, surprising you. “I’ll be busy with Arts Center details this weekend so I won’t have time to sign off on the reports anyway so you can continue them on Monday.”

You’re too shocked to speak that it doesn’t register that you’re indeed not saying anything.

“Ms. Cho?” Jungkook repeats your name.

“Oh, uh, yes, as long as it’s okay, Mr. Jeon.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“That’s, uh, thank you,” you mumble, turning on your roller chair to retrieve your bag and start packing, only to look up and see through the window that Jungkook can see you right now, smiling like a giddy child. There’s this movie that’ll show on your favorite local channel and you’re glad that you’ll be able to catch it tonight.

You’re unsure what Jungkook’s eaten to be dismissing you this early. Maybe it was the lunch he had with Hoseok earlier; maybe it was the older man knocking some sense into him. You don’t have the energy to think about it, given that you now also have time to cook yourself proper dinner and enjoy eating it while watching and curling under your comfy blanket on your tiny couch, just like how you used to enjoy your Fridays.

You’ll deal with the unreviewed reports and Jungkook returning to his normal, grumpy self on Monday. Tonight is all about you, and the weekend version of you is about being with your mother, her partner, and your stepsisters. There’s nothing like being with the people who make you feel safe; you’ll deal with the stress when a new week rolls by.

Jungkook watches you excitedly leave your desk. He can’t imagine the relief you’re feeling of being relieved this early and then spending your Friday evening the way you want, however that is. He lets himself wonder for a bit how you would spend time by yourself. Yoongi did say your friends aren’t in Seoul and your family obviously isn’t.

But then again, maybe you do have a partner, and maybe that’s why you looked as happy as you did. He’s not quite sure what to do with the slight distress at the thought, but with the absurdity of the amount of times he thinks about you, he decides it shouldn’t matter anyway.

He has his own plans, too, like watching sports over bottles of beer that night, and then playing video games the next day before going to a bar with Seokjin and Taehyung.

That Sunday, he works all morning then works out in the afternoon. In the evening, he decides to meet his friends again.

Entering the club, he spots the table where they are - Seokjin has his arm around a woman and his lips glued to her ear; he pulls her closer as she laughs at his words. Taehyung has one next to him, too; they’re engaged in some serious conversation, it seems, given how passionately they’re talking to each other. That is, until his hand slides inside her dress; maybe it wasn’t that deep.

Jungkook doesn’t know how his friends can converse with the women they find in these places. Given, Seokjin tends to stick to the same one for months and Taehyung is just naturally flirty and friendly so maybe it’s not that hard.

For Jungkook, it’s just not something he’s able to fully or even properly do. What does he say? He’d brag about his work and his lifestyle if he was the type, but he isn’t, and there’s nothing else about him that he’d like to share. He’s always straightforward when it comes to these things. He’s picky; he does have a type, after all, but he always knows what they want and so do they.

So when he spots a woman by the bar - the one who’d bought him a drink last night - he just smirks as she takes her shot and bites her lips when she catches him looking.

“Hey, I finally caught you sober,” she giggles in his ears after she meets him halfway.

“And I finally caught you without a man next to you,” he whispers. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, he was just my plaything last night,” she responds. “I could be yours.”

Jungkook chuckles, enjoying her bluntness. He takes her hand and waves at his friends; they already know he’s taking off and they won’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

It’s the way most of his evenings go anyway, whether he’s here or in Singapore or elsewhere, really.

Jungkook likes the thrill, he likes the shallow intimacy he gets from the feelings of ecstasy and carnal desire. He likes that he doesn’t have to share anything about himself apart from his name so they could scream it, likes that there’s nothing about the other person to uncover, and that there’s nothing about himself he has to be honest about. He likes that he’ll remember the pleasure until the next day but nothing else - not her breathing, not her gentle touches on his chest, not her soft whispers of his name.

There’s nothing much about her he’ll care for other than that she had a good time. And there’s nothing about tonight he’ll regret, except not making sure that she left his apartment like he always asks them to do.

Because it’s Monday morning, and there’s that woman wearing his coat and nothing else.

And then there’s you, dressed in your skirt and blouse in his living room, with a look of shock on your pretty face.

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

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 @thvhoe @ttanniett @jooniesbigroundtiddies @sbroces @luv--youu

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

2K notes · View notes

spookyserenades · 5 months

Text

Trouvaille - Chapter Twelve

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 16.6k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hi babes!! Welcome to the latest update (a crazy one!!) Lot's going on in this chapter, including a boatload of angst, a bit of fluff, some ~spice~, and lots of emotions. It is a pretty Yoongi-heavy chapter (nice) so for all my Yoongi stans-- this one is for you! I hope you all enjoy this update, and let me know what you think if you'd like, and I'm sending you all my love 💕

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Yoongi leaned against the grimy plaster that made up the back hallway of The Black Lodge, trying not to grimace as he felt the silky material of his button-down sticking to the years of smoke residue and alcohol fumes. The air was thick with wispy clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke, as it always was, and the strange, dark energy of the bar was still ever-present; but Yoongi wasn’t entirely focused on that, for once.

He could really use a cigarette, himself. Yoongi quit smoking around the time his mother passed away– no, don’t think about it. Using his pointed incisors, he bit down on his lower lip enough to draw blood, the piercing pain chasing any thoughts of his mother from his mind, a coping mechanism he’d picked up over the past year. Refusing to cut his hair, abstaining from composing, gnawing his lips into shreds; anything to distract, or perhaps to punish, to forget.

Time marched on, unfortunately. Mourning in an already mournful place was useless and made him feel like he was drowning in a pit of molten tar. Even clinging to hope, that one day he’d be able to manage breaking free and finding somewhere else to live, the hope grew dimmer by the day.

The frown on the leopard hybrid’s face deepened as the sound of someone retching in the men’s bathroom he was standing across from reached his sensitive ears. Sometimes, he wished he could stick pencils in the spotted appendages– he’d take normal, dim human hearing from his other set over some of the shit he had managed to overhear with hybrid ears during his nearly 28 years of life. Absently, he reached up to fiddle with one of the earrings dangling from his lobe– the silver, pointed shape of a feathered wing gliding between the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

His frown turned into the faintest ghost of a smile, that vicious and searing sensation of growing hope knocking the wind out of him as he caught the scent of jasmine– mingling with sharp botanicals, a saccharine underlying sweetness, and something uniquely human. He straightened up immediately, the door of the women’s bathroom creaking open and a great gust of that delicious scent smacking him square in the face.

“I-? I what?” Y/N squeaked, not only unable to recover from the tender kisses Yoongi had showered over her wrist and hand, but the words that had come out of his mouth immediately after he pulled away from her slightly. “Y-yoongi. We kissed? I asked you to kiss me?”

Yoongi was now rather quiet, slowly moving away from her and staring out his window, his face somewhat closed off now that he had revealed what Y/N knew he was leaving out of the whole story of their first meeting. His tail was curling around his own waist mindlessly, and Y/N was cold and reeling with the absence of his body heat that was once accelerating her heartbeat into a gallop.

It seemed that Yoongi was giving Y/N a few moments to process everything he confessed, a poorly-constructed imaginary wall in between them as she babbled nonsensically.

“I’m? I don’t even know what to say. I never get that drunk, enough to ask for a kiss from a total stranger,” Y/N blurted out something that actually made sense after a few moments of stuttering, however, the statement that left her lips had Yoongi hissing and a flash of hurt sparking up his feline hazel gaze. Abruptly, Y/N wished she could collect her words from the air and stuff them back into her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry, Yoongi… I shouldn’t have forced you into a corner like that.”

Yoongi was astonished, his tail beginning to flick back and forth so sharply Y/N knew that he was very agitated. Deciding to shut up before she offended the leopard hybrid any more than she clearly already had, Y/N began to approach Yoongi at snail’s pace to prevent him from flinching away.

“When did I say that you had forced me into a corner, Y/N? Are you serious right now?” Yoongi used her name for the first time in what felt like months, taking her off guard and making her swallow thickly. His voice was soft, but had a deadly edge to it, and the way his jaw was clenched had shivers rolling down her spine– Yoongi actually looked like the predatory leopard he was.

“I was just saying, um, like I feel bad that I threw myself at you like that,” Y/N wished she could rewind time and relive the tender moment they had right before the bombshell was dropped, but that tenderness seemed to be leagues out of her grasp.

“You did nothing of the sort. I told you, we talked for almost two hours. We were hardly strangers by the time I kissed you, by the way,” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at Y/N with a dangerous look in his eyes. It made Y/N want to back up and shrivel beneath his gaze, but she knew that Yoongi would never hurt her, so she stood her ground, albeit shakily. “I liked you, Y/N. I wanted to kiss you.”

“L-liked?” Y/N couldn’t help but emphasize the end of the word, the past tense, where Yoongi had implied that his affection for her had disappeared over the course of the year.

After all, she made him wait, got his hopes up, and was now implying herself that he was nothing but a drunken mistake. Heart plummeting into her stomach, she watched Yoongi’s nose twitch, likely picking up on her anxiety and rising stress levels, the stoniness of his features loosening up a tad. The air was charged, tense, and Y/N wasn’t sure who would cut it first, and where the complicated conversation was going.

“Y/N–” Yoongi took a step forward, his hand raised as if to place it on her cheek, before the sound of his bedroom door being blasted open cut him off with a surprised grunt, blood draining from his face.

“HEY, YOONGI. WHAT TIME IS DINNER?” Hoseok jogged into the room shouting, loud rap music coming out of the earpods he was wearing, his breathing labored.

The fox hybrid must have just come back from a run, and nothing on his face indicating he had a flying fucking clue what Y/N and Yoongi were talking about– he didn’t even seem to notice the tension swirling around the room, Y/N’s stricken expression, or the fact that she was just standing in the middle of Yoongi’s bedroom. Urgently, Yoongi put space between her and himself, dropping back into his composed attitude, like nothing had occurred at all.

Ambling forward calmly, Yoongi yanked one of Hoseok’s earpods out, Hoseok grinning at him cheekily and switching off the music on his phone. Still standing in the center of the room motionless, Y/N gawked at Yoongi’s flawless attempt to appear normal and nonchalant.

“Foxy, you trying to blow out your eardrums?” Yoongi grumbled, frowning deeply when Hoseok plopped down on the leopard hybrid’s bed. “Dude, you’re fucking soaked. Get off my bed.”

Hoseok did nothing of the sort, simply repeating his question about dinner, flicking his sweaty bangs off of his forehead with a smirk and leaning back on Yoongi’s cushy beige comforter smugly.

“I don’t know when dinner will be ready. I was going to make something carb-heavy because I have a game tomorrow night. There’s pasta dough in the fridge…” Yoongi began tying up his hair with a purple scrunchie Y/N had got for him at work, the sight of him both using it and the fact that he didn’t let her put up his hair for the first time in weeks, making her chest squeeze in pain. “Can you help roll out the pasta for the machine, Foxy? I think Y/N mentioned she wanted to shower before dinner, which honestly you should be doing instead of perspiring all over my bed.”

Y/N hadn’t mentioned taking a shower before dinner at all, and she didn’t know if Yoongi wanted space from her and didn’t want to come out and say it, but the lie stung nonetheless.

“Ah, I’ll shower before bed. Especially if I’m going to be covered in sweat and flour,” Hoseok heaved himself off of Yoongi’s bed, following Yoongi to the door and out into the hall.

Willing her legs to move, Y/N felt her throat grow thick, confused and left out in the cold. Swiftly, she made her way into her bedroom once she was confident Hoseok and Yoongi were in the kitchen, hastily getting right into the shower so she could put off a crying session. Having red eyes and a swollen face at dinner wasn’t appealing to her, and would attract way too many questions.

There was a lot for her to think about surrounding the state of her and Yoongi’s relationship now, but Y/N knew if she dwelled on it for too long, her attempt to keep tears at bay would be spoiled. She would give anything to pull the memory of her night at The Black Lodge with Yoongi out of the deep corners of her mind; to relive it, to understand her thought process and how her brain absorbed it. Her body felt weakened after the intensity of what she had learned, head pounding and legs like jelly, and she wasn’t sure if she could make it through dinner acting like everything was okay when she really just wanted to burrow into her bed for the next three weeks.

Y/N took her sweet time massaging her jasmine lotion into her skin, selecting a warm set of pajamas, and even tidying up some clutter around her room to make sure she was only in the kitchen long enough to choke down some food before she could pull her cozy quilt over her head and sleep away all of her confusing thoughts. It would be damn near impossible for her to get out of the nightly movie routine she had created with all of the boys, and it was her turn to pick out the movie that night as well, but perhaps she could act like she was too exhausted to stay up past dinner.

Taking Yoongi to his game the following day ought to be awkward. It wasn’t like they could exactly continue their conversation– the rest of the hybrids were going to tag along, so they could grab some dinner afterwards and have a nice Saturday night out on the town. In reality, she wasn’t sure she’d get more one-on-one time with Yoongi until their next piano lesson, if he kept dragging other hybrids into helping him with meals rather than her.

Slapping moisturizer onto her face, Y/N stared at herself in the old silver mirror hanging over her sink vanity, miraculously appearing pretty normal despite the pure bewilderment she was still experiencing. There was barely detectable puffiness around her lash lines, probably from the effort of holding back frustrated tears in the shower, and she was fairly positive no one would even notice– that is, unless Taehyung got close up to her face, which was always a frequent occurrence.

Hoseok 🦊: dinner’s ready, darling~~~

Y/N’s phone chimed, a message and photo coming in from Hoseok. He sent her a selfie, flour dusted across his nose, holding up a plate of fettuccine alfredo, with broccoli and chicken, from the looks of it. Immediately, she saved the picture and added it as his contact photo, loving the little grin on his face– it replaced the former incredibly attractive photo of him post-track meet sweaty and smirking at the camera. Brightening upon seeing Hoseok’s good-natured, radiant smile, Y/N felt a whole lot better about heading out into the kitchen. Whatever was going on between her and Yoongi would eventually be sorted out and addressed, but it wasn’t fair to the others for her to hole up in her room and ignore their nightly routines.

Exiting her room, she headed straight to Namjoon’s half-open door, the crackly sound of his Walkman playing an old Bob Dylan tape filling his cozy space. The room was filled with lamplight, and Namjoon even had a stick of amber incense going on his desk, and she felt immense comfort in even just hanging out in the threshold of his door. However, the wolf hybrid wasn’t in either of his usual spots– the wooden desk chair or the cushy window seat.

“Joonie?” Y/N called out softly, wondering if he had popped out to his van to retrieve a book or something.

In response to the sound of his nickname being called, the door to Namjoon’s bathroom creaked open, a mumbled ‘hold on’ coming from him gruffly. Y/N took it upon herself to enter his room further; ever since his birthday, Namjoon really didn’t have a problem with her in his space, and often invited her into his room when he wanted her opinion on something. Typically, it was over a Tarot card meaning or her thoughts on a passage in a book he was reading; Y/N thought it was really sweet of him, and besides– she loved talking to Namjoon, he was insightful and overwhelmingly intelligent.

Finally, the wolf hybrid emerged from his steamy bathroom, silvery hair towel-dried and ears similarly damp. It looked like he haphazardly threw on a wrinkly gray sleep shirt and sweatpants, Y/N realizing she must have caught him just out of the shower. The reality of that had her stomach flipping over, sheepishly cowering by his desk as he tossed his towel into the hamper and turned the volume down on his Walkman.

“Is that tape one of the ones you got from the music store last time?” Y/N tried not to snort at the reediness of Bob Dylan’s croon, Namjoon meeting her at his desk and stubbing out the burning stick of incense. “I thought you only saved the ones that weren’t grating,” Y/N recalled Namjoon’s comment from that day, which seemed years ago, with a fond, teasing smile.

Namjoon shook his head with a playful grimace, catching her gaze out of the corner of his eyes. He smelled really good, homey and masculine, and he was close enough for Y/N to try and pick out the top notes of his body wash: honey, musk, pine?

“Believe me. Dylan was one of the least grating of the bunch,” Namjoon responded, a dimple appearing on his cheek as the corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk. “Besides. ‘Visions Of Johanna’ is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. Lyrically speaking.”

“I’ll make sure to give it a listen, if that’s what you think,” Y/N automatically responded, already adding the song to a queue on her phone. Lately, she’d been getting really fantastic music recommendations from each hybrid, which was a lovely thing to share with them. It allowed her a tiny window into all of their different, complex personalities. “Dinner’s ready, by the way. Wanted to grab you before I headed to the kitchen.”

“I know. Yoongi texted all of us,” Namjoon reached down to ruffle Y/N’s hair, as if she was being silly for even telling him.

“Oh, really?” Y/N squeaked quietly, following Namjoon around his bedroom like a lost puppy. He was tidying up, something Y/N noticed he tended to do before bed (otherwise, he’d be sleeping with encyclopedias and chess pieces). “Hoseok texted me…”

“Yeah, in the group chat,” Namjoon murmured distractedly, not minding that Y/N was hovering behind him like a phantom while he stacked loose pieces of parchment onto his nightstand, her eyebrows furrowing. “That’s usually how Yoongi lets us know food is ready.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. Apparently, all the hybrids had a group chat between one another, one that didn’t include her, and she didn’t quite know how to feel about that. She wasn’t even sure if Namjoon realized that he had revealed a secret– perhaps it wasn’t and she was just unobservant– but he sensed something was up when she was quiet, looking over his shoulder inquisitively.

“What’s the matter? You look like I just stole candy from you,” Namjoon accused, though his eyes were soft and filled with concern. “Your eyes are a little puffy, too, have you been crying? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Namjoon, I’m okay. Just tired, is all,” Y/N didn’t even care if Namjoon could sniff out her lie, considering everything she had gone through that day. She didn’t have a shred of energy left to try and hide her emotions from her hybrids, and Namjoon usually wasn’t one to pry, so she prayed he’d take the hint. “Let’s go eat, okay?”

Before she could get too far, Namjoon caught a hold of her shoulders, two large palms settling over the joints and spinning her around so he could get a good look at her face. She was shaking, slightly, under his strong grip, eager to escape the scrutiny of those penetrating eyes of his.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me. If you’re upset, at least don’t try to cover it all up,” Namjoon said firmly, leveling a stern look her way.

“Joon, please…” Y/N used her hands to ease his off of her, resigned. “It’s nothing, just some stress. I’ll be fine after I get some sleep tonight.”

Namjoon looked unconvinced, some unknown emotion flashing through his eyes, Y/N squeezing his hands before releasing them. She swore she could hear low growling coming from deep within his chest, but he composed himself and lightly cleared his throat, jerking his head towards the hallway.

“Okay, I’ll drop it,” Namjoon began heading out to the foyer, Y/N close behind. “Maybe you should read a book before bed to relax and get some good sleep. You’re really tense, I felt it in your shoulders. Have Yoongi make you some tea, too.”

Jolting at the mention of the very hybrid causing her rise in blood pressure, Y/N made a noncommittal noise. On the other hand, Namjoon’s kind consideration and concern for her well-being had butterflies coasting in her stomach.

“You’re sweet, Joonie,” Y/N murmured, mirroring his earlier action by reaching up high to ruffle his still-damp starlight hair. “Pick out a book for me, please?”

Though he was in front of her leading the way to the kitchen, Y/N could see the very tips of his human ears turn red as he grunted out an embarrassed ‘okay’. Namjoon, she found out, was more of a softie than she originally understood. Besides, he always picked out excellent books she’s never read before, which was a bonus.

The kitchen was warm and thick with the smell of roasted chicken and buttery, cheesy pasta, Y/N’s mouth watering against her will. Spite started to well up inside of her, surpassing her confusion and melancholy, and she desperately prayed to the sky that somehow Yoongi had screwed up the seasoning so she would have an excuse to not enjoy his food. Following Namjoon with a swish of his silvery tail, Y/N begrudgingly slunk further into the room.

She caught sight of Taehyung first, seated at the breakfast nook by himself, adjusting settings on the camera strapped around his neck. His hair was wild and curly like he just washed it, a vibrant multicolored, vintage-looking sweater slipping over his wrists giving him sweater paws. Cooing, Y/N made a beeline for the Kodiak hybrid– trying with all her might to appear as unaffected as Yoongi took garlic bread out of the oven and shot the breeze with Jimin about the cold weather. Taehyung was a more than wonderful distraction.

“Hi, Tae,” Y/N scooched into the booth, having no trouble cozying up to his furnacelike side, his chest rumbling as he instinctively used one of his arms to hook around her shoulders and pull her closer. “Working on something for the next expo? It’s a week before Christmas, right?”

Smiling with his mouth closed, Taehyung let Y/N wiggle closer into his warmth, wordlessly passing his camera over and resting his nose in her hair as she took it gingerly. Being pressed up so closely against him, Y/N could feel his chest expand with the deep inhale he took, Y/N so used to him and Jimin taking a whiff of her hair daily that it didn’t even register as odd to her anymore. Turning on the camera’s display, Y/N flicked through a couple of Taehyung’s latest works, his editing more streamlined than ever before and each shot more creative than the next. The subjects were images of nature, primarily the backyard and around the neighborhood, but taken from unique angles and using natural light in interesting ways.

“You’re getting so good at this, Tae. Pretty soon, you’ll have people asking to take wedding pictures for them!” Y/N passed his camera back to him, resisting the urge to totally curl into him or climb into his lap. He was just too cuddly.

“Thank you,” Taehyung now offered her his toothy smile, wide and showing just how beautiful it made his face, conveying joy contrary to his ever-so-quiet voice. “I still need to work on taking portraits. That’s the assignment for next week…”

“Well it’s fortunate that you live with seven other people to practice on, huh?” Y/N teased, loving the flush that dusted his cheeks and tip of his nose.

Their moment was interrupted by a black shadow, Y/N somewhat peeling herself off of Taehyung a tad to look up. It wasn’t a black shadow at all, however, it was just Jeongguk– dressed all in black, naturally, and with an enormous bowl of pasta and chicken in his hands.

“How was your day, Jeongguk? The Tarantino movies you guys were watching… which one was your favorite?” Y/N reached across the table to poke the top of his hand with each word she was speaking to capture his attention, knowing that doing so usually irritated him enough to answer her questions. Since Halloween, though, he’d been much less easily perturbed, and usually regarded her attempts to agitate with amused midnight-black eyes.

“Kill Bill. The first one, not the second. Pulp Fiction was good, but didn’t live up to all of that bullshit hype college kids drone on and on about,” Jeongguk playfully slapped her hand away from him so he could pick up a fork and start eating, a tiny wry grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t think I really liked any of them,” a new voice joined the conversation, Seokjin filling up the last empty space in the booth beside Y/N, miraculously balancing three bowls of pasta on his forearm to deliver to Y/N and Taehyung. “Gory, lots of swearing and violence.”

“Grow some balls, Pink Panther,” Jeongguk rolled his eyes, Y/N finding it extremely difficult not to laugh– he was quick on his feet to come up with that nickname, since Seokjin was wearing his favorite ballet-pink hoodie. “Why am I surprised? You could barely make it through an episode of Tokyo Ghoul, and that’s fuckin’ animated blood.”

“Oh, leave him be, Jeongguk. Action or gore isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s totally okay,” Y/N emphasized her point by using her slipper-clad foot to collide lightly with his shin under the booth, a free hand coming up to smooth over Seokjin’s back affectionately. “Also, it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re talking over a mouthful of half-chewed chicken.”

There was Seokjin’s squeaky-sounding laugh coming from her right, Jeongguk rolling his eyes again, taking a swig of whatever cocktail he had made for himself. Looking down at the food Yoongi made and Seokjin had brought to her, she felt her stomach turning. While it looked and smelled delicious, she didn’t want to give Yoongi the satisfaction of horking the whole plate down right away. Instead, she watched everyone in the booth tuck in promptly, Y/N glowering at her slab of garlic bread with feigned disinterest.

“Not hungry?” Taehyung’s voice was in her ear, as always, low and indulgently rich. Concern lit up his eyes, his fork and knife paused mid-air as he studied the side of her face, even giving an animalistic sniff in her direction.

“I had a big lunch,” Y/N admitted, even though that was a bit of a lie. She had been so nervous about her piano lesson with Yoongi earlier in the day, all she could choke down at lunchtime was a handful of baby carrots and hummus.

Taehyung lifted a brow, definitely not buying the lie, but let it go without a word, mercifully. Y/N discovered that keeping her emotions under wraps from everybody while thoughts of Yoongi swirled around in her head constantly was more challenging than anything she had dealt with before.

Yoongi’s words kept echoing like a pagan chant in her ears: ‘I know how you feel. About us, all of us’. Was Yoongi that keen, already able to intimately decipher her emotions and feelings through scent alone, or was she painfully obvious about her embarrassingly large crushes on each hybrid she adopted? Flames licked her cheeks, and she afforded a look past Seokjin’s wide shoulders to Yoongi sitting beside Jimin at the island, his back to her. Even now, Y/N could detect a whisper of tension threading through the lean muscles of his back through his shirt, and though she was puzzled– at best– by everything that went down between them in the last few hours, she was pleased to see how much he had filled out with muscle between consistent meals and his basketball practices.

Sighing lightly, Y/N picked her way through her meal once tearing her eyes from Yoongi, not wanting to attract more attention by not eating dinner. Besides, her stomach was beginning to make embarrassing rumbling sounds, earning an annoyed side-eye from Namjoon across the room, pointedly using the tip of his nose to gesture towards her untouched plate. She resisted the split-second impulse to stick her tongue out at him, reconsidering upon remembering how intimidating Namjoon could be when teased.

Throughout dinner, Y/N distracted herself from her thoughts and the lack of typical banter she’d have with Yoongi by cozying up to Seokjin and Taehyung; asking them about their preferences for birthday meals during fast-approaching December. Jeongguk asked her if she happened to celebrate Christmas– she replied yes; while her and her mother celebrated the pagan holiday of Yule, her father was more of a traditionalist and loved Christmas.

“Yule lasts several days, and is made up of just some quiet rituals and whatnot– burning a Yule log, for example. But my dad adores all of the fun traditions of Christmas he had growing up, so he wanted to share that with me, too. We’d deck out the house in all of the lights, bake a thousand Christmas cookies, go out every year to pick out a tree… watch holiday movies in corny matching pajamas. My mom called it ‘Commercial Christmas’, but it was always really fun, and she was just poking fun at how silly my dad can get with it,” Y/N explained to the elk hybrid, him nodding along to her words while pushing broccoli around on his plate. “Oh! And there’s a Holiday Market in the city, too, if you guys are interested in checking that out next month. Food, decorations, music, all of that.”

It dawned on Y/N that her hybrids had likely never celebrated Christmas in the way she had in her youth. She had similar thoughts before, based on each of their strange, varied behaviors during the last three birthdays and Halloween, as well. It had her lower lip jutting out slightly, and she knew that perhaps the reason she worked so hard to make these events extra special in the past few months was because she was making up for their lost years of merriment and celebration of milestones.

Dwelling on that, she totally zoned out at the breakfast nook, only coming to when Seokjin collected her near-empty plate from her, snapping back to reality when he stood and her hand slipped from the middle of his back, where she was absently rubbing circles into the cozy material of his hoodie. All the jaguar hybrid did was flash her a sweet smile, bringing the dishes to the sink with a purr.

Shaking off her nerves, Y/N also rose from her seat, taking Taehyung with her so she’d have an excuse to cling to someone (and avoid Yoongi), by pulling him by the loose sleeve of his sweater, the Kodiak hybrid happily being hauled away from his camera and half-drunk glass of wine. Taehyung was one of the hybrids that didn’t drink as much as the others, or even Y/N herself, so sometimes a half of a glass of wine was all he needed for a pretty flush to color his cheeks and his tongue to loosen.

“What are we watching tonight, Y/N? Nothing scary, I pray?” Y/N managed to scoop Jimin up in her grasp, as well, his expression filled with trepidation as she sandwiched herself between the two hybrids and dragged them into the parlor.

The fire was roaring, and Taehyung broke free from her hold on his sweater to add another log to the tall flames in the fireplace– he was very serious about keeping it going strong until everyone headed off to bed, like it was an unspoken household duty he felt responsible for completely. Thankfully, he was quick to return to her, eager to claim one of the spots on either of her sides before anyone else could. As Ben had joked about over the phone with her, the hybrids did almost claw at each other in order to get a seat next to her on the couch, even Jeongguk, at that point. With Jimin and Taehyung being the ‘lucky’ ones that night, Y/N didn’t have to worry about sitting awkwardly inches away from Yoongi.

“No, sweet pea, nothing scary. Just for you and Hoseok, though… on second thought, Seokjinnie, too. I’ll save the horror marathons for another time. I was thinking we could watch something funny?”

Jimin’s shoulders relaxed downwards several inches, and his ears perked back up to their natural position as he handed her the remote, soothed that she wasn’t about to repeat her surprise showing of Suspiria from last month. Hoseok had to leave the room during the last few scenes of that one, in fact.

Y/N scrolled through the options in her digital library, avoiding romcoms at all costs, landing on some random comedy with Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. She needed something mindless, something that required not much critical thinking, so she could forget about the tangled cobwebs clogging up the cavity that once held her brain.

The room slowly filled up with the rest of the hybrids, Hoseok tossing wrapped Klondike bars to everyone, Jeongguk taking up the recliner; Namjoon took his usual seat at Y/N’s feet, while Seokjin and Yoongi ended up sitting on the floor next to the couch. Yoongi minded his business, not even sending Y/N a glance as he sank to the floor with his glass of wine. Seokjin didn’t seem pleased that he was so far from Y/N, but knew that her rotating who she sat next to was in an effort to be fair– and he respected that.

“I know how you feel. About us, all of us.”

“Ben, can you just listen before you say ‘I told you so’?” Y/N stirred cream into her coffee, her lower eyelid twitching when she tasted the concoction on her tongue. Somehow, ever since Yoongi started making her coffee for her each morning, she couldn’t seem to make her favorite ratio quite as precise as he did– even though she had been making it perfectly fine years before he took up the task for her. “I’ll let you say it all you want after I get some of this off my chest.”

Saturday morning, Y/N met up with Ben in the city at their favorite brunch spot on Newbury street, leaving all of her hybrids at home for a lazy morning by themselves. It was rare these days that she’d carve out time to go out with her human friends without at least one of the boys tagging along with her, but miraculously, she was able to break free for a few hours to catch up– or vent– with Ben. Ben cocked an eyebrow at her, taking a measured sip of his mimosa.

“I can do that, but first–” Ben reached into his briefcase, rummaging around within the depths of the leather bag, boldly pulling out a nip of Kahlua and swiftly dumping it into Y/N’s coffee. “You look like you’re one inconvenience away from a nervous breakdown. Happy Saturday, have a drink.”

“Thanks,” Y/N grimaced, sucking down the entirety of the scalding, now spiked, coffee in one go, Ben waving his hand as if to say ‘don’t mention it’. “Christ, I don’t even know where to start…”

Y/N had spent the night tossing and turning, even after the stupid movie she watched with the hybrids and a few shots of gin, waking up with dark circles under her eyes and two hours of sleep under her belt. In those two hours, she had dreams of red curtains, whiskey-scented whispers, piano, and hazel, feline eyes.

“I think I have an idea of where this is going,” Ben broke the ice after several moments, once the waiter came by to take their brunch orders and bring another round of drinks. This time, Y/N got herself a mimosa, too. “Let me guess. You fell for one of them.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop, the Kahlua, coffee, and champagne churning in her gut as Ben stared at her expectantly. Ben was always quick to pick up on how Y/N felt, particularly when it had to do with her romantic life, but it wasn’t like she was around him enough these days for him to observe her around all of her hybrids… fell for one? She had to laugh, and the sound came out snorted and pathetic.

“Oh, it’s worse than I thought. More than one? Taking cues from those reverse-harem animes you used to love in high school, huh?” Ben pressed, his nose scrunching up upon hearing the braying donkey laugh Y/N was trying to cover up by chugging her mimosa, a swig of it going down her windpipe.

“Nnn–ugh! Fuck me, Ben. Lower your voice,” Y/N coughed into her cloth napkin, frantically glancing around the restaurant as if she was being surveilled.

“Relax, Y/N, they’re not even here. They can’t hear you all the way from the Haunted Mansion, even with hybrid ears. Get on with it, spill. You’ll feel better,” Ben pushed a hand through his coiffed red hair, sucking his teeth as he assessed Y/N’s frazzled appearance and erratic behavior. She must have looked like a nutcase.

“I… Stop looking at me like that! If you’re so smart, you must have pieced together everything already, so why bother?” Y/N accused, but when Ben simply hardened his cerulean gaze, Y/N knew that he was encouraging her to talk through her feelings rather than squirreling them away until she exploded. “Fine. Yeah, okay. I have a crush on them, all of them, as a matter of fact, if that’s even humanly possible… and I know what you’re thinking, I’m batshit, I’m gross, and I’ve put myself in a horrible scenario.”

“Y/N, will you just take a breath, please? We’ve been friends for over a decade. Nothing you say to me is going to scare me off or make me ‘shame’ you Cersei-Game-of-Thrones-style. So, you’re attracted to all seven of them? I mean seriously, Y/N, I can’t blame you, and if you called Laura or Alice, they wouldn’t either. They’re all gorgeous,” Ben leaned back in his seat, both seriousness and amusement dancing across his features.

Y/N wrestled the champagne bottle resting in the tableside bucket of ice up and out of the shards, pouring herself another glass and completely ignoring the orange juice pitcher nearby that would make her mimosa, well, a mimosa.

“You know, Y/N… humans and hybrids can be in romantic relationships, and before you fly off of the handle, let me finish! Listen, I know, you know, and your hybrids know that you didn’t adopt them to use-and-abuse, obviously. You’ve always been a romantic, Y/N, it’s not like you can control how you feel, especially when it comes to love.”

Processing this, Y/N gawked at Ben, suddenly unable to come up with any kind of retort. Their waiter came by with their food, and the smell of Y/N’s French toast made her utterly nauseous as soon as it was placed in front of her. Grimacing, she pushed the plate to the side, Ben smirking over a bite of crispy bacon.

“Love…” Y/N squeaked, the four-letter-word wheezing from her chest painfully, Ben having the nerve to roll his eyes.

“You do love them, don’t you? Besides the fact that it's obvious to me, as your wonderful best friend, when you fall, you fall hard,” Ben nudged Y/N’s plate back in front of her, sticking a fork in her hand with mischief in his eyes. “It’s a different kind of love– but I love Daisy, she’s my daughter, and I can’t imagine my life without her anymore. That must be similar to how you feel, no?”

For at least a month, Y/N kept herself in blissful, complete denial, trying to squash down her feelings as best she could in an effort to keep them from the hybrids. She didn’t know if she was fooling them, because she definitely wasn’t fooling Ben, who looked like he was trying to refrain from laughing. The more she thought about her recent behavior; stuttering, blushing, heart racing, constant cuddling, the more stupid she felt.

“God, I’m a moron,” Y/N stuffed a piece of French toast into her dried-out mouth, the consistency like glue as she chewed. “They probably already know and are just too nice to reject me. Or they’re scared to.”

Ben didn’t say anything, just letting Y/N come to terms with the startling realization: she loved them. Seven different men, she was in love with seven, and the gravity of that realization was driving her to silent lunacy.

“Whatever scenario you’re coming up with in your head, stop it, you’ll start panicking,” Ben reached across the table to grasp Y/N’s hand lightly, his thumb smoothing over the back of it. “It’s kind of a scary, tricky… uh, delicate, subject, but how would you feel about maybe just talking to them about it instead of bottling things up? Even at the cookout in August, I could tell most of them cared about you quite deeply.”

“Can you imagine that conversation, Ben? ‘Hey guys, I know we’re in the middle of dinner and it’s not like you can get away from me after this, but I accidentally fell in love with all of you, so that’s why I’ve been walking around like a bumbling idiot’,” Y/N hissed, her face going hot just by visualizing that scene in her head. “Also, I haven’t even told you what happened yesterday, and if a confession to the seven of them went anything like what went down last night, I’d have to move to a rock out in the middle of the sea.”

Motioning for her to explain, Y/N launched into the long, complicated report on her interaction with Yoongi post piano lesson, speaking in a hurried and hushed tone. Ben listened carefully, but Y/N chose to leave out some of the more supernatural aspects of her first meeting with Yoongi in The Black Lodge– Ben was a skeptic, at best, so she told him she had gotten too drunk and forgot about meeting Yoongi. By the time she had ended her story with how Yoongi seemed to be acting like nothing happened, Ben’s eyebrows were knitted and their breakfasts had long since been polished off and forgotten.

“Uh…” Ben leaned back in his seat after he was stunned speechless for several moments, robotically passing his credit card to the waiter, his free hand coming up to rub his close-cut beard. “You weren’t bullshitting me with that text last night. That’s a lot to unpack.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. He pretty much revealed to me that he knows I’m crushing on them all, totally called me out on it. Even went as far as saying it wouldn’t be long before the others figure it out, too,” Y/N moaned miserably into her hands, covering her face exhaustedly.

“Y/N… from what you told me,” Ben started gently, as if he was trying not to spook a nervous animal. “I think Yoongi likes you too. I mean, he waited for a year for you to remember him, he said he enjoyed talking to you, and honey– he kissed you. You shouldn’t take that bit lightly, either. Predator hybrids like Yoongi, specifically the big cats or canines, are extremely selective when it comes to choosing their romantic partners. To them, it’s like finding their mate.”

“I– no. If that was the case, he would have told me, I’m sure of it. You’ve seen him, right? Met him? He’s gorgeous, funny, caring, can cook like a dream and is a talented pianist; he could have anybody he wants, and I’m not exempt from that, and he knows it… so that’s my reasoning, I guess.”

“Why are you spewing nonsense? You’re starting to tick me off. You were never this full of self doubt in the past, especially over a man. You have to talk to him about this, sooner rather than later. Tell him how you feel, and don’t beat around the bush. And even though I’m almost positive that he likes you romantically, you two need to sort it out before the others catch on and it spirals into something even more tangled,” Ben, as they prepared to leave the restaurant, helped Y/N shrug into her coat, his hands on her shoulders as he gave her a necessary reality check– though his expression was sympathetic and full of concern. “I’ll help you out. I can borrow a couple of your guys on Monday to watch Daisy while I go into the office, and you see if you can somehow get Yoongi alone, okay?”

“Monday…” Y/N blanched, not prepared to throw caution to the wind and admit her feelings that soon. “I-I guess I can make that work. Seokjin and Joonie will be at the library with my mom for the book club, Tae at the rec center preparing for his next expo…”

“Alright. I’ll take the other three for babysitting– the cowboy, the grump, and Foxy, am I correct?” Ben attempted to lighten the mood, holding the restaurant door open for Y/N with a wry grin. “You can do this, Y/N. You’re a smart, beautiful young woman, and I know how much you love those boys. They all deserve to know how much you do– but start with Yoongi.”

Y/N made a noncommittal, grumbling noise, grinding her teeth as the bitter wind whipped through the streets of Boston. Autumn was nearly over, and the harsh winter was well on its way, Christmas decorations already beginning to pop up on certain storefronts.

“If it goes to shit, I’m calling you. You know how I am with romantic confessions. Remember Liam in high school? I broke out in hives asking him to homecoming,” Y/N muttered, grabbing Ben’s hand and shoving their joined palms into his coat pocket, her best friend snickering at the memory. “Can we change the subject? I’m starting to feel itchy. You can still swing by Copley with me, right?”

“Yeah, I have some time. What are you going there for?” Ben steered her in a different direction than they were going, cutting through some side streets to get to the mall.

“I’m picking up some things for Seokjin’s birthday, it’s coming up really soon. I found some cookware online I think he’d like, he’s been into culinary pursuits recently,” Y/N felt some of her anxiety dissipate as she thought about sweet Seokjin. He had pouted that morning when she left to meet Ben, and it was hard to pry him off of her as she was heading out the front door.

“Oh! That reminds me. Has Sarah gotten in touch with you?”

“She did, actually. We’re planning to meet at some point after the holidays, probably in January. I don’t know if I should tell Seokjin, or keep it a surprise for a little while…” Y/N bit her lip, recalling the pleasant email exchanges she had with the woman who had adopted Hannah.

“With everything you’ve got going on right now, I think it’s alright to hold off on telling him until the plan is more concrete. Focus on the two birthdays you have coming up, Christmas, and sorting out the thing with Yoongi,” Ben shrugged, squeezing Y/N’s fingers as they ambled down the frosty sidewalk.

“Shit. I have to order Christmas presents soon…” Y/N used her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, thanking the sky that she had that extra income from the boarded horses– gifts for seven hybrids and her other friends and family would certainly add up cost-wise. “I wish I had an assistant to keep track of everything I have to do.”

“Ah, you say that, but I haven’t seen you this happy in years, Y/N,” Ben countered, winking at her. “Even with all of the romantic drama, adopting those boys brought you back to life.”

“Stop being sappy, I’ll cry. Seriously, I will! They’re not around to fuss over me right now and I can do so freely, and that’s an opportunity I would take if you keep it up,” Y/N nudged Ben in the ribs, separating from him as they reached the revolving doors of Copley Place.

Once in the toasty mall, she and Ben changed the direction of their conversation, Y/N feeling merry despite the looming task of confronting Yoongi in two day’s time. They made plans to have a holiday get-together at her house, with Roy and Daisy, and the Santos twins as well, all while piling items into a cart for Seokjin’s birthday.

“Come on, sweets, won’t you do it for me?” Y/N was perched on the velvet bench at the foot of Jeongguk’s bed, attempting to convince him to go willingly to Ben’s for ‘babysitting’ early Monday afternoon. She tried to make her eyes as doelike as possible, Jeongguk chewing on his lip ring with his arms crossed, staring down at her.

“That pouting doesn’t work on me. Go find literally anyone else in the house it does work on, Y/N,” Jeongguk tsked, pulling a few buttons loose on the creamy button-down he was wearing.

“Okay, shithead. You want to be sassy today? Be my guest. Just saying though, Daisy has been asking for you. Ben says you’re one of her favorites,” Y/N bit back, just to see if guilting him was the way to go. Jeongguk simply shook his head, having the audacity to look amused by her outburst. She was already on edge, and his nonchalance and stubbornness did not make things better. “Maybe this will sweeten the pot. Ben said he was going to pay you guys.”

“Bribery, coercion, ass-kissing… you must really want me out of the house today,” Jeongguk drawled, turning away from Y/N as he used his floor-length mirror to clasp the necklace her mother gave him for his birthday around his neck. Through the thin material of his light-colored shirt, Y/N could faintly detect the black lines of the mystery tattoo on his back.

“No, but it wouldn’t kill you, Jeongguk. Don’t you want to get out for a little bit? You, Hoseok, and Jimin can take Daisy to the playground in the Common, get some food, walk around…” Y/N refrained from flinching when the elk hybrid accurately called her out for shooing him out.

“How the fuck can we go out without a human with us? Won’t the four of us get scooped up by agents and tossed back into Gerry’s shithole shelter? Besides, why does a four-year-old hybrid need three babysitters, aren’t Foxy and Blondie enough?” Jeongguk approached Y/N once more, using his thumb and forefinger to gently flick her forehead.

“Ugh, you’re such a little shit,” Y/N rubbed the spot he flicked, even though it didn’t hurt at all. “I ordered you all ID’s, remember? They arrived this morning. If you get stopped, you show agents your ID, and it tells them that you’re adopted and can roam even without me being present. Daisy has one too, the version for children… She needed it for enrollment in her daycare.”

Jeongguk paused in contemplation, his eyes scanning her face thoughtfully as she squirmed on the bench under his scrutiny, one of his ears lazily twitching. It was a stare-down, Y/N needed to have that talk with Yoongi, and she wanted the conversation to be as private as possible, and Jeongguk seemed a touch suspicious.

“You really want me to go babysit the bunny that badly?” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes, a spark of triumph lighting up inside of Y/N as she sensed him beginning to cave.

“Yes, please! I’ll call in some baked ziti for you from Sal’s for dinner,” Y/N jumped to her feet, Jeongguk rolling his eyes and sticking his notebook into the pocket of his baggy black cargo pants.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re only saying that because I’m doing you a favor, and you probably want pizza yourself, kiddo,” Jeongguk grunted as Y/N elbowed him in the ribs, scoffing at him indignantly.

“I’m only like a year younger than you. ‘Kiddo’, really?” Y/N paused by his bedroom door, softening up once seeing the twinkle of merriment in Jeongguk’s dark eyes.

Suddenly overwhelmed with affection for the elk hybrid, considering how much he had warmed up to her over the past few weeks, she leaned up on her tip-toes, lips brushing over his sharp cheekbone for a barely-there kiss while he froze to a complete stand-still. Pulling away as quickly as she could before he could say anything, she giggled at how round his eyes became before heading out to the hall.

“Thanks for the favor, sweets. Ben will be here in 15 minutes to pick you and the other two up!” She called over her shoulder, hurrying away with the image of Jeongguk looking adorably stunned burned into her retinas.

Bounding downstairs, Y/N managed to round up Jimin and Hoseok from the backyard, both of them more than willing to watch Daisy for a bit– the both of them practically doted on her. She handed out their new-and-shiny ID’s, Y/N smiling at the pictures on the cards. Staring at Jeongguk’s picture, with a serious expression on his face, she snorted at the way his antlers didn’t quite fit in the frame.

“Tae did a nice job with all of your photos for these, huh?” Y/N gushed, brushing her fingertips over the tiny picture on Namjoon’s ID, which she’d have to give to him later. “Next time I get my license renewed, I want him to take my picture too, I always look washed out and horrendous in the ones taken at the DMV.”

“I doubt that, Y/N. You always look nice in pictures, even the ones Taehyung takes of you,” Jimin disagreed with her, grinning when she pinched his fleshy cheek bashfully.

“Such a charmer, Jiminie. Aw, her heart’s racing,” Hoseok crooned, squeezing himself in between her and the coyote hybrid, a wicked smirk on his face as he patted his chest to mimic heartbeats.

Hissing, Y/N tried to step away from the teasing bastard, even more humiliated now, but Hoseok was far too quick for her to make a feeble human’s attempt at escape. Boldly, he grabbed her by the belt loops of her jeans, bending low to press one of his ears over her heart. Squeaking as she wiggled in his grasp, a few of his fingertips slipping into the waistband of her jeans to keep her in place, his skin burning hot with hybrid heat.

“Hear that, Jiminie? It’s beating even faster now!” Hoseok continued gleefully, squeezing the flesh over her hip bones before he– mercifully– pulled away. “How cute, darling, you’re way too easy to flatter, and even easier to tease.”

“Hoseok,” Y/N used all of her strength to prevent herself from melting into the floorboards, not even noticing that Jimin’s shoulders were shaking with laughter and Jeongguk had crept into the foyer during the spectacle. “Stop fucking with me, the playing field isn’t even. I can’t hear your heartbeat, or smell your embarrassment, or whatever.”

“You could always try flattery, you have a knack for it,” Jeongguk leaned against the front door, seemingly recovered from the smooch she planted on his cheek only moments ago.

“Brat,” Y/N sneered, though it was half hearted, and she was interrupted by a three-beat honk from outside. “Ooh, Ben’s here. Okay, I think you two have poked enough fun at me, get going. See you soon, sweetheart, have fun and be safe.”

Y/N murmured her last statement directly to Jimin, using a hand to shove Hoseok towards Jeongguk and out of the front door. Patting Jimin’s shoulder lightly, she leaned up to whisper into his ear.

“You’re in charge, make sure those two don’t swear in front of Daisy, please,” though Y/N was whispering in Jimin’s ear, she was the one shivering with the proximity, intoxicating, dark lavender filling her senses and calming her steadily-climbing anxiety; it was almost time for her to look for Yoongi, who she hadn’t seen the entire day.

“See you later, Y/N,” Jimin grinned like he knew something she didn’t, craning his neck sideways to press a kiss to one of her knuckles, her hand turning clammy as it slipped from his shoulder when he strolled out the front door.

Y/N stood in the threshold of the door, watching the three hybrids get into Ben’s car, and stayed until Ben drove off down the street. The silence that followed their departure was eerie, Y/N wondering if Yoongi was taking a nap or was even in the house at all. Typically, during the early afternoon, the leopard hybrid would be messing around on the piano or reading a book in the parlor, but there was no music coming from upstairs and the heavily trafficked parlor was deserted and dark. Sighing, Y/N started to stack logs into the fireplace, knowing if Taehyung came home later and there was no fire, he’d be upset. She knew that she was stalling the inevitable, finding Yoongi and having the conversation she had been dreading for 48 hours, but she tried to summon courage to face him from the growing flames in the fireplace.

Once she had mustered enough nerve, Y/N wandered through the house to find Yoongi. She searched every nook and cranny, every back hallway and hidden passageway, but clearly he wasn’t inside. Muttering under her breath, she dropped some clean laundry off in Namjoon’s room, pulling on the sherpa-lined jean jacket he had draped over his desk chair to prepare herself for traipsing around the yard. Inhaling Namjoon’s scent on the collar of his jacket, the oversized fabric swallowing her whole, she felt warmth fill her up with the notes of honey and Namjoon.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Y/N whimpered as soon as she opened the slider to the backyard, wrapping Namjoon’s coat more tightly around her torso. In the distance, horses were whinnying in the stable, and there were some creepy looking turkey vultures sitting in the naked oak tree next to the picnic table. “Where’s my angel…”

The sky was a gloomy gray, and Y/N wondered if snow was on the way with the way the frost-dusted grass was crunching under her feet. That quiet, still sensation just before a snowstorm was present, as well, which is why the echoing sound of a basketball striking asphalt made her jolt in surprise. Bingo.

Weaving her way past the gate to the driveway and garage, Y/N let out a nervous breath, becoming a misty cloud of white in front of her. The turkey vultures in the oak tree started making their disturbing, guttural shrieks, sending a chill down her spine. Quickening her pace, butterflies started fluttering in her stomach as the basketball hoop came into view.

Aware that Yoongi could both hear and smell her, she paused several feet away, eyes sweeping the area for the leopard hybrid. He was just there, she was sure of it, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Yoongi? Where are you?” Y/N called, annoyed with the possibility that he was avoiding her on purpose. She knelt down, numb fingers grasping the acid-washed hoodie Yoongi must have tossed onto the ground, when a pair of sneakers appeared in her line of vision, she glanced up at the owner, swearing colorfully.

Yoongi was staring down at her, basketball tucked under his arm, very sweaty and very much without a shirt. Mouth drying up, she felt a range of emotions flood through her; fluster, affection, happiness, concern, before finally landing on anger.

“Oh my god, it’s like thirty degrees out here! Put this on,” Y/N impulsively threw his sweatshirt at him, hitting him square in the chest before it unceremoniously fell back onto the pavement.

“I was too hot. Hybrid body heat, silly girl,” Yoongi replied simply, his old nickname for her making a comeback. Unfortunately for Y/N, paired with his damp, long hair and naked chest, it sent a bolt of arousal through her unexpectedly. Hopefully he couldn’t smell it. “What’s up? Where is everyone?”

Y/N read between the lines– that was Yoongi’s newest code for ‘find one of the others, I don’t want to talk to you’. Gritting her teeth, she managed to straighten up, forcing herself to look him in the eyes and not the dewy skin over his collarbones.

“They’re all out. It’s just you and I, at the moment,” Y/N cleared her throat, getting a strong blast of vanilla-and-cloves as Yoongi passed a veiny hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Please, for my sake, put on the sweatshirt. I don’t want you turning into a popsicle.”

“Nah,” Yoongi turned away from her, dribbling the ball and aiming to shoot it into the basket, his tail curling around his leg as it usually did when he’d play. “Why, don’t like what you see?”

Y/N’s eyes glazed over as she watched the muscles in his back move and flex, effortlessly sinking the ball into the basket and elegantly slinking to the hoop to retrieve the ball before it could bounce away. The pale skin of his chest was slightly flushed pink, making Y/N’s mouth water, and all at once she felt like a creep.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” Yoongi drawled, his gravelly voice raising goosebumps on her flesh. Apparently, her hybrids felt like toying with her that day.

Steeling herself, she approached Yoongi with determination, forgetting all about his sweatshirt, his expression growing curious and spotted ears flattening against his head at their proximity.

“Are you avoiding me again? We never finished our… conversation,” Y/N began, chickening out on professing her love right away, considering his lack of a shirt.

“You reek like the wolf,” Yoongi dodged the question and subject entirely, moving like he was going to take another shot at the hoop. Before he could get far, Y/N reached out and yanked the basketball out of his hands, scowling.

“We need to talk, Yoongi. You’ve hardly been able to stand in the same room as me longer than five minutes since that night,” Y/N averted her eyes from his face, finding it hard to look at him with all the emotions running through her.

Yoongi sighed, the sound of it seemingly coming from the depths of his soul, scooping his sweatshirt off of the ground and shrugging it on.

“Let’s go inside. Seokjin would die if he saw you out here without a hat,” Yoongi mumbled, resigned, and motioned for Y/N to follow him into the house.

They were quiet, Y/N’s pulse thundering in her ears, positively dreading the conversation they were about to have. If Yoongi rejected her, she’d have to lock herself in her room to cry and lick her wounds for hours, but if he didn’t… how on earth would she explain the situation between her and Yoongi to the others?

“So, what is there to ‘finish’ about our conversation?” Yoongi broke the silence as he followed her up to the music room– the most soundproof room in the house, lest someone come home early and interrupt them. Yoongi sounded bitter, like the words on his tongue tasted of grave dirt, Y/N wincing knowing that she was the cause of it. “I thought we wrapped it up already. What’s the use of beating a dead horse? We met before, you forgot, we kissed, now we’re here. End of story.”

“No, Yoongi, it’s not. I–” Y/N cut herself off, sinking down onto the couch with her head in her hands. “Let me apologize, first. I don’t want you to think that our kiss was a drunken mistake to me. I shouldn’t have insinuated that. I’m sorry, angel.”

Yoongi stiffened, at either her words or her nickname for him, she didn’t know. He remained standing in front of her, ears perked up and alert, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. Believe me, I want to, more than anything. I’ve been having dreams, though, flashes of a memory. Maybe it will return to me, in time,” Y/N peeked at Yoongi through her fingertips, nervously chewing on her lip.

“Y/N–”

“Please, just, can you hear me out for a minute?” Y/N interrupted whatever warning he was undoubtedly trying to dole out, desperate to get it over with before she lost her nerve. “Last time we talked about this, you said you knew how I felt, about you, about the others, but I changed the subject.”

Yoongi nodded, his eyes narrowing and arms crossing over his chest, waiting for her to continue. Taking a deep breath, Y/N dropped her hands from her face, finally making eye-contact with the leopard hybrid, who appeared to be taking in all of her micro reactions.

“You were right, or are right, about my feelings. I’m only starting to, um, understand those feelings, but you noticed them before I even realized they were there,” Y/N fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, growing hot in the face. “I’m sorry for hiding it, and I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Met with silence, Y/N’s worst fear was coming to life; he was going to reject her, their relationship would be permanently damaged, and her heart was going to shatter. Yoongi simply stared at her with that sharp feline gaze, a muscle in his jaw working and his expression giving away nothing as two what he was thinking.

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore, and it’s totally fine that you don’t feel the same way, but I need to tell you,” Y/N’s voice became shaky, heart feeling like it was going to explode, ready to careen off the edge of no return. “I love you, Yoongi.”

The world went still, not even the birds outside chirping, and Y/N wasn’t confident that she was breathing anymore. Without a word, Yoongi turned on his heel, plopped down on the bench and slid a hand over the weathered keys of the piano. Baffled and heartbroken, Y/N sat frozen on the couch, stiff as a board and head spinning.

Before her vision could go black, Yoongi began to play. Eyes snapping open, she couldn’t help the gasp that ripped from her chest; Yoongi was playing the song he had composed, the one he previously wouldn’t perform for her even upon her countless requests to. Though his face was blank of emotion, his playing certainly wasn’t, and the song almost breathed air as his hands floated across the keys. It was one of the most beautiful songs she had ever heard, so much so that she wasn’t even aware that she was crying until she felt the hot tears tracking down her cheeks.

It was over too soon, the final note ringing out solemnly, Yoongi standing from the bench and heading towards the door, his ears flat against his head again. He stopped, hand twitching over the doorknob when he heard Y/N sniffle pathetically, looking over his shoulder. Heart bursting into smithereens at the look of anguish on his face, Y/N wanted to rush over to him, but couldn’t bear looking at him any longer.

“I wrote that the day after we met. The first thing I composed in years. I wrote it for you.”

With that, Yoongi left the room, Y/N feeling her tears run down her neck, listening to the sound of him closing the door to his bedroom and turning on the tap to his shower.

“So Y/N, it wasn’t exactly a rejection,” Laura soothed through the phone, Y/N humming noncommittally. She was in her car in the driveway, several days later, Seokjin’s birthday, his birthday cake sitting on the passenger seat beside her.

“I don’t know what the fuck it was. He’s been walking around the house like a fucking ghost for days now, I think I broke him,” Y/N ran a hand through her hair, not believing that she had to resort to taking phone calls in her car to avoid eavesdropping. “I set out to see if I could fix things, or tell him my feelings, but now everything is even more messed up. I don’t know what to do.”

“Give him time, honey. He shouldn’t be leaving you hanging like that, but maybe it’s a lot to process for him. Your hybrids have been through a lot, he probably wasn’t expecting you to confront him,” Laura theorized, making Y/N snort. She had just accepted that Yoongi had been weirded out and didn’t reciprocate her feelings, but she humored Laura anyway.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll keep you updated, I guess,” Y/N replied airily, eyes landing on the pink buttercream frosting spelling out Seokjin’s name on his cake, a small smile spreading across her face despite everything. “I gotta run, Laura. Have to round everyone up for Seokjin’s brunch.”

“Keep me updated!” Laura exclaimed urgently, Y/N grunting in response, before hanging up and hauling herself outside. She moved Seokjin’s cake to the trunk where his gifts were, making room for him to sit next to her during the ride to the restaurant.

Y/N: Time to go! Reservation is at noon <3

Hoseok 🦊: Jinnie looks so handsome on his birthday 🤧

Seokjinnie 🌸: -_-

Jimin 🦋: We’re coming!

Y/N: Can one of you please lock the door on the way out

Joonie 🐺: I got it.

Making sure the heat was cranked up in the cab for Seokjin, she watched the front door like a hawk, waiting for everyone to file out. They came out in pairs, first Jimin and Taehyung, then Hoseok and Seokjin. Last out was Jeongguk and Yoongi, followed by Namjoon diligently locking the door and even giving the handle a jiggle to ensure it was deadbolted. Feeling warm all over at the sight of them, all dressed up in their unique styles, Y/N grinned, even though her heart was still bleeding for Yoongi. She pushed that aside, for now, for Seokjin, determined to give him the best birthday ever.

“It’s so cold! Fuckin’ Boston weather,” Hoseok whined, the first one to the car, sliding in the seat behind Y/N. “Would moving to Florida ever be an option?”

“Hell no,” Y/N twisted her face up in disgust even thinking about swampy Florida summers. “We can visit someday, though. Go to Disney World or something.”

“Where are your gloves?” Seokjin climbed into the passenger seat, Namjoon begrudgingly giving up his designated spot for the birthday boy, pointedly narrowing his orange eyes at her bare hands on the steering wheel.

“Oh, somewhere in the house. I don’t need them, we’re going from the car to the restaurant,” Y/N blushed when he took her hands in his, his thick lips puckering to blow warm air onto them. “Happy birthday, my Seokjinnie!”

“You’re old as fuck,” Jeongguk commented from the third row of seats, his hair slicked back with gel as Y/N glared at him in the rearview mirror. “30? Judas priest.”

“Have some respect for your elders, fuckface,” Hoseok defended Seokjin, a lazy smile on his face when Y/N turned around to back out of her spot in front of the house.

“Please, stop swearing,” Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose delicately, making Y/N snort.

She drove one-handed to the restaurant, one of them captured by Seokjin, who was doing the thing where he lightly traced his fingertips over her skin in endless patterns. He was purring, too, Y/N stealing glances of him every once in a while– Hoseok was right, he looked unbearably handsome. Shiny, wavy raven hair, a cozy plum-colored sweater, and his expression content and relaxed.

When they arrived, Y/N had Namjoon and Taehyung help her bring in the cake and the gifts, never letting go of Seokjin’s hand once. She shouldn’t have noticed, but she did, that Yoongi was keeping a lot of space between them, sitting the furthest away from her at the table and silently reading the menu while everyone else chatted. If the other hybrids had noticed his odd behavior the past few days, they were very good at pretending they didn’t.

Shaking her head, she put all of her attention on Seokjin, who still hadn’t released her hand. He wiggled in his seat happily, tail curling around her lower back, scooching his chair closer to Y/N.

“What are you going to get?” Y/N leaned her cheek on Seokjin’s shoulder, reading his menu instead of her own. With a purr, Seokjin pointed out a few items, his teeth digging into his lower lip. “Ooh, that sounds yummy! Eggs benedict?”

They ended up ordering an obscene amount of food, Y/N passing on the mimosas so she could drive home uncompromised, but ordered a round for all of the hybrids.

“So, how’s the book of the week so far?” Y/N asked Seokjin, who was taking a dainty sip of his mimosa. “A Christmas Carol, right?”

“Mm-hm. It’s a little early for Christmas stories in my opinion, though,” Seokjin cocked his head, a contemplative look on his face. “Have you been sleeping okay lately, Y/N?”

Seokjin was too kind to not point out the very obvious dark circles under her eyes, but she knew that was why he asked. Truthfully, she was lucky if she got three hours of sleep every night since she told Yoongi she loved him, but she couldn’t admit that to Seokjin. The last thing she wanted was to concern him on his birthday.

“Yeah, I’ve just been having strange dreams that sometimes wake me up. I’m perfectly fine, though, honey,” Y/N attempted to soothe, Seokjin nodding and taking another swig of his mimosa.

Thankfully, before he could pry, food arrived, and Y/N busied herself by stuffing her face so she didn’t have to talk.

“This is the first time I’ve ever celebrated my birthday,” Seokjin admitted quietly, the food in front of him untouched as he seemingly soaked everything in. Chest squeezing, Y/N snaked an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his sweater.

“Good thing you’ll have plenty more to celebrate each year, to make up for that,” she replied equally as soft, Seokjin’s eyes softening as he returned a kiss to her– his lips stamping affection on the crown of her head.

Flushing, she caught Yoongi’s eyes across the table, that same blank look on his face from when he played the song for her days ago. Her song. Hurriedly looking back down at her food, she stuffed the emotion welling up inside her deep down.

“Try this,” Seokjin interrupted her attempt to not wallow, a fork with a perfect bite of eggs benedict on it appearing in front of her face.

Automatically, she opened her mouth like it was second nature; Seokjin often liked to feed her bites of his food like that, and she was never one to deny him. His lips twisted up into a smug smirk, using his free hand to cup her jaw like always, angling her face upwards so he could feed her the bite of his entree. She felt eyes on her from the whole table, but she couldn’t have cared less, locked in on the way Seokjin’s gaze was fixed on her mouth.

“How is it?” Seokjin asked through his shit-eating grin, his touch vanishing but his tail still curled around her waist.

“Mmm,” was all Y/N could articulate, swallowing slowly and unable to break free from his spell.

“Spoiled,” Seokjin murmured, tutting. Heart falling to her ass, she gawked at his gorgeous side profile with utter disbelief, ears turning hot with humiliation and something else.

“H-huh?” She squeaked, though the jaguar hybrid simply resumed eating, striking up a conversation with Hoseok a couple of seats down, still smirking.

Reeling, Y/N managed to choke down the remainder of her meal, only snapping out of it when the waitresses came by with Seokjin’s cake, lit up with sparkler candles. Amazingly, Seokjin didn’t even flinch when the cake was placed in front of him, despite his usual aversion to things that were on fire or noisy, his cheeks rounding out as he read the top of his cake and blew out the candles. Hoseok sang a rather off-key version of “Happy Birthday” with the waitresses, and Y/N noticed that Taehyung had brought his camera with him, furiously taking pictures with flash of the entire event.

“You got the lavender cake!” Seokjin exclaimed while Y/N was cutting a slice for him, pink frosting covering the pale purple sponge; a very Seokjin color scheme.

“I did! You said you liked it a few months ago, I hope you still do,” Y/N pushed the plate in front of him, wondering if she should have a slice herself, considering how stuffed she was from all of the food Seokjin had just fed her.

This time, Seokjin was the one blushing, mouth full of cake. Chuckling, she ruffled his hair, sliding plate after plate of cake down the table for each of the hybrids, astonished that they still had room in their tummies.

“Okay, so what did you get Jinnie for his birthday? Did you snag him an audition on Masterchef?” Hoseok asked, frosting coating his lips.

“Oh! Joonie, can you pass me those bags?” Y/N exclaimed, Namjoon getting up from his booth seat to deliver the three gifts at the head of the table, his damaged ear flickering when she called his name.

Seokjin, who wasn’t quite as shy as he was when she first met him, accepted the first gift bag with pink ears despite all of his opening up. The whole table– apart from Yoongi, who excused himself to the bathroom minutes prior– watched Seokjin peer into the bag with rapt interest.

The first gift was from her mother, a lovely vintage watch that Y/N had helped her pick out at a pawn shop recently. When she spotted it in the shop, it had Seokjin written all over it; elegant and classic, and went well with his polished wardrobe. Hoseok oohed and aahed, reaching across the table to strap it on Seokjin’s left wrist for him. Giggling, Y/N admired the way it looked on his slim wrist, leaning against his arm while he went for the other two gifts; several sweaters and shirts in various shades of pinks and neutrals, a pretty set of silver dangling earrings (Y/N noticed that he had two lobe piercings on his left ear, but didn’t have any earrings to put through them), and a set of brand-new Japanese knives. He loved every single gift, gushing over the knives in particular, but he had to slap Hoseok’s hand away when the fox hybrid attempted to put the earrings on Seokjin.

Once the cake was eaten and plates were cleared away, Jeongguk and Namjoon both began to grow antsy, probably hoping to leave soon and get back to their routines. She handed her car keys to Taehyung beside her so he could pull the car around– he was the only one Y/N was confident that he knew how to drive, and Namjoon was known to speed– everyone following the Kodiak hybrid outside. Yoongi had long since returned from the bathroom, but once he saw that it was just Seokjin and Y/N waiting at the table to pay the bill, he too went out to the car.

“Thank you, Y/N. Today was…” Seokjin trailed off, like he was at a loss for words. They were standing by the bar, waiting for his leftover cake to be boxed up, Seokjin straightening out Y/N’s coat and making sure it was clasped correctly. “Perfect.”

“My Seokjinnie,” Y/N cooed, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in chest. She felt him purring, his own arms coiling around her back, rubbing circles over her coat. “I have one more thing for you.”

Pulling away, she chuckled at the look of bewilderment lighting up his features, Y/N reaching into the pocket of her coat for an envelope, offering it to him with a wink. Carefully, Seokjin tore the envelope open, fishing out the two pieces of paper from within and turning them over. His eyes scanned the text, his pupils blowing out wide and mouth dropping open once he registered exactly what he was holding.

“A cooking class,” Seokjin breathed, cheeks turning bright pink. “At Eataly?”

“Yeah! I heard the classes there are awesome, and in that class you get to have wine pairings with whatever you cook, you learn about the regions in Italy where the dishes come from. You’ve been so into cooking lately, and I thought the class would be perfect for you, especially with the wine pairing aspect,” Y/N explained, Seokjin hanging on every word and reading the tickets over and over. “It’s in February. I got two tickets, so you can take whoever you like. Hoseok, Yoongi, Joonie, it’s your choice!”

Seokjin froze, a curious look in his eyes, tucking the tickets back into the envelope and reaching for Y/N’s hand again.

“You don’t wanna come with me?” Seokjin squeezed her hand, a frown on his face for the first time that day. Blinking, Y/N made a noise of surprise.

“Me? You want me to take the class with you?” Y/N asked stupidly, Seokjin furiously nodding and his ears perking up.

“I don’t want to take it with anyone but you,” Seokjin confirmed resolutely, taking his cake box from a waitress ogling him without so much of a glance in her direction. Heart soaring upon hearing those words, Y/N couldn’t help but give him another tight hug.

“Okay, I’ll go with you. Can’t wait,” Y/N agreed, mouth full of his felt coat.

Seokjin just grinned brilliantly, leaving her embrace, tugging her towards the door, where her Land Cruiser was double-parked with the rest of the hybrids.

“Let’s go home,” Seokjin held the door to the restaurant open for her, uttering the statement like it had great meaning to him.

Even though she shouldn’t have, she let Taehyung drive home, Yoongi sitting beside him, while Y/N squeezed into the backseat between Namjoon and Seokjin. It was halfway back to the house when she realized Taehyung wasn’t using GPS; he knew where home was by memory, or perhaps by heart.

“It’s just a piano lesson, just act natural, like nothing’s wrong,” Y/N glared at herself in her bathroom mirror, pinching her own cheeks to bring life back into her complexion. “Just act like you aren’t in love with the teacher.”

Groaning, Y/N switched off the bathroom light, feeling a touch ill. She had barely spoken more than a handful of words to Yoongi in over a week, nerves still too raw. Last week, she skipped her lesson, not even bringing it up to the leopard hybrid, and spent much of that Friday out in the stable with Jimin taking care of the animals. That week, however, she ironically decided to face the music and resume with the lessons, an attempt to grasp a sense of normalcy between her and Yoongi.

Y/N paused before she left her bedroom, shooting her crumpled sheets a dirty look. Sleep still evaded her, and her dreams had been getting more and more vivid and taunting, the locked memory of her first meeting with Yoongi driving her insane even while unconscious. Growling, she left her room, taking a peek into Namjoon’s bedroom to find it empty, disappointment flooding through her. He must have been in his trailer, where he and Jeongguk had been hanging out recently like a pair of Ghostbusters.

She could hear a movie going on in the parlor, but she didn’t stop by to see what was on or who was watching, not wanting to drag her feet any longer. Y/N knew that Yoongi wasn’t there; he spent most of his time those days in the music room with the doors shut. Poor Taehyung couldn’t even use the record player all week.

Crawling up the stairs, once she reached the room at the end of the hall, she knocked on the closed doors. Of course, he knew that it was her, but there was still a chance that he wouldn’t open up. As the door opened, her heart throbbed at the sight of him– similarly tired looking, just like her. Yoongi stepped aside, letting her into the room, before promptly shutting the both of them into the silent room.

The room was a mess, sheet music strewn everywhere, a throw blanket tossed messily over the loveseat, several dirty mugs on the coffee table. She half-turned, too grief-stricken to face him fully, she gestured around the room.

“Have you been sleeping in here?” Y/N managed, picking a crumpled piece of sheet music off of the ground, instantly recognizing the writing on the paper to be in Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi ran a hand over his face, his clothing all wrinkled and pen ink covering his fingers. “Um, I guess as long as it’s comfortable…”

“What do you want?” Yoongi asked softly, Y/N flinching at the question like she was burned with a fire poker.

“I just wanted to ask… If we could have a lesson? If you still want to teach me? I understand if you don’t,” Y/N felt her throat grow sore from trying to keep down tears, feeling like a giant crybaby.

Yoongi grunted, trudging over to the piano, pushing sheet music off of the bench and sitting down.

“Come,” Yoongi patted the bench, avoiding her eyes, tail wrapping around his waist snugly.

Y/N’s legs moved on their own accord, perching on the edge of the bench as far away from him as she could accomplish, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by touching him. Scanning the sheet music in front of her, already able to read it pretty well thanks to his vigorous teaching style, she heard the notes in her head as her eyes roamed over the notes.

“Is this…?” Y/N timidly pointed to the paper, unable to look at him whatsoever. This was a terrible mistake.

“It’s your song,” Yoongi gruffly admitted, his voice coming out strained. “I can teach you.”

Nodding, she was surprised she was able to keep the waterworks at bay, Yoongi launching into his lesson patiently. Y/N was leagues better and playing than she was months ago, so Yoongi hardly had to correct her or fix her hand placements, but the air in the room was suffocating her. Being so close to him, so close yet emotionally miles apart, had the queasy feeling in her gut growing by the second.

She made it halfway through the song, but the more complicated section of the piece was starting to trip her up. Fumbling through the same measure four times in a row, she huffed in annoyance, considering throwing in the towel for the night.

“No, try again. Like this,” Yoongi snapped her out of her self-criticism, gently rearranging her fingers on the keys to form the correct chord, the contact shocking her so much that she yelped, her vision going black immediately.

“Give me your number,” the girl– Y/N– demanded, apparently trying to sound confident, but her alcohol-flushed cheeks were countering her desire to seem intimidating.

Yoongi chuckled, for what felt like the first time in years, watching the girl stick out her arm and using her free hand to dig around in her purse for something. With a triumphant grin, she produced a pen from her bag, shoving it in Yoongi’s palm.

“Give me your number, Yoongi,” Y/N repeated, waving her bare forearm in his face.

“Silly girl. Why don’t I just put it in your contacts?” Yoongi teased, though he was secretly delighted that she wanted to keep in touch with him. He prayed that you’d be the one to remember.

“My phone died,” Y/N pouted– oh, she didn’t know how irresistible she was. “Just write it on my arm, I’ll plug it in to my phone tomorrow, I swear.”

She didn’t know that promises, when it came to The Black Lodge, often disappeared into thin air. She didn’t know that there was a strong possibility that come morning, she’d forget she was even at a bar, that she met him. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from it, reaching out to hold her wrist steady, uncapping the pen with his teeth. Yoongi could tell she was holding her breath, her heart rate picking up as he copied his cell phone number onto her smooth flesh.

“What time is it? I have work in the morning…” Y/N looked regretful, like she couldn’t bear to leave the bar. It pulled at his heartstrings, embarrassingly enough.

“Midnight,” Yoongi checked his watch before looking back at her face, trying to memorize every inch of it. “You should probably get going. I’ll call you a cab.”

Yoongi let Y/N cling to his arm, a little unstable on her heels, walking her to the back entrance of the bar. He felt the ache of having to say goodbye to the first person who made him feel like a real person in years, but there was nothing he could do– it’s not like he could lock her away in his apartment upstairs just so he could have someone to come home to. Breathing in deeply, he knew that he’d miss her scent as soon as she’d get in the cab and drive away.

Leaning by the door, watching for the cab out of the window, Yoongi tried to appear nonchalant, but he was truthfully shaken. Y/N was talking about a concert that she wanted to go to with him the following week, an indie band he never heard of. If you remembered him the next day, there was a possibility he’d have actual plans with someone. Someone interested in getting to know him.

“Hey Yoongi?” Y/N brought him out of his reverie, frowning as he spotted her cab waiting outside.

“What’s that, silly girl?”

“Can you kiss me?” She asked quietly, Yoongi positive that only a hybrid could hear her with how low she spoke. “Please?”

Stunned, Yoongi swallowed thickly, forgetting all about the cabbie waiting outside and honking furiously. She looked shy, and judging by her scent, she was anxious. Stepping closer, Yoongi’s body moved on its own, his hands slightly shaking as they reached to cup her delicate jaw. Y/N sucked in a breath, gaze dropping to his mouth, before her pretty eyes fluttered shut. Stooping, Yoongi shut his own eyes, his lips finding purchase on hers, her sweet sigh being swallowed up by him willingly. She gripped his wrists, still cradling her face, her teeth nipping lightly at his lower lip. Y/N pulled away all too soon, looking dazed, Yoongi equally as breathless. She reached up, flicking the angel wing earring dangling from his ear, giggling.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, angel.”

With that, she disappeared into the night, and the call never came.

“Y/N? Y/N, sweetheart, are you okay? What happened?” Yoongi, his voice somehow far away but definitely panicked, drew her out of whatever vision had taken over her body. She could feel herself being held, propped up against a heaving chest, a trembling hand cupping her cheek. “Y/N, please baby, open your eyes!”

Wheezing, Y/N could feel consciousness coming back to her piece by piece, the crack in Yoongi’s voice devastating her. Peeling her eyes open, she was met with Yoongi staring back at her, mortification and fear all over his face, ears pressed so flat to his skull she almost couldn’t see them.

“What happened?” Y/N echoed Yoongi’s question back to him, her own voice scratchy. Yoongi, despite himself, pushed hair out of Y/N’s face, his whole body coiled with stress.

“I don’t know. You passed out for a few seconds, but you s-sounded like you were having a terrible dream,” Yoongi’s voice cracked again, still holding her close to his chest.

“I– it wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t a dream. I think,” Y/N spoke slowly, like her mouth was full of molasses. “I think it was a vision, like the ones my mom has.”

Y/N felt sapped of energy, entirely sagging into Yoongi’s embrace, forgetting all about how estranged they had been for weeks. When he put his hand over her’s, she got the vision.

“What did you see, sweetheart?” Yoongi seemed to calm down a bit, though still held onto her like she was going to dissolve into smoke.

“The bar, you and me. But from your perspective. Our kiss,” Y/N whispered, trying to replay the vision in her head over and over again, trying to remember how Yoongi’s lips felt on her.

“You– you remembered?” Yoongi exclaimed, color flooding his cheeks. “Wait, what do you mean, from my perspective?”

“Like I was seeing it from your eyes,” Y/N explained tiredly, slumping further into his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you the next day, angel.”

Yoongi went ramrod straight, a hiss coming from the back of his throat as he maneuvered Y/N upright by her upper arms so he could look into her eyes.

“You need to stop apologizing to me,” Yoongi breathed, his eyebrows pulling together, pained. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” Y/N’s voice broke, moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“How many times am I going to make you cry?” Yoongi used a thumb to brush away the tears under her eyes, his anguished expression becoming even more pronounced.

“I-I get that you don’t like me like that, Yoongi, b-but–”

“Y/N, I love you. I think I fell in love with you a year ago,” Yoongi confessed desperately, his other hand coming up to cup the side of her face. “As cheesy as that is. I love you, and it’s killing me.”

The world stopped, her heart stopped, and everything around her ceased to exist except for Yoongi. Tears drying up as if by command, Y/N searched for any sign of deception on his face or hidden in his body language, but came up with nothing.

“You love me, too?” Y/N whimpered, heart aching from something else now.

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes falling shut as he exhaled shakily. She twisted her fists into the fabric of his tee shirt, craving his warmth, savoring how close he was.

“So fucking much,” Yoongi confirmed, voice above a whisper. “I love you so fucking much, baby.”

“Yoongi…” Y/N breathed, heart about to beat out of her chest. “Love you…”

With a purr rounding out into a growl, Yoongi moved one of his hands to the small of Y/N’s waist, dragging her closer to him. Inches away, danger, but also tenderness, filled his hazel eyes. He was beautiful.

“Kiss me,” Yoongi’s barely audible request sent fireworks off in her gut, his eyes shutting again as he nudged his nose against hers. “Please.”

How could she possibly deny him, her Yoongi, her love, when he asked her so sweetly?

Pulse racing, Y/N released her hold on his shirt, tucking a long strand of jet black hair behind his ear, humming when he shuddered, placing her hand on the side of his neck, his own pulse thrumming as fast as hers was.

“Please, baby,” Yoongi repeated, the pet name making her stomach flip. Without any more hesitation, Y/N leaned up, perfectly slotting her lips against Yoongi’s, gentle, slow, and impossibly sweet.

His lips, full and soft, were yielding against hers, letting her take the lead, his hands remaining still– one holding her face, the other on her waist. Locking lips for several moments, innocent and so full of love, Y/N drew away, winded and over the moon. Yoongi stayed close, eyes lidded and breathing labored, before he spoke again.

“More. Kiss me more.”

Yoongi pulled her into his lap, his tail curling around her waist, one arm around her back and the other traveling down to the outside of her thigh. Y/N, growing shy, gave him a simple peck, face on fire. She never imagined that this was how her night was going to go, but she couldn’t even remember when they weren’t like this before. Not satisfied with the measly peck she planted on the corner of his mouth, Yoongi chased after her, gripping her jaw tightly and descending his lips on her once more, Y/N gasping in surprise. Yoongi took that opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, swallowing the startled moan she made hungrily, the tip of his tongue flicking against the roof of her mouth.

Melting in his grip, Y/N kissed him back with renewed vigor, a hand moving to tangle in his silky hair, pleased that he took over the kiss, lungs screaming for air as Yoongi sucked on her lower lip with a purr. As if sensing that she needed to catch her breath, Yoongi released her lip with a pop, his mouth peppering kisses along her sensitive jaw voraciously, hand on her thigh rubbing up and down. Sighing blissfully, Y/N’s head tilted back when his lips trailed to her neck, mouth wet and kisses searing her flesh.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” Yoongi groaned into her neck, lightly sucking on a spot behind her ear that had her mewling. “Let me mark you…”

Words failing her, Y/N nodded desperately, eager to feel his teeth sink into her flesh. Chuckling darkly, Yoongi started muttering sweet nothings, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat. The hand on her thigh moved again, this time to grab a loose hold of the base of her neck, Y/N’s eyes rolling back into her skull with the weight of his palm in such a vulnerable spot.

“Hold onto me, my love,” Yoongi murmured in her ear, Y/N obediently tightening her grip around Yoongi’s waist, whining at the sensation of his teeth tracing the vein fluttering with her erratic pulse making her see stars behind her eyelids.

With one more open-mouthed kiss to her throat, Yoongi bit down, Y/N crying out his name, never feeling more alive than in that moment, in his arms, teeth in her neck. Tail protectively curling even tighter around her waist, Yoongi’s purrs were growing so loud, he sounded more predatory than ever. She didn’t know if it was the fact that he loved her, that he was kissing her, or the the side effects of scenting, but Y/N swore her soul ascended as he removed his teeth from the mark, a sensual swipe of his tongue sweeping over the wound to cauterize it.

Growing entirely limp in his arms, Y/N barely had the energy to kiss him back when his lips returned to hers, whimpering at the tangy taste of her own blood on his tongue. And then, all at once, his lips were gone.

“I don’t want to get carried away, sweetheart,” Yoongi’s voice was strained, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead with a hum.

“What if I do?” Y/N countered dopily, her head full of cotton and Yoongi. Yoongi barked out a hearty laugh, unable to help himself by pecking her lips once more, smoothing her hair into place. She probably looked like she got attacked.

“Not tonight, love,” Yoongi helped her stand, snickering at her whining protests. “Let’s take it slow, hmm? You need to get some rest, proper rest. So do I.”

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N admitted begrudgingly, though she wanted nothing more than Yoongi kissing her senseless all night, her body was sagging with exhaustion. “Your edginess has been keeping me up for nights on end.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Yoongi apologized sincerely, his ears flattening against his skull again. Before he opened up the soundproofed door, he stopped, lifting her hand to his lips to brush a kiss over her knuckles. “I love you.”

Realizing, until they figured out how to tell the others, they’d have to keep their affections to themselves, Y/N pouted even further. Now that she had a taste of him, she was insatiable.

“I love you, too, angel.”

Silently, Yoongi walked Y/N to her bedroom, stealing one last kiss after making sure the hallway was clear, Y/N floating on air as she sunk onto her bed, Yoongi shutting the door and leaving her to relive everything that happened mentally.

On her nightstand, where she had left it, her phone chimed, making her flinch and swear. Blindly reaching for it, still a little hazy from the scenting and makeout session, she unlocked her phone, only to feel dread wash over her as she read the text that she received.

Hoseok 🦊: What the hell is going on with you and Yoongi?

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @gooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @lilmxchis @7evensin @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @sometingreallycool @cathy-1997 @cerulean1riz

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #hybrid au #bts ot7 x y/n #bts hybrid au #bts fic #bts au #bts hybrid x reader #bts hybrid fanfic #namjoon fanfic #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic

567 notes · View notes

redrose10 · 4 months

Text

Chapter 4

Here it is! I was nervous to put this out here so I hope it lives up. Yoongi realizes some things in this one but it might be a little too late. Chapter 5 should be out within a few days!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word Count: 3,404

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Waking up with a long stretch you were more than surprised to wake up in your hotel bed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep on the beach but you have no memory at all of walking back to the room. You figured that hotel security probably found you and thought you were just a drunk so they brought you back to the room after finding your room key on you.

Looking over to the empty space next to you memories from the night before came flooding back to you. The delicious dinner you had and the joyous company of the waiter Hoseok. The sight of Yoongi and the brunette that was all over him. How he lied and called you his sister instead of his wife. How you felt lonely and betrayed and you just wanted to wish everything of the past couple months away.

Suddenly as if your brain finally caught up you realized you were sleeping in the same bed that Yoongi and that woman most likely hooked up in and that caused your skin to crawl. You jumped out of bed like something bit you tripping over your suitcase in the process and landing on the ground with a loud thud. You’d never been so happy for a vacation to end before. Getting in the shower you scrubbed your skin so hard you’re pretty sure you did damage but you wanted to scrub until you no longer felt dirty. After packing up your few belongings you walked out to the living room of your suite. Yoongi was already sitting at the dining table. You scanned his body for any new marks but nothing was visible even with the v neck tshirt he was wearing that caused you to internally scold yourself for staring at him a little too long. When he finally noticed you standing there he pointed to the seat across from him,

“It’s a chai tea. Jimin said you don’t really like coffee so I didn’t know what else to get.“

Sitting down at the table you noticed that the selection of food was all of your favorites. Chocolate chip muffins, a bacon croissant sandwich, crispy potato hash, strawberries, pineapple, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Yoongi cleared his throat, “Jimin also told me some of your favorite foods so I had them bring what they could.” Unable to hide the shy smile nodded before taking a bite.

“Umm do you know when or how I got back to the room last night? I don’t remember walking back so I wanted to go thank whomever brought me here?”, you awkwardly chuckled trying to break the silence but also piece together last night. He took another sip of his coffee, “Yeah actually I carried you back to the room and put you in the bed.” His statement caused you to choke on the strawberry you had just popped in your mouth, “I’m sorry you did what?”

He repeated, “I saw you laying on the beach so I went down and brought you back and put you in the bed.” You looked at him with wide eyes, words escaping you. You ate another strawberry trying to stuff your mouth before saying something you’d regret.

“Why is your skin so red? It looks like you washed yourself with sandpaper?”, he asked looking you over.

“Oh when I woke up in the bed I felt kind of gross, you know since you hooked up with some woman in there, and I’m sure the sheets weren’t changed afterwards. Guess I got a little carried away.”

Yoongi nodded before taking another sip of coffee, “I didn’t hook up with her.”

You laughed, “Come on Yoongi. I saw the two of you. If you didn’t hook up then what did you do with her in here? I know you guys didn’t play a game unless it included clothes coming off.”

“I told her to leave.”

“What?”

“I told her to leave.”

“I know I heard you the first time but why?”

He returned back to his bagel without a word and you rolled your eyes, “Okay fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t really care at this point anyways.”

Yoongi let out a long deep sigh, “After a while I realized that you didn’t come in the room with us. I didn’t know where you’d be able to go at that time of the night and I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be wandering around by yourself so I told the woman that we should continue somewhere else and that I’d book us another room so you could come back to the room. So when I went to grab my wallet on the table next to the balcony I saw you laying out on the beach. It looked like you were sleeping and I didn’t want you to stay out there like that because it was late and it’s dangerous and you might get eaten by a crab or something so I told her that we were done and that she needed to leave. I walked down to the beach to bring you back. I was gonna wake you up but you looked really comfy so I just carried you here and put you in the bed and went to sleep myself.”

You were dumbfounded at his story. Your face was full of disbelief. Taking a bite of your muffin you nodded, “Oh well uh thank you for bringing me back.”

He nodded.

“Also if there was a crab out there big enough to eat me I think we’d have some major problems.”

He rolled his eyes before he walked off to the bathroom trying to hide the blush creeping down his neck. You continued to eat but confusion plagued your mind. You just can’t figure him out. One minute he’s hooking up with some random woman on your honeymoon and the next he’s going out of his way for you and trying to be kind, almost seeming kind of protective. You really weren’t sure what to make of him but you wished he would just make up his mind because you’re starting to get whiplash from the back and forth.

The flight back home was uneventful. The two of you sat in comfortable silence other than the occasional statement. Yoongi sipped on a whiskey and you even decided to get wild and sip on some champagne.

The car pulled up to an extravagant looking building confusing you as to where you were and then it hit you. You had to move into Yoongi’s place and of course he lived in the most luxurious building in the whole country. You thought spending a week in the same hotel room was awkward so you had no clue how living together was going to go but part of you hoped that maybe the two of you can finally work on some things in your relationship.

Once in Yoongi’s penthouse he gave you a very brief tour. The home was incredible. Jimins apartment was nice but didn’t compare to the penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. All the furniture appears to be high end and high quality. You’re pretty sure your entire apartment back home could’ve fit in the kitchen alone.

Thankfully Jimin was able help you coordinate with the movers to have your stuff shipped over. You didn’t have to bring much since Yoongi already had a fully furnished home. You just brought some clothes and a few sentimental items.

“My office is the third door on the right. If I work from home I’ll be in there but please keep interruptions to a minimum and only if necessary. My bedroom is the second door on the left. Don’t go in there. Your room is right here.”, he said opening the door. You were thoroughly confused. “Wait we have separate bedrooms?” Yoongi sighed irritation evident again, “I have the space so I figured why should we have to share a room. This way we can stay out of each others way.”

When you saw his eyebrow move up you knew what he meant by that. You sat on the edge of the bed staring down at the floor. Sure it was a nice room and bigger than any room you’d ever had before with it even having a private bathroom. But that didn’t stop the loneliness and hurt that you felt. You were more like a roommate or even worse, a nuisance that that he just wanted to shove away so he didn’t have to look at you.

That thought made you chuckle though, “Good thing you don’t have any staircases in this place or I’d be stuck sleeping under there I guess.”

Yoongi looked at you with eyebrows furrowed.

“What you’ve never seen Harry Potter before?”

“Do I seem like the kind of guy that watches Harry Potter?”

“I guess not but you sure have a lot in common with a certain he who shall not be named.”

“What are talking about?”

“Nothing never mind.”

Yoongi noticed your change in demeanor. Stuffing this hands into his pockets he spoke, “You’re welcome to paint or decorate the room however you want.” You met him with continued silence. He continued, “I have to go into the office to catch up on things. I ordered some groceries to be delivered later. Jimin told me about you liking to have a mug of warm milk before bed and I was out so that’ll be here later along with some other things for you.” You nodded in acknowledgment whispering a thank you before he turned and shut the door behind him.

Due to your small amount of belongings you were unpacked in no time. Luckily you just put your last piece of clothing away when the doorbell rang signaling the grocery order arrived. Taking the bags from the delivery driver and thanking him profusely you set to work putting everything away while also familiarizing yourself with the kitchen. As you pulled out the groceries you chuckled a little more each time. There was the milk just like Yoongi had promised. There was also a large package of chocolate chip muffins, multiple containers of strawberries, your favorite ramen, some cookies, a box of popcorn, and cookie dough ice cream. All of your favorites. You made a mental note to thank Jimin and maybe also send a thank you to Yoongi depending on how he was acting later.

Over the next few weeks things between Yoongi and yourself didn’t improve much. The two of you barely spoke other than the occasional question or statement and that was if you even saw each other at all. You spent most of your time in your bedroom while he claimed to be at the office or other work functions. The one time you did venture out and sat in the living room your movie was interrupted when Yoongi came strolling in with a woman in each arm heading towards his bedroom after giving you a quick nod like you were just one of his friends who he was trying to brag to about his “score”. Suddenly not feeling so well you turned off the tv and got in bed. It didn’t take long to hear moans and a headboard banging against the wall from down the hallway so you grabbed your headphones hoping to block out the sound and fall asleep as quickly as you could.

The next morning Yoongi and his new friends were long gone by the time you got up. You set out on checking off some things on your to do list that you created. One thing you wanted to work on was learning Korean. You knew a few phrases thanks to Jimin but now that you were living in Korea you thought it would be a good idea to get to know the language in a proficient way so you started calling around to different companies trying to find someone to give you lessons.

That’s how a few weeks later you were sitting at your kitchen table with the teacher the company you chose had sent you. Kim Namjoon was a handsome man no doubt about it. He was tall with broad shoulders. The cutest dimples you’d ever seen. His glasses framed his face perfectly and they looked great with his caramel colored hair. His cologne the complete opposite of Yoongi’s cinnamon and vanilla scent. Namjoon smelled light and citrusy. It was clean and refreshing and somehow managed to take the stress away from you. The way he spoke was so elegant. It was nice being able to have a full conversation with someone. You loved Jimin but you guys mostly just goofed off and went on rants to each other and trying to have a conversation with Yoongi was like pulling teeth. You hadn’t realized just how lonely you were before Namjoon came into your life. This was only your fifth session and you found yourself really excited that you were getting to spend some time with him again.

“I don’t know Y/N. How will baking cookies help you learn a language?”, he sighed trying mask his playfulness. You giggled, “Well I could learn all the names for the ingredients and I can try to give YOU the instructions in Korean while you make the cookies.” He sat there and pondered before you continued, “Come on Joonie. Back home I’m famous for my double chocolate chip cookies and I know you can’t say no to chocolate.” Finally he ran a hand through his hair, “Alright but you have to tell me each step in Korean.” Excitedly you jumped up running around to collect the ingredients.

Watching Namjoon try to make cookies was one of the funniest things you’ve ever witnessed. He told you he had no business being in the kitchen but you didn’t think it was this bad. He was currently trying to mix in the flour to the chocolate batter and you couldn’t stop laughing as you watched half the flour fall onto the counter which covered him in a puff of white smoke.

“Here Namjoon let me help you.”, you said placing your hand on his much larger one so you could guide his movements to slowly mix in the flour. You looked up to see him smiling down at you dimples on full display. His lips looked soft and warm. The thought of kissing him definitely crossed your mind. Yoongi hadn’t kissed you since your wedding day and the most physical he’s got with you was carrying you to the room from the beach and to be honest you wouldn’t let him touch you anyways without seeing some test results first to make sure he didn’t pick up anything along the way. The ring on your finger caught your eye before you could act on your thoughts. Yoongi may be an insufferable adulterer but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. Two wrongs don’t make a right in your book but damn if Namjoon wasn’t making you think about doing all the wrongs regardless of the rights.

You were so focused on trying to explain to Namjoon how to add the chocolate chips in Korean that neither of you noticed Yoongi walk in. He watched you gently grasp Namjoon’s hand while smiling up at him. You looked so cute in your daisy printed apron. Namjoon said something that made you burst into a fit of laughter. Yoongi felt a pain in his chest. He had never heard you laugh like that before. You looked so happy with Namjoon. He knew that was all his fault so he didn’t understand where this jealous feeling was coming from and why his brain and heart were betraying him.

He watched you reach up to wipe away some of the chocolate that had gotten onto Namjoon’s cheek. The two of you definitely sharing a moment and Yoongi felt his heart rate increase. He quickly pushed that feeling aside as he had no right. He had slept with multiple women since you got married and he was the one that told you that you were welcome to see other people so if you took Namjoon to your bedroom right now he had nothing to say.

He thought back to that night he carried you back from the beach. You looked so adorable with your lips slightly parted, your skin a beautiful hue of pink thanks to the sun, the way you wrapped your arms around his neck nuzzling your face into his shoulder. At that moment on the beach he realized how harsh he had been and that you didn’t deserve any of it. It’s not your fault that at 19 years old another woman ripped his heart out and stomped on it and then lit it on fire and he decided he’d never allow himself to go through that ever again instead choosing to be the breaker of hearts. The night after he carried you to the hotel while laying in the bed next to you he made a decision that he’d change if not for him then at least for you. Obviously, he failed once he returned to Seoul and he was introduced to the two female interns that he brought back home while you sat innocently watching a movie waiting for him. He knew he was a coward. He was too scared of getting his heart broken again that he decided to continuously break yours and now it looks like you found someone to help mend it and who was he to take that away from you. Deciding he saw enough he rushed off to his bedroom before you could find him standing there.

Once the cookies were baked and cooled you packaged most of them up before handing the box to Namjoon.

“Here take these. There’s no way I’m going to eat them all.”

He smiled but shook his head, “What about Yoongi? I’m sure he’d love to have some of these. I don’t want to take them all.”

You chuckled, “Yoongi never eats anything I cook. He’s probably worried I’ll try and poison him or something so I could get out of this marriage.”

Namjoon laughed at your joke and then confirmed again he was okay to take all the cookies before thanking you and heading out the door. You did a quick clean up of the kitchen before heating up a mug of warm milk and grabbing the two cookies you had saved and headed off to your room for the evening after shutting off the light.

Later that night you woke up hearing a loud bang come from the kitchen. It sounded just like a cabinet closing so you assumed it was Yoongi making himself something to eat. Not being concerned you turned over and went right back to sleep.

Yoongi however, had checked every cabinet and drawer looking for the cookies you made. He always snuck little tastes of your food in the middle of the night when you weren’t there even though you always offered him food each time. Part of him being too stubborn and not wanting to give you the satisfaction of eating the food you cooked and another part of him just felt like he didn’t deserve your food and was too embarrassed to eat it in front of you. He had heard all about your famous cookies from Jimin and he was really looking forward to trying one when he saw you and Namjoon baking them. Giving up he turned to shut off the light and that’s when a little baggy on the counter caught his eye. Inside a perfect looking double chocolate chip cookie with a stick note attached to the bag saying ‘Yoongi’. He took one bite and was in heaven. He thought back to you and Namjoon looking so happy together. Like a real couple. How you smiled and gently touched him. How Namjoon made you laugh. Yoongi finished off the cookie but he was no longer enthralled by the chocolate goodness. Suddenly the cookie tasted like a mix of heaven with a pinch of jealousy and a dash of regret.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #yoongi x y/n #yoongi #arranged marriage au #ceo au #yoongi au #cinnamon&vanilla #namjoon #bts fic #bts x reader

349 notes · View notes

auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Something to Fight For (SERIES) Part 20

Something to Fight For Chapter 20 Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) Tommy x Maria, Bill x Frank Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT. Loves of cheese. Extra cheese with a side of cheese. Love and more love. Happy ending. All the happy shit.

masterlist here

a/n: Ya'll this feels so strange. Even though the epilogue is on its way sometime soon, writing this chapter felt very final. Its a bittersweet feeling. After this story I won't have all of us together again. It's been a journey for us all, hasn't it? You've felt like real friends, caring for this story I invented. Sorta surreal, huh? And I TOLD YA'LL THE ANGST LED TO A HAPPY ENDING. I really hope that if you've never left a review, you decide to do so on this chapter. I also hope if you have left reviews before, you do so now. Detailed ones, ones where you tell me your favorite part cuz It was so beautiful to write, but it was also hard. I feel like I'm sayin' goodbye to a part of me. Also, SMUT WARNING. Sorry, I am not a smut writing professional. It's just sorta the icing there on Bill's cupcake. It doesn't come naturally to me, but these two deserved i t don't you think? I love ya'll. See you in the epilogue.

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

Joel is finishing up watering the front lawn when he hears a car coasting down his street. He doesn't pay it any mind, turning off the spigot and heading towards his front door.

He's thinking about you. How warm you felt curled against him this morning. How your puffy eyes and gentle smile makes his heart sing even now. He wipes his damp hands on the back of his jeans.

You must be breaking things off with Paul, right? Joel saw the ring box. He saw your bare finger.

And your eyes, your eyes said so much. Even as he was leaving he saw the dueling emotions there. The quiet anxiety from your mom's incoming call mingling with the open desire to have Joel stay. He felt it coming off of you in waves.

He would have. He would do anything you wanted.

He'd help you build that sanctuary with his own bare hands. He'd move you box by box into his home tomorrow if you gave the word. He'd hold you every night and make love to you every morning if that's what you said you needed.

He'd even figure out how to travel back and forth from home to Chicago and Austin for the next six months without it disrupting Sarah's life too much, if it's not a permanent move on your end. A combination of odd weekend visits and daily phone calls seems manageable. He'd even learn how to text properly. He doesn't want you back in Chicago, but he'd do it. He will continue to fight for you.

He needs to tell you this, he decides. He needs to spell it out. The word love was sputtered last night, without thought. But he needs to say it with clear eyes and your body against his. He needs you to know exactly what he's offering. He'll call to see if you’re free before the wedding to talk.

This can't wait.

He pulls the front door open, his hand reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He hopes you answer.

"Joel!"

He spins in the door frame, his eyes widening. It's you. You're here, pulling yourself from the driver’s side of a car he doesn't recognize.

You're wearing some green dress that has far too many bows but Joel doesn't give a shit, all he can think is it's you it’s you and your here for him. You have a blazing look in your eyes, sharp and focused all on him as you march to his front door.

He feels a pull at his abdomen, a delicious sensation because there's no indecision in you anymore. It's there written in your face: you want Joel. You're here for him, to claim him.

Because he's wanted.

Joel feels a smile break over his face, his teeth a slab of white against the tan of his face that has you laughing and sobbing in equal measure. He steps away from the door because you're running to him the rest of the way, your face breaking into a smile as you launch yourself into Joel's arms.

"Honey-"

He doesn't get another word out because you've launched yourself into his chest, circling your arms around his neck. He grunts as your body collides with his and grips you in surprise. He holds fast to you against him, staring down at your tear-streaked face.

And then you're gripping his face, pulling it to meet yours. Kissing him with a ferocity that he's not expecting but is oh so responsive to. There on his doorstep you kiss him, your mouth hot and needy as Joel kisses you back, pulling you against him before panting as brings you inside the house, almost carrying you over the threshold.

You're frantic, needing to touch and kiss and make up for lost time. To show him through your passion just how much you've missed him, how much he means to you. He's still got you in his strong arms, his hands skating down your back. Your hands are coming to his collar, desperate for him to press you against the wall as he did not so long ago at your place.

Whoa slow down.

You need to talk. To get things right. You break apart from Joel slowly, your mouth reddened. Joel smiles so widely you're concerned he might pull a face muscle.

"Too much?"

You shake your head as he begins lowering your feet to the floor.

"Not enough."

Then the silence descends as he stares at you. Joel has this uncanny ability to remain so still he almost looks static. His fingers drag the strand of hair caught on your damp lips, but his finger stays at your cheek, frozen. The moment feels heavy, thick with tension and you second guess everything.

Maybe now is a bad time. This seems like one of those things a person does when they look and feel perfect. And you don't. You're sweaty and dressed ridiculously and you're pretty sure your hair still has grass in it.

Joel seems to sense your indecision and responds by reaching out his broad hand and taking yours. You immediately relax, the warmth of his grip guiding you to the kitchen.

You look up his arm, your eyes sliding to his strong profile and his full mouth as he leads you. He feels your eyes on him and he turns, smiling sweetly.

I love this man.

His hand presses you gently into the seat at the kitchen table, urging you to relax into it. You look up at him and hold in a sigh when he traces a forefinger along your cheek again.

"I'll be back in a sec."

He leaves the room and for a moment you sit there in the kitchen of so many memories you feel so incandescently happy that it brings tears to your lash line. Coloring with Sarah. Decorating cupcakes. Joel's dinner, the dropped salad. Laughter, tears, so much is just in this single room of the house.

Joel reappears seconds after you wipe the tears away. He sits across from you, his broad shoulders flexing as he places something on the table.

He clears his throat, finally dragging his eyes to meet yours and now suddenly he looks nervous. This makes your anxiety flood your senses, starting to creep up your spine.

Then you realize the time. How Joel is dressed. How you’re dressed for fucks sake. The wedding is only a few hours away and Sarah is probably still getting ready. Why did you think now was the best time? This is something you should have done when you could take your time, not rush. You’d just been so excited to see him, to tell him.

"Shit I'm sorry. You're probably still getting Sarah ready," you say wincing and preparing to stand. "We can talk about this later, tomorrow or -"

Joel raises his hand in your direction, just his palm between you, stilling your ascent. His eyes are troubled by your reaction.

"Stop. Honey, just sit there a moment, please."

Honey.

How is it that words or nicknames that sound so trite coming from other people sound so perfect coming from Joel? You nod, planting yourself back into the chair and taking a deep breath.

"Tommy took Sarah about an hour ago. Maria wanted her to get her hair done with the bridesmaids, a little something special for being the flower girl."

You smile. That sounds like Maria.

"I was just getting ready here, but I got time." Joel's eyes tell you he's sincere, that he always has time for you. And then suddenly he's so earnest. "I'm real glad you're here."

"Me too."

"Be lyin' if I said I haven't been thinking about you since I left."

"Same here."

"Yeah?"

You nod and Joel's face is like the sun breaking through clouds. But in life rain always does fall, and as if just remembering this, Joel's face tenses. That familiar tic in his jaw is back at he gazes at you.

"Paul?"

"Gone. Done. Over."

You spare him the details. You have a feeling if Joel knew even a hint of what went on today he would personally drive over to Paul's house and finish what Bill started. And you don't want that. Right now you just want this happy, hopeful joyful warmth.

Joel swallows and you can see he needs the clarity. To know that he's not imagining this. "This a permanent thing or-"

“I called off the engagement," you explain plainly. "I couldn't marry him. I couldn't be with him. Ever. Not when I feel how I do about you."

Joel tries to hide the smile, but it blooms all over his face all the same. His mouth curls, his eyes squint and you have to physically restrain yourself from leaping across the table and kissing him senseless.

You think he's going to ask you to explain in more detail. To tell him exactly what you mean about how you feel about him. But his eyes are on the pink paper at his elbow. Joel taps it with a forefinger before sliding it towards you, his eyes on your face. As it approaches you see it's an envelope.

"Open it up," Joel tells you softly, even though you can see that this envelope has been opened and closed a multitude of times, creased and folded.

You open it with shaking hands, unsure of what to expect inside. He wrote you a letter? When? Large crooked letters greet you.

"Joel I wunt u to bee my Vallentane. I love Sarah. I love you. I wint to be yr wife. LOVE - "

You read your name aloud, your eyes flicking to his. "What is this?"

"You don't recognize it?" Joel taps the card with a forefinger. A familiar Snoopy sticker greets you and suddenly your face breaks into a confused smile.

The Valentine that Sarah had made all those months ago, the one she'd insisted you personally give to her father.

“Sarah…”

"When I asked her about it the next morning she said that you had written it."

You laugh out loud in disbelief at the shrewdness of Sarah. Joel chuckles along with you.

"She loves you. She thinks you hang the moon," Joel drawls.

"The feeling is mutual," you say with a soft smile.

"You're wanted in this house, in this family," Joel says motioning to the letter. "You make us better."

You weren't expecting this. You actually can't speak.

Joel is thinking, clearly displayed in the lines between his brows, the way his dark eyes scan in front of him as if he's trying to recall something very specific. After a moment you sober, closing the card because you need to say it before you lose your nerve. You need to tell him everything.

"Joel -"

"I'm in love with you," Joel tells you bluntly, beating you to it. "Have been for a while. Thought it was kinda obvious but I'm realizing you're a woman that may need things said out loud a couple times before she believes them. So just to be sure there's no misunderstanding, I'm tellin' you plainly as I can: I love you. I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

The sound of Joel telling you he loves you may just be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Better than any song. Even the one he sang to you. He reaches across the table to take your hands in his.

It makes your eyes water and a smile to break out over your features. It also creates a knot in your throat, making it impossible to speak. But that might be for the best because Joel is still going.

"And I don't just love you because of how you love my daughter, though I'd be lying if I said that didn't have some part in it," Joel admits. "I just don't remember the last time I wanted someone to share my day with or wake up next to as much as I do with you. I go to sleep thinkin' about you. I drive by a shitty Italian restaurant and I think about you. I see a fucking dog at job site I'm working and I think about you. Something happens to me and it's you I wanna talk to about it."

You want to believe these words, you want to believe them so badly but then just as your heart starts to glow, something holds you back. Something that always seems to grip those threads of joy only to slice through them. An ugly, twisting thing that makes you wince and curl into yourself when you remember what Paul said. When you think about your phone call with your father earlier. How can you be so happy when you’ve just been so cruel?

Selfish.

Joel's eyes scan your face, immediately picking up on your agitation. He drops your hands and your eyes slide closed because suddenly you feel so weak. Your head drops forward and all the good feeling, the sweet burst of joy is gone, leaving you drained.

"Honey."

His voice is so tender, so gentle. He's there at your side within seconds, kneeling beside your chair. He's gripping you loosely by the waist, the other hand cupping your face.

"I can tell right now that you're having trouble hearing this because somewhere along the way you were taught you didn't deserve to be loved," Joel says, his eyes searching your face. "And you're wantin’ to tell me you're a horrible, selfish person. And that I should just forget about you."

He knows. He knows my worst self. He knows everything.

You feel so vulnerable but his eyes are blazing so brightly right now you can't look away.

"But I'm never gonna do that," Joel says, his thumb grazing along your cheekbone. "'Cuz I think you're the best thing to happen to me since Sarah was born. And if I have to spend my whole life convincing you of that, I will. I will fight every fucking day because what we have is worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for."

If falling in love had a specific moment it would be this one. Joel Miller, all muscles and wet eyes staring up at you as he kneels at your side promising you a love and life you could only dream of.

"So that's all I wanted to say," Joel finishes with eyes so luminous you could cry. "I love you. Be with me. Just... just let me fucking love you."

His last sentence makes your heart seize. You're so overcome you can't speak right away. Instead you slide off the chair to join him on the floor, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and embracing him, head balanced on his shoulder.

Joel reciprocates immediately, pulling you against him tightly. There you sit with arms around each other as Joel rocks you. This moment, this deep serenity works its way through your tight muscles and increment by increment you go boneless against him.

I love him.

With a tremble you pull back. It's still too overwhelming to look at him directly so you just balance your forehead against his, the two of you breathing deeply. You breathe slowly, you matching Joel’s steady tempo.

I love him so much.

And then finally you tilt back from him, needing to see the warmth of his dark brown eyes. He's there, present, his eyes fixed on yours.

"I want a cat."

Joel nods without thinking before his face contorts into surprise and then confusion.

"Wait, what?"

"A kitten, actually," you decide. "An orange one. Sarah was saying she wants a kitten anyway. "

A grin has broken over Joel's face. It makes him look younger, his entire disposition vibrant. It matches yours. His hands are coming to cup each of your cheeks.

"Anything you want," Joel breathes. "Anything."

You smile, no, you beam up at him. You can tell him. You can. You can trust Joel to hold your secrets and not hate you. You can trust Joel with your love because it doesn’t come with receipts or price tags or debts to be owed. Your love for him will be cherished, not a ransom so you can be plucked apart piece by piece.

"I came here because I needed to tell you in person that I'm not going to Chicago," you say with a tensing inhale. "I spoke to my dad today."

Joel's thumb is stroking your cheek and for the first time since you've entered into his home, he looks scared. His dark eyes are suddenly pensive and you can see the way the wheels are turning. You’re confused by this reaction.

"Don't do this for me," he murmurs. "I can't be the reason. Even if I want it more than anything. You'd resent me if you did."

"I didn't," you promise him. "I did it for me. I did it because I want to be happy. I don’t want that life back in Chicago. And I did it because I can't go another day without you, Joel."

Hope blooms there in the dark brown earth of his eyes. It grows beautiful and brilliant but under glass. It's too good to be true; he's so eager, so desperate but past experience has humbled him.

"Waking up in your arms this morning was one of the best feelings in the entire world," you explain with open honesty. "I want that every morning. I want to have coffee with you and go to the park with Sarah. I want to read her to bed every night and then crawl in next to you. I wanna make pancakes on Sundays and go to trivia nights with you and Maria and Tommy. I want a life with you."

Joel's heart is rapid and staccato the more you spill forth because what you're saying sounds dangerously close to what Joel desires. Is it possible?

"I'm absolutely crazy about you, Miller," you confess without hesitation now, wanting to take the tentative insecurity from his gaze. "I'm done pretending I don't want you. I'm tired of not holding you. I'm tired of being away from you and Sarah. I want a family with you, I want a future. I want it all but I only want it with you. I-I love you Joel."

The smile is broad on his handsome face, bringing out the dimple that makes your heart hiccup.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He's got a forefinger tilting your chin so you face up to him.

"No runnin'?"

"Only to you."

That does something to Joel. Like a snap to his spine. Only to him. Because he's yours and when your lips press against his it's like every wall that exists comes tumbling down, shattering spectacularly.

You’re his.

It's here, its happening. He's so grateful, so overcome he can't hold it in.

It's only when you feel damp warmth against your cheek that your eyes fly open. You see another tear slip down Joel's cheek, his eyes still closed as he kisses you tenderly and you feel something within you burst.

You didn't expect to be crying but here you are, sniffling with hot tears slipping your face. Joel is all glassy eyed trying to wipe your tears from your cheeks as you do the same for him, both your thumbs gliding over each other's cheekbones.

"What a pair," Joel says with a sniffle.

You both give big watery laughs at this, giggling like you had only a day ago as you walked down the aisle. His thumb is lingering along your lower lip when the laughter slowly ebbs.

Then his face is tilting towards you and you don't have to turn away. Because there is no Paul, no Tess. Because Joel is taking something for himself and so are you.

Mine.

Your lips join once more, your eyes falling shut as he brings you back into his arms, sighing against you. He rocks you slowly in his arms, moving his mouth to your temple and murmuring sweet nothings, promises, loving verse.

Slowly you tilt your head back, your heavy lidded gaze on his. Your eyes trail over his mouth, then back to see him watching you intently. His dark eyes flicker in understanding. His mouth is on yours once more for a scorching kiss and then Joel is standing, holding a wide hand to you.

You take it without hesitation, rising to your feet and walking hand in hand to the bedroom. You smile softly at each other as he gently pushes the door open and as he does all you can think is that you're finally here with him in his bedroom properly.

He looks nervously around, as if he’s expecting everything to fall to pieces.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That I wish I’d cleaned the fucking room.”

You see the bedroom through his eyes now and hold in a chuckle. The scattered clothes on the ground, the belts slung over the treadmill in the far left of the room, the bed haphazardly made. The empty water glasses on the nightstand, the CD’s scattered atop the dresser.

“I can work with this,” you assure him, giggling nervously as he leads you to the bed. He assures you with relief that the sheets are clean before you both sit at the edge of his bed. His hand is on your knee, thumb tracing small circles on the soft inner, leading to your thigh.

You watch this hypnotized, breathing unsteadily when his hand begins to drift upwards, under your skirt. He says your name once, seeing the uncertainty in your features. When you don’t reply he says it again, and now you glance up at him. His brows raise, a silent question. What’s wrong?

"I'm scared," you whisper, your mind suddenly going over everything that could go wrong with this relationship.

What if you break up? What if Joel turns? What if you run again? It feels too good, too perfect already and time has taught you not to trust the calm times. Time has taught you that calm times come before tidal waves. That calm times are a harbinger of greater carnage.

"Me too." Joel kisses the corner of your mouth. “But I got you, baby.”

You nod, still pensive, even though the pull below your navel is debilitating at this point. Joel urges your gaze to his, seeing the lowering of your lids and the gentle shuddering of you. You can see him there, thick and waiting in his jeans.

“We could wait until tonight,” Joel offers, grazing your arm with his knuckles. “Or tomorrow. Hell, I’ll wait as long as you need. I just want you here is al-”

No. You don’t want to wait. You need Joel in a way you’ve never needed anyone.

“I can’t wait,” you inform him before the sentence leaves his mouth. You’re on your knees on the bed, your body pressed against his as your mouth tilts towards him.

“Well alright then,” Joel chuckles, his hands going to either side of your neck, his thumbs resting on the architecture of your jaw. You melt into his kiss, your hands gripping his shirt by the front.

Joel shifts back against the headboard, bringing you along with him to straddle his thighs. He kisses you languidly, slowing your frenetic motions. He can feel your movements, quick and sharp like a hummingbirds as you kiss him, tongue sliding between the seam of his soft lips. He pulls back gently, amused.

“We got time, baby,” he breaths against your trembling mouth. “Don’t have to rush anything.”

For some reason that hits you directly below the navel. The knowledge that Joel wants to take his time with you. No rushing, just the lazy pursuit of mutual pleasure. It’s so opposite to what you know of sex.

He's tender, his movements slow, his touches light. But that's not what you want right now. You want to feel it, more heavy tactile reality that this is happening, your body with his. You're straddling him, licking into his mouth as he holds your thighs, his mouth moving over yours as he groans.

I want to take care of him.

Joel has spent so much of your time together taking care of you – doctor’s appointments, kennels, that night of the Christmas party . . . Joel is always looking out for others and you want to take care of him for once. It’s not expected or forced upon you, it’s got you slick between the thighs just thinking about it.

“Take my dress off,” you whisper. Joel’s hands come to the hem of your dress with zero hesitation and he peels the unflattering dress from you, lifting it up over your arms stretched high over your head. It’s tossed gently to the other side of the room, making a soft flutter as it descends. You sit astride Joel’s lap in nothing but your lacy green underwear that you’d bought specifically for the wedding.

No bra, you’d decided. The dress fit better without it. Seeing Joel’s eyes darken you’re so fucking glad you decided on that.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes, mouth coming to circle your left nipple without pause. You moan into his mouth, feeling as his hands span your middle back, pushing you into his greedy mouth. You feel him grinding against your core, his jeans rasping against the gusset of your panties.

“Clothes off, Miller.”

He grins up at you, shimmying out of his jeans, kicking them down his legs as you bracket above him. You take your time pulling the shirt over his head, marvelling at how he looks as he disrobes. His skin is gold, his body a mixture of strength of softness. His hair tousled his mouth full and parted. He looks delicious.

You see his eyes snap back to your bare chest, getting ready to claim another straining nub between his teeth when you pull back, smiling. He tilts his head curiously as you begin backing up, sliding your body down his.

He’s breathing shallowly, quickly as your cheek brushes past his boxers, grazing his length there. He gives a sharp grunt, watching as you pull down his boxers, releasing his cock with a spring. You tug them off completely, tossing the boxers over your shoulder with a flourish before nestling yourself between his legs and admiring the rosy head of his cock.

Like you said. Joel Miller looks delicious.

You trail a finger along his length, fascinated by the rigid yet silken texture. It twitches at the contact. You smirk up at him from between his legs, your pupils blown wide at the view.

Joel is so fucking sexy. Laid back, legs tilted to give you space to lay between them, his cock is there waiting for your mouth and this time it’s happening. No distractions, no delays. You have been aching to get your mouth on him. You dip your head forward, eyes closed as your mouth brushes the head. You hear Joel give a low gasp, thighs twitching.

"You don't have to do this," Joel moans, even as you give kitten licks along the tip. You smile as his fingers brush your cheek, sweet and affectionate.

Your mouth moves over the head, flicking with your tongue and then taking it into the wet warmth of your mouth. You begin to suck, delicately at first, just enough to hear the first shuddering groan from Joel.

Joel Miller is a giver. Joel Miller doesn't know what it is to take from the people he loves, to have something for himself, a secret treasure of only his. But you'll show him and starting now because you have so much you want to give to him. If you could carve out your heart and carry on living you would do it, present it to him to safeguard.

"You don't have-"

You pull your mouth off of him slowly, watching him quiver. His eyes are open and he's looking down the length of his body to see you.

"Joel, I love you but please shut the fuck up and let me do this," you say fake crossly, wet lower lip grazing his tip. "Just let me make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

Joel's eyes are glossy. "Say it again,"

"Shut the fuck up?"

His head jerks so slightly you're not sure you caught it. "No. The other thing."

You smile slyly before your flattened tongue slides from base to tip, your eyes on him the entire time. "Let me make you feel good?"

"The- the other-"Joel makes a strangled groaning noise and you move over the head again, kissing gently as it twitches before taking in his thickness deep into your warm mouth once more.

As you lay there between his legs in the bed you're struck by the realization that you feel so relaxed. The bed is warm and Joel is warm and when you hear his groans you feel so impossibly good.

You shut your eyes and just feel and taste and enjoy Joel. You've never wanted to do this for a man so much. Never wanted to take your time and explore them like this. With Joel every piece of him feels sacred, every part of him worthy of your intimate attention and every time he lets out a little moan or grunt you feel yourself grow giddy. You love making him feel good.

Joel is squirming, his grunts hitting you right at your core. He can't think now, his entire body poised. Your mouth feels so fucking good, he needs more of it.

Joel never thought that a blowjob could feel loving, but this does. He lays there watching you; your eyes shut so softly, mouth moving achingly slow around him. It feels tender, it's you wanting to take care of him, sweet and soft and oh fuck ... Joel feels his breath come out in a shudder. You feel so fucking good around him. Too good.

Your hands are palm flat on his thighs, bracing there as you take more of him into your mouth, sighing happily and hollowing your cheeks. Before long you can hear the sound of him whimpering. Soft, gravely whimpers that make you feel heady because you're making Joel fucking Miller whimper.

"Don't wanna finish in your mouth, baby," he rumbles, pressing your cheek gently. "Not tonight."

You understand, pulling gently off of him. Without pausing you crawl the length of him, coming to rest in his arms beside him. He pulls you flush against his chest, your hips meeting. He’s breathing in soft pants and you can feel him hard against your thigh your own lower half aching with need for him.

He stares at you for a long time, a curiously long time considering what you'd just been in the middle of doing. His eyes are warm and open as he takes in how your face looks flushed and needy. Yet it's you who says it.

"You're beautiful."

Joel immediately feels himself flush at your compliment. A guy being beautiful? He's never been called beautiful, and it makes him feel shy. You notice the shy way he looks away, tips of his ears pinking.

"No," you insist, gripping his face in your hands. "Don't. I love looking at your face. Your beautiful, perfect face."

He smiles, all teeth and dimple which sets your heart racing. He props his head up with one hand, the other going to the back of your neck. He holds you there, one thumb stroking the side of your neck as he stares at you.

As you lay there, face tilted into Joel’s pillow you smile, inhaling gently. The scent of his shampoo and just him. It makes you feel calm, but it also makes you pull a face, cringing as you recall something from months ago. Joel can see it immediately in your face, his own features turning concerned.

"What?"

“Nothing.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on you even with yours closed. You give an embarrassed smile. "Promise not to laugh?"

"No."

You bark out a surprised laugh, drawing an amused chuckle from Joel. You love making him smile like that, in that unguarded, playful way.

"Never mind then," you say with a smug smirk, rolling away from him.

"C'mon," he needles you, nose brushing against your neck to tickle, drawing you back to face him again. "Don't be like that. No secrets."

He says it smiling, but you hear that underline in the last sentence. No secrets. No, you don't want any between you either.

“It’s just a bit embarrassing.”

“I don’t mind,” Joel insists. “I’ll trade you an embarrassing story for yours.”

“You go first.”

“Once when I was eight I got caught stealing baseball cards from one of my friends at school. My mom got called down to the school and I had to apologize in front of everyone.” Joel looks so sheepish recalling this memory you want to laugh.

“Joel that’s barely embarrassing,” you say rolling your eyes.

“Ah ah, deals a deal,” Joel insists, gently tilting your chin so you face him. You sigh.

"Fine. It’s stupid. It's just. . . Back before, when you and I weren't together. . ." You trail off, this story not feeling funny anymore. If anything it makes you sad.

"What?" Joel looks nervous. "Tell me."

"I snuck in here one time when I was babysitting,” you say in a rush, eyes closed. “And I uh, touched myself on your bed."

Joel looks like he's been electrocuted. He physically jerks. "What?"

You feel yourself going beet red all the way to your roots. Why did this seen like a good story too share? It's humiliating. You pull the sheets over your head, your voice coming out muffled.

"I told you it was embarrassing!"

"Jesus Christ," Joel growls. "You were touching yourself in my bed?"

You're silent under the sheets, your breathing unsteady. You'd expected him to laugh at you or even pity you. Neither is happening. His voice drops an octave.

"Did you come?"

Your toes curl at the husky tinge in his voice. You're powerless when you feel him dragging the sheets down your face, exposing your face to him. His eyes are like furnaces, desire licking the edges.

"Did you?"

"Mhmm," you manage.

"Show me," he rasps and it's like you're back in the kitchen, hands down your pants as Joel begs you to touch yourself for him. You feel him peeling off your panties under the sheets, rolling your hips so that he can remove them entirely.

"Please baby," Joel whispers, kissing your shoulder. Then he pauses to kiss you gently, so gently, reverently on the mouth, eyes searching yours.

"But only if you want."

Joel doesn't want what you won't give him freely. He has no desire to take and take like Paul and James. And because of this you want to give him everything.

And so you nod, flushing when Joel removes the blankets from your body leaving your naked body tingling and exposed to the cool air.

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat. He takes your hand gently in his, raising it to his mouth. You think he means to kiss you knuckles when his pillowy lips circle your fore and middle finger. Not breaking eye contact he sucks them into his wet, warm mouth, trailing his tongue over your digits, coating them in his spit.

Satisfied, Joel drags them from his mouth, urging the damp digits along the seam of your throbbing pussy and gently pushing inside. You whimper at the contact, your eyes stuck on his as you begin to work your fingers on either side of your clit. You don't look away from Joel as you do. You simply flush under his heated gaze, your toes curling as you moan at the sensation of not only touching yourself, but by being watched by Joel as you do. He's thick and aching as he watches you but he makes no attempt to touch himself.

He rests his palm over yours loosely. He's not guiding, not moving, he wants to feel you touching yourself, wants to learn what turns you on.

"I can't believe you're real," he whispers as you begin to rock against your hand. "So fucking perfect."

You're not perfect. Your body has flaws, many that you could point out to him. But when Joel looks at you, dark eyes melting along your curves you know he believes what he says.

He removes his hand from over top yours, wanting to just watch you. He memorizes the way your lower lip quivers, the way your brows saddle as you stroke yourself. He’s never been so turned on in his life.

"What were you thinking about when you did it?" Joel asks you huskily.

"You," you murmur, eyes lazily closed as your fingers work between your thighs. You can feel his eyes on you, raking over every part of your body.

"Yeah?" You can hear the smile in his voice. You both already knew the answer, but his ego likes hearing it out loud.

"Fucking you," you groan, fingers working hurriedly over the pearl of your clit. "Your mouth, fuck your mouth is so sexy Joel."

Joel's (very sexy) mouth moves over your nipple, kissing there. His eyes are on you as he does.

"And your tongue," you whisper, arching further into his mouth.

His tongue laves at your straining nub, his teeth coming to graze and then gently nibble. That sends electric currents running through your entire body, your legs jerking out without thought or control.

Then he pulls back, his eyes roaming your flushed and naked body. Your eyes crack open to see him; mouth parted and fixed on your face as you squirm. You whimper his name, the taste of it sweet. He drops his head forward to kiss you, a tender thing.

"C'mon baby," Joel urges against your temple. "Show me how you made yourself come on my sheets."

You cannot form words. When Joel talks like that, filthy and low and growled it hits directly between your legs. You can offer only a symphony of grunts and mewls and whimpers and you feel your entire body tighten and then blissfully release.

"Oh that's it," Joel murmurs lazily as he watches you come. "Oh fuck. ... Yeah baby... Just like that... All for me."

Always for you, you want to tell him. But you're too far gone, the bliss overwhelming you. And finally you come, coating your fingers as your head is thrown back into the pillow.

Before you can say anything, Joel is between your legs, gently prying them apart. You make a surprised noise as he throws your legs over his broad shoulders, opening you to him. You watch as his fingers part you.

"Fuck if I'd known," Joel murmurs, licking a stripe up your pussy. He doesn't finish the thought, simply begins to kiss your cunt with wild, open mouthed kisses that have you arching back into the bed.

"Joel I -"

"C'mon baby," he groans, sucking on your clit languidly. "My mouth and my tongue remember? Be good and come on 'em now."

Jesus Christ. You’re already there. Already so close when he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming in delight as your thighs tremble around his head. And its only seconds when you feel yourself cresting. He feels it too, making encouraging humming noises as his hands come to hold you in place, spanning over your lower abdomen.

And then you feel your entire body release against his tongue, punching out groans as he laps between your legs, murmuring how good you taste, how much he’s missed your pussy, how he can’t believe how lucky he is.

You murmur his name, arms outstretched in his direction. He crawls to you, up the length of your naked body pressing glossy o’s on your exposed flesh as he ascends. Then his face gets near and you can see his eyes are unfocused. You sigh softly as his mouth finds yours.

He kisses you long and slow, his tongue dancing with yours. It's not long before you feel his free hand sliding down from your neck, over your straining nipple, along your lower belly and then coming to cup your sex softly.

You let out a small choked noise when his fingers slide down the seam, parting you. Brushing against your aching core.

"Want you inside me," you urge, impatiently, his mouth still moving over yours. Joel chuckles, a warm, loving sound that feels like a cracking fireplace.

"You nice and wet for me?" he asks even though as his fingers slowly curl around your swollen bud, he can tell you're absolutely soaked. He sinks the first finger in, finding absolutely no resistance. You're so ready, so open and you take him to the knuckle without hesitation, moaning.

He watches the emotions flicker across your face as he adds a second finger, slowly working them in and then out. Sees the shuttering of your eyes as you lean into his hand whimpering. Your exquisite, your here, your his.

"All mine," he rumbles against your jaw.

It feels so good. His wide fingers hit those perfect spots that you're fingers can never seem to reach. You crack your eyes open to see Joel staring at you, his eyes so dominated by his pupil they look black. He moans softly when you're eyes meet his. He's taking his time, so fucking slowly.

"Please Joel," you whisper breathlessly. Your eyes are heavy with need, matching his. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He nods and the bed creaks as he rolls gently over top of you. Another deep kiss is pressed to your mouth as his hips find yours. He notches himself at your entrance and instinctively your thighs go to bracket his hips.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Your entire body is trembling, and this is only soothed when you realize that Joel's is as well. His entire body has broken into small, shudders of aching need. Your eyes drift open and his heart swells as you grin up at him.

You need him. No more waiting. You lean forward, kissing him gently. He responds in kind, one hand against your lower back pulling you tighter to him. You think that you could spend your entire life kissing Joel and it wouldn't be nearly enough.

He's braced on his forearms above you, one wide hand coming to brush the hair from your face.

"Wanted this for so long," he tells you in a murmur and you know he doesn't just mean the sex. Your eyes are glassy as you nod up at him.

"Me too."

He moves slowly into you, your shifting hips leading him into your waiting core. You hiss slightly at the intrusion. He's bigger than Paul or James.

"Easy," Joel whispers against your temple. "Don't have to rush it."

You nod as his mouth comes to meet yours, his body moving languidly against yours. His left hand finds yours gripping the sheets. He slips his palm over yours, lacing your fingers in his and holding you there. You feel your entire body melt into his.

"Fuck, honey ... So good," Joel groans as he continues to sheaths himself in you, his head falling forward against your shoulder on the pillow. You whimper, needy and desperate for more. He feels so good. So right. "Those sounds."

He licks into your mouth, groaning as your hands come to rest under his arms, gripping his broad back as you urge him deeper and deeper.

“You’re so deep,” you groan, body jerking against his. The bed creaks gently, rhythmically as he fucks you. No, not fucking – he makes love to you. As if he thinks your body is as sacred as you think his is.

"Say the other thing," Joel whispers against your neck. "Please."

You feel his hips surge forward, filling both your body and heart. You smile, tilting your cheek so he looks at you. You won't say this next part until your gazes are locked.

"I love you," you say, rolling your hips up against him, your body in communion with his. You see his eyebrows saddle, his eyes watery.

"Again, please," he groans, his eyes never moving from your face. He didn't even need to ask because the words are already there, offered to him as they will always be offered to him.

"I love you, Joel."

His mouth is on yours, and his hips plunge deeper into you and now he's rambling between deep kisses, speaking against your mouth.

"I love you... so long... F-fuck, feel so… Wanna make you feel good, fucking l-love you so much."

His hips are snapping, his resolve unravelling as you cry out. He feels so good, so perfect between your thighs. You wonder if it is always supposed to feel this good, this easy. Desire licks at your belly, your hand coming to cup his cheek so he's looking at you. Something about his eyes, seeing them vacillate between dreamy and sharp makes you lose control.

"You gonna come again baby?" Joel murmurs to himself, his body coiled. Joel is, as he was not so long ago that time when you rode his thigh, amazed at how quickly you do. How perfectly in synch your bodies are.

His voice is tinged with lust obviously, but also a deep affection that borders on awe. It makes your pulse spike and your body begins to spasm because you’re so fucking close, the pleasure building to an almost uncomfortable level.

"J-joel-"

"S'okay," Joel tells you with a kiss. "I've got you. I've got you, baby, just let go."

These words, these gentle urging words are what send you cresting and you come with a sharp moan. Your body moves in time with his and you don't realize that you're crying until Joel's hips slow and he's peering into your face.

"Do you want to stop? Are you okay?"

"What?! Don't stop!" You gasp, urging his hips with a small tap of your hand. It feels so good, you’re already on the precipice again.

He seems to understand because his movements restart in earnest and his mouth is kissing your tears away. You’re hiccup-crying but only because it feels so perfect, the bliss so intense and you're just so thankful for him. For existing. For loving you in a way you'd never thought possible. And you’re crying because you get to be the one to love Joel.

And soon you do come again; your cries are loud, jagged and needy as he thrusts against you over and over. You chant his name, kissing his mouth, arms around his shoulder for purchase as he seeks to bury himself further inside you.

"I love you," you cry, your hips rolling against his, wanting to make him feel as good as you do. "Love you so fucking much, Joel."

He spills into you, his groans sharp in your ear as he groans out your name, long and low. It seems to go on forever, filling you so deeply. His body is still wrapped around you as his hips finally stutter to a stop.

You stay like that, tangled against one another until Joel presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and gently eases himself from between your slick thighs. You both sigh as he rolls to your side, pulling you into his arms as if he’s terrified to let you go.

You want to go to sleep, snuggled like this in the warmth of his arms but you’re far too aware of the time.

"We should shower," you say with a pant.

"Together?" Joel murmurs, raising a brow over the eye peering in your direction from the pillow.

"Christ, Miller," you say with a breathy laugh. "If we do that we're never making it to the wedding."

And while there isn't time for a communal shower there is time for a soft "I love you". It’s whispered against one anothers' lips, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, before you leave hand in hand for the wedding a short while later.

There will always be time for that.

///

Sarah has always been a grateful child. She's always been quick with her thank you's, never found it difficult to share her toys and loves seeing those she cares for happy.

So when her fifth birthday wish of a mama had come true so perfectly in the form of you, she thought it only fair to use her sixth birthday wish for something more philanthropic.

That day with her father at her side, whispering to make a wish she had done so with thought of Joel and he alone.

I wish my daddy had a wife.

And now as she stands looking up from her basket of real flower petals to see you and her daddy walking hand in hand towards her, gazing at each other and then her.

The two of you are trying so hard not to be too obvious and failing spectacularly. Daddy is smiling so widely Sarah actually smiles just looking at him. He's staring at you as the two of you walk, making your way to the ranch.

You're all blushing, laughing at something Daddy said. You both look so beautiful with you in your dress and him in his suit.

The two of you both look over and see Sarah at the same time and it's hard to say who looks more excited, you or daddy.

"Hey bug!" "Hi babygirl!"

The two of you laugh at your mingled pet names as you reach her. You're the first to drop to your knees and Sarah doesn't miss the way her father stares at the back of your head with a sweet little smile.

Sarah feels her tiny heart hammering as you look to her with arms outstretched and she runs into them, her tiny arms wrapping so tightly around your neck you give a grunt.

Sarah looks over your shoulder at her Daddy. She's confused when she sees his eyes are wet. But his smile is right, so she doesn't think much of it. She pulls back and is confused that your eyes are wet too.

But maybe it's just allergies? Sarah heard one of the other bridesmaids talking about how an outdoor wedding was hell on hers at the salon earlier today.

"Daddy can we have pancakes tomorrow morning?"

"'Course, babygirl."

"And you'll be there right?" Sarah says, looking to you imploring. You seem momentarily taken aback, glancing up at Joel suddenly anxious.

"Yeah, she'll be there," Joel assures you both with a smile. "She's actually gonna be over a lot more often."

Sarah looks at your face breaking into a smile again. Sarah grins, wanting to scatter all the flower petals in the world right now. But then you sober, taking both of her little hands in yours.

"If that's okay with you, Sarah," you say seriously, your eyes searching her face. "I don't want you feeling uncomfortable."

Sarah can tell there's no guile there. If Sarah told you no, you'd respect it. She can feel that.

"S'okay with me," Sarah says. "I like you there."

"Thanks bug," you say and press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. Like a mom would. Sarah feels warmth blooming through her body.

"Maybe you could have a sleepover at our house." Sarah looks over at her Daddy. "Daddy can she sleep over?"

You give Daddy a funny look when he barks out a laugh.

"Yep," Daddy says trying not to grin too wide. "She can sleepover whenever she wants."

You stand, taking his hand again, smirking and Sarah wants to say more but then the mean wedding lady is there.

But Sarah doesn't care, because she's looking at Daddy kissing your head and all she can think is that she's so happy that her birthday wish came true.

///

"You're late," Abby snaps as she approaches the three of you. "And are those grass stains?"

She looks over your dress with distaste, holding your bouquet and Sarah's flower girl basket.

"Probably," you say giving her a level gaze. "Had to kick the shit out of someone before I got here."

You wince only when you realize Sarah might have heard that. But she looks distracted by the basket.

Joel gives you a surprised look that matches Abby's. Abby thrusts the bouquet into your arms and murmurs an order of going to the barn as she hands Sarah the basket.

You hold the bouquet at waist level, turning to Joel with an expectant look. He offers his arm and you take it. Sarah goes dashing excitedly ahead and you follow as Joel gives you a curious look.

"Do I wanna know?"

"I'll tell you about it sometime," you with a wink. "Maybe."

You never will though, because if Joel knew half of what Paul did there would be a fine dusting of Paul scattered all over his new apartment in Leander. Your eyes scan for Maria and Tommy.

"Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?" Joel murmurs, distracting you.

"Bullshit," you bite back with a smile. "I look like a sad piece of lettuce."

"Well, I always liked eatin' my vegetables," Joel whispers back.

"Joel!"

You clap a hand over your mouth, holding in the bubble of laughter. You refuse to walk down this aisle collapsing into laughter again. You turn your head into his shoulder as you walk, hiding your laughter as Joel chuckles.

He feels his heart swelling as he looks down at you tucked up against him, face pink.

"I love you so fucking much," Joel whispers against the crown of your head. You look up, smiling bright.

"Ditto, Miller."

///

When the two of you walk down the aisle, you try not to be too obvious. This is Maria and Tommy's day. You make sure you don't look at each other; you don't graze hips as you walk, you don’t smirk. You simply link arms, walking at the right pace for the band.

Tommy is at the end of the aisle with a new haircut looking at you and Joel with an inscrutable look.

You've done well, you think. But then Joel gives everything away when you drop linked arms. Because instead of just walking in separate directions you feel his wide hand skate down your back, hitting your lower back, fingers curling before pulling slowly away, as if he can't stand not touching you.

Just that contact is enough to have goosebumps rising all over your body. You duck your head, unable to meet Tommy's gaze as you walk past him.

You stand across from one another on either side of the aisle, forcing yourself not to stare at one another.

But you feel Joel's eyes on you, and you relent, dragging your gaze from the sea of faces and over to him. From here you can see just how good Joel looks. Dark navy suit, tailored, crisp white shirt underneath. He looks so sexy you actually have to force yourself to look away.

You feel eyes on you and you glance over to see Frank smiling up at you in the crowd. You feel your face pink as he shoots you a waggle of his eyebrows. Bill isn't watching you, his eyes are on Joel.

Maybe Frank isn't the only one to think your boyfriend is cute.

Your boyfriend. Joel is your boyfriend.

It seems like everything and yet not enough.

Then the sound of the band starts up again and you both quickly look up to see Sarah with a serious look on her face. With amusement you watch as she delicately takes one petal from the basket, crouches and places it on the aisle runner atop the grass. She does this with the next petal. . . And the next one. . . Moving an inch at a time.

You see Joel giving a smirk accompanied by a wince as the crowd titters. At this rate you're all going to be here for hours. Inspired you call out to her over the music.

"Make it colorful, bug."

She seems to understand, her face breaking into a wide smile. She nods, thrusting her hand into the basket and tossing handfuls of colorful petals into the air, moving quickly down the aisle.

The crowd cheers as you and Joel laugh, watching her dance down the aisle tossing the flower remnants in every direction. Finally she reaches the end of the aisle, looking up to you expectantly.

"Was I good?"

"The best.”

Maria enters on her father's arm. You can see Sheila crying in the front row, blowing her nose as you hold in a giggle at this.

Maria is ethereal. The dress made for her. Ethereal isn't even enough to describe how angelic she looks in the off-white dress that clings to her hips and dances down over her knees. The sun is setting, casting everyone in the golden hue of the day. It feels magical.

She double winks at you as she nears the end of the aisle and you return it. A code from your club days.

Two winks: you good?

Two winks back: I'm good.

She smiles and nods, handing you her large brides bouquet before turning to face Tommy who is staring at her in quite the same way Joel stares at you.

The Minister waits for the band to conclude the last strains of the song before he begins.

"Dearly beloved..."

///

You and Joel have done very well at keeping your hands to yourselves for the duration of the wedding. It was a bit difficult during wedding photos, but there were so many orders of where to stand and how to pose that you were both distracted.

It's easy during dinner because you're seated on either side of the couple at the head table. You're squished between Maria and an annoying cousin of hers that won't stop talking about her manicure.

Joel is next to Tommy with Sarah next to him, her tiny feet kicking the air as she eats her pasta.

The speeches are lovely with lots of laughter, lots of wine and lots of good food. The music is amazing as well, upbeat and fun and it gets the crowd dancing. When you look at the band you feel a little thrill go through you when you remember Joel singing to you.

You watch him now, Sarah's hands in his as they dance together. She's giggling and saying something that makes Joel laugh. In a motion as old as dance itself, Sarah's tiny feet are atop her father's and he shuffles them around the dance floor.

Bill and Frank are dancing, well, Bill is shuffling while Frank goes full out, arms in the air as he sings along with the vocalist.

Maria and Tommy are very good dancers, shockingly so. You love seeing the affection they have for one another, even when they're laughing and doing silly dances.

It's the slow dance that brings a halt to your plans of restraint. You sit at your table, falling more in love with Joel every second.

You watch him stride to your table, popping Sarah into her chair with the coloring book and crayons Maria made sure were there for the kids attending the wedding (she thinks of everything!) she happily goes back to the Disney princess she was coloring.

Then he's come to your chair and holds his large hand out to you.

"May I have this dance?"

As if you could refuse.

You beam up at him, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. You admire the breath of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist. And he's all yours. Because you are never letting Joel Miller go.

Ever.

The song is slow and sweet. You glance over to see Maria and Tommy kissing gently before her head nestles in the crook of his neck.

You long to do the same with Joel, but you don't want to draw the extra attention.

Instead you try and remain stoic as Joel's hand spans your lower back. One of your hands goes to curl over Joel's shoulder, your free hands in clasped in one anothers.

You dance like this a while, trying so hard not to make it obvious that you're desperately in love with the man that holds you to him, swaying you gently to the music. You hear him gently humming the tune of the song under his breath.

Joel is trying his hardest not to stare at you, but it's impossible. He's wished for you so long that it still seems surreal that your here in his arms and your staying.* it makes his stomach twist pleasantly.

He looks down at you, mouth hitched in a boyish grin.

"So, you still like me?"

"Nah," you reply, your eyes dancing. "Pretty sure I'm in love with you."

"That's a relief," Joel murmurs, aching to kiss you. "Because I was thinking I'd like to marry you sometime pretty soon."

You feel your heart jump at this. Your entire body breaking out into a delicious shiver as Joel stares down at you.

"That's convenient," you reply just as smoothly. "Because I was thinking I'd really like to be your wife someday soon."

Joel grins widely, so handsome and so sexy that you feel overcome. The song ends and with reluctance you pull back. You can't go several more hours without feeling him against you. You tilt forward, dropping your voice.

"Outside. Five minutes."

Joel nods, pretending to part from you. You walk back from the dance floor on your way to grab a drink when you spot Bill making his way back from the drink station. You call him over.

"Thank you for earlier," you tell him, heart swelling. "Both you and Frank. I don't know what I would have done."

"Was nothing," Bill says shyly.

"It was everything," you correct gently. "But I think you know that."

Bill's shrugging. "Saw you arrived with the contractor."

Now it's your turn to give a shy shrug. "Yeah."

"You told him," Bill observes. There's no emotion in his voice, good or bad. You suppose because then he'd feel responsible one way or the other. But his eyes give everything away.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I'm really glad I did."

The corner of Bill's mouth curls ever so slightly under his beard.

"Good."

You feel so much affection for Bill in this moment. Watching him stride over your lawn to protect you this morning. The advice he's given you. Baking cupcakes for Sarah. The way he's just there when you need him. Glowering or sullen yes, but he's there.

"Bill.... I just... My dad was never... I just wanna," you're stumbling over the words, trying to find them. To thank him for being the father you always wanted without even realizing. To thank him for his steady, calming presence even when it didn't come naturally to him.

And in a move you'll swear was a dream, Bill pulls you with one arm into his barrel chest. He holds you there tightly only a moment and releases you.

"You know we're always here if you need."

And then he's gone before you can say more, striding away from you and back to Frank who is deep in conversation with Sarah.

You're in a daze when you feel a hand glide over the small of your back. You watch as Joel moves past you and out into the warm night.

He glances back just before ducking around the corner, just long enough to give you a sultry wink that hits you so hard you actually stumble walking. Jesus, your entire body is thrumming. You need to get Joel back into bed as soon as possible. Maybe you won't ever leave it. There are worst fates.

You wait a few moments, trying to be discreet before you slip out from the loud party and outside. The cicadas reach you, the warm breeze dancing along your face as you step out the barn doors.

"Hey pretty lady," a deep voice sounds from your left. "You single by any chance?"

You turn, giggling when you see Joel leaning against the outer wall of the barn. His jacket is off, his white button down sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks delicious.

"Nah I've got this big, strong boyfriend," you tease as you slink towards him. "And you better be careful ‘cuz he's got a real bad temper. He punched a guy in a McDonald's once."

Joel holds in a sharp laugh, reaching for you. "Yeah but he had it coming."

"Couldn't agree more," you nod, allowing Joel to pull you into his arms.

You go boneless against him as he kisses you, his hands on either side of your face. He pauses only when he feels you tense up, his large eyes scanning your face.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm scared at how good this feels," you confess to him without hesitation. "I've lived a whole life of waiting for the other shoe to drop. This feels too good. I'm too happy."

"You don't have anything to worry about," Joel promises you. "No shoe droppin' with the Millers. We take care of each other."

"I'm not a Miller."

"Just a formality," Joel assures you between kisses.

You grin through a watercolor blur and wrap your arms around his neck.

"I love you," you say against his jaw, just because you can say it. You get to say this to Joel anytime you want.

"Ditto."

Joel wedges a finger under your chin and tilts your face to him. He presses his mouth over yours once more. You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck. He's so wonderful.

His mouth finds yours again and again and your hips find his and before long he has you pressed against the barn with one of your thighs wrapped around his waist. His tongue is slipping slowly against yours as you whimper.

You can't help it; kissing Joel is like a drug and you always want more. Your hands are at his collar, his hands at your lower back pressing you into him.

"You gonna sleepover tonight?" Joel laughs, kissing you down your neck. The sleepover comment from earlier still amusing him.

"If you'll have me."

"Anytime," Joel promises, his body flush with yours against the side of the barn. "Need you in my bed as much as possible. Wanna take you there right now."

If Joel has it his way you'll never leave his bed again.

His kisses grow more insistent and he feels your body shuddering against his. Could you make it to his truck? Just for fifteen minutes?

"Save it for after the cake cutting, would ya?"

The two of you break apart sheepishly at the sound of Tommy's voice. You glance behind you to see Tommy and Maria smirking at you as they come through the back of the barn.

Joel feels Tommy's eyes on him, twinkling and merry. Joel's mouth twists into an embarrassed smirk.

"Shut the fuck up."

Tommy moves over to his brother, somehow seeming to know that you and Maria need a quick chat.

Maria's eyes are wet, and she's trying so hard not to grin too wide, for fear of creasing her very heavy wedding makeup.

You think back to all the times she tried to warn you off Paul, all the times she tried to push you to Joel and you feel your face crumple. You wrap your oldest friend in your arms.

"Maria, I'm so-"

"Don't you dare apologize," Maria tells you firmly, pulling you back so she can peer into your face, wiping the tears that have escaped down your cheek. "Not for this. Never."

"Okay," you nod, knowing that this is what your friendship is. No recriminations, no long-standing grudges. Just two friends who want to see the best for one another.

"I just wanted you to be happy," she says, eyes welling. "That's all I ever want for you."

"I am," you whisper, voice breaking. "I'm so fucking happy."

Sarah dashes over to you, wanting to show you and her aunt all the flowers from the tables she's collected into her flower girl basket. You hoist her onto your hip so you can all marvel at the colorful arrangements inside.

"Next time listen to me when I tell you something," Maria says with faux irritation over the basket. "I'm never wrong."

"Except when you tried to tell me I looked good in leather pants," you reason.

"I'll give you that one," Maria relents and you both dissolve into laughter. Despite having no idea what's so funny, Sarah joins in, one arm around your neck as she giggles.

At the sound the Miller men glance over at you with stars in their eyes. Tommy places a hand on his older brother's shoulder, shaking his head as if you're the silliest bunch he's ever laid eyes on.

"Well, that's our future, Joel."

"Yeah," Joel says, grinning at you as you catch his eye beaming.

"Yeah it is."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #happily ever after #happy ending #slice of life #joel miller fic #happy Joel Miller #wedding #Sarah Miller #joel the last of us

388 notes · View notes

strongheartneteyam · 8 months

Text

Realize where you belong.

Chapter 9

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

CW: wholesome fluff, a good amount of angst, lo'ak being nosy lol jk he's genuinely trying to look after neteyam, descriptions of masturbation, TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of depressive symptoms, reader meeting neteyam in her avatar body, neteyam and reader vent to each other about their struggles, sensitive themes, hurt/comfort, cuddling, sexual tension, kissing, sexual content, mentions of sexual fluids, neteyam slightly begging to mate with reader, foreplay (i don't know if it counts but it definitely is teasing in a sexual way). Tell me if I missed something ♡

Hello, my cute little readers! I got a little better in terms of my fibro flare up and have been feeling a little better emotionally/mentally these days, so, I was able to write again. There's a slight chance that some paragraphs are a bit confusing. I didn't fully proofread it. I'm sorry, my babies, I'm really tired right now, really achy, still. And I'm extremely hungry and there's some delicious homemade orange cake in front of me waiting to be eaten 😍 I've already eaten two pieces of it and drank a full cup of coffee with milk but I NEED to eat more bc I'm still starving and I love cake and coffee 🤤 idk about other countries but it's a tradition that we have here in Brazil to eat cake and drink coffee, together 🤍 anyways I gotta shut up now lol Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'd love to read your lovely comments down below 👉🏻👈🏻 I love y'all SO MUUUCH 😘

Slightly proofread.

Chapter 8

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

No way out of your quicksand

But I can breathe underneath

Take your love, cover me

Pull me down, pull me down

You are wonderful

You've taken all of my heart

It was so worth the fall

Don't let go

Quicksand (Bridgit Mendler)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Today you felt anxious but excited. It was your first day off in a week. You were gonna Dreamwalk in your Avatar today. But you were not gonna be on a solo mission this time. Neteyam would be by your side. You two had planned to meet each other next to the river you always loved to play in. You had always loved running water.

Having Neteyam around felt like a breath of fresh air to you since you never truly felt at home amidst other human beings and, after so many years, it started to feel like a joke to you to insist on trying to fit into a society that seemed to not even want you there, in the first place. Most people behaved towards you like you were weird in some way. Neteyam never made you feel that way. You did not know if it was in view of the fact that he was na'vi or if it was just because he was in love with you.

You had always preferred to live among plants, insects, songs, books, animals… on your own little world, since you were a little girl. Everybody used to call you a daydreamer, saying you had your head on the clouds. When you were a child, you did not let that get under your skin. That's the beauty of childhood wonder, it has a lot of wisdom in it that we seem to forget, once we start growing up. Your little self never cared about those "demonstrations of care and concern" (that were nothing but condescending criticism and you never understood why people tried to conceal that fact if it was so obvious) because you knew you were not crazy or completely oblivious to reality like they used to say. Your fun and whimsical inner world was what felt like home to you, not the everyday mundane routine, the protocols that seemed ridiculously stupid to you, the shallow conversations and gossip… the over-all human society. It fucking sucked, if you were going to be totally honest.

It's not that you hated your own kind. No. It's just that you hated the way they built their empires, throughout history, the tainted legacy the ancestors left for the ones to come in the future - like a dying Planet, for example -, because of their own stupidity and recklessness.

You knew you were not harming anyone - yourself included - despite always engaging in daydreaming, all alone, with your earbuds on or just staring at a beautiful landscape and your grip on reality was still in check. Your grip on reality was actually so tight, your fingers would get hurt and start to bleed sometimes, because reality is a double bladed sword. It keeps you safe and stable, it is needed for you to not go bonkers, but it also cuts you deep with its sharp edges.

༊⁀➷

Neteyam prepared to go out today to meet you during the day for the first time after the both of you became mates. It was just like Eywa had blessed him as he was able to finish all his duties to the clan and his training a little earlier than the usual today. Or maybe the Great Mother had nothing to do with it and it was all Neteyam making the greatest effort ever just to be able to spend some time with you in the daylight and finally see you in your na'vi body again. He missed seeing you like that. He missed the way your tail would wag softly showing you were feeling happy, he missed looking at your stripes and thinking they were the most beautiful stripes he had ever seen and most of all, he missed admiring the way you loved his planet, the way you respected and appreciated Eywa instead of hurting her.

When Neteyam was taking his bow and arrows and putting them on his back, ready to go into the woods to meet you, Lo'ak approached him, suspicious.

"Where are you going, bro?"

"To the forest. Maybe I can hunt for some food and if I'm lucky I'll bring us some good meat for dinner." Neteyam smiled and gave his younger brother a head pat, rapidly walking out of the Sully's hut door

Lo'ak wanted to yell something to his older brother, something like "I know there's something you're not telling me" but he did not. If Neteyam was hiding something, it would probably not be something that would harm him - Neteyam. Everybody knew how responsible - to the point of being annoying, sometimes - Neteyam was. Lo'ak used to get Neteyam into trouble all the time back when they were just teenagers and he was trying not to do that as much as he used to, even though he was not exactly doing a great job - he was doing a terrible job, actually - but he was still trying. He would still keep an eye on his older brother - "It seems like the tables have turned, huh?" Lo'ak thought - but he would leave him alone to do whatever he was going to do in the forest. He knew Neteyam did not have much free time for himself and he sometimes felt sorry for him, seeing him so tired and even stressed out really often because of his Olo'eyktan to be training and his responsibilities as the older brother. Lo'ak used to hold some grudges on his older brother when he was younger but now he understood that Neteyam actually struggled a lot too.

Neteyam pretended to not notice anything when he was leaving home but he did not fail to see the mistrust on Lo'ak's face. That was something he would have to deal with sooner than he wanted to, he acknowledged. He also thought about how his mother would react when she eventually finds out that her son, the future Olo'eyktan of their tribe, was in a relationship with a human girl. Neteyam did not want to disappoint his mother. He knew how proud she was of him and it hurt to think that she could start to think badly of him. He tried his hardest to whoosh those thoughts away.

༊⁀➷

The Pandoran sun shone bright up in the sky, its rays reflecting on your bioluminescent freckles, making them a little more evident on your skin. The soothing sound of the leaves dancing with the pleasant wind and the water running in the nearby river filled the atmosphere around you. You walked slowly towards Neteyam, adrenaline dancing around in your belly in a bittersweet motion.

When Neteyam looked at you, it was like lightning had struck him. Not a destructive kind of lightning but a good one, sweet in its intensity, falling strongly all over him. Neteyam was seeing you in your Avatar for the first time after you had become his mate.

Your mouth was somewhat open, revealing your upper teeth and your na'vi (Avatar?) fangs. Your gaze revealed how much you had anticipated that moment, how much you stayed up when you should be sleeping, thinking about finally being able to see the look in Neteyam's face when he saw you in your Avatar. You knew he had watched you while you were Dreamwalking too many times before but you never got to see the admiration in his eyes when he did so as he had been stalking you, not letting you know he was around. You had wished to see his beautiful golden eyes captivated by you for so long. You wanted to feel pretty and desired like that. And now you were finally experiencing it as Neteyam looked almost dumb with enchantment while he stared at you. But cute dumb, you know? So damn cute…

You stared back at him as you took the last steps towards the place where he stood, as if he was frozen.

Neteyam felt like he was not able to move as he took in how beautiful you looked. He had never seen your na'vi body so close to his own body and it felt overwhelmingly good to do so. His sweet yawne finally belonged to him and he could now touch you and hold you in the physical form he found you most beautiful in. It's not like he did not think you were madly beautiful and hot in your human body, he always wanted to pin you down and make love to you while he was close to your human form, but nothing compared to seeing you in your na'vi form, the form where you smiled the most, where you seemed so much more alive and full of lust for experiencing the world around you. That made you even prettier. Happiness looked pretty on you.

Neteyam was na'vi and his people did not have as many severe mental struggles like humans did but there were rare cases where some na'vi who went through terrible trauma in their lives did become uninterested in fighting their dark thoughts and they did become extremely depressed, though they could be cured from that illness through rituals that healed the spirit, performed by their clan's Tsahìk.

Neteyam was not blind or oblivious to things that were obvious to the naked eye. He knew that nobody would break down and cry as often as you did, only minutes after waking up in the morning, while getting ready for work etc if this person was not in an enormous amount of pain, the kind of pain that made them wish to disappear and never be found again. Thinking about his mate feeling that kind of sorrow made him feel like his heart was being torn into pieces, blood spilling from it like water spills from a fountain.

The reason why Neteyam was so determined to convince you to transfer your consciousness to your na'vi body forever was not some selfish wish, it was not just because he wanted to take you to his tribe and have you be his mate, be able to bond with you through tsaheylu every night and get to love your body, sharing his affection and sexual pleasure with you as well as feeling your own through the bond - even though that thought did wake up a raw, intense desire and need inside of him and he just could not stop himself from fantasizing about that while stroking his cock when he could be all by himself without any chance of disturbance. Neteyam also wanted to give you the opportunity to live a blissful and fulfilling life, a life where you would laugh way more often than cry. If he knew someone that deserved nothing less than that, that person was you.

If in the worst case scenario, you still felt so bad after you had your consciousness transferred to your na'vi body, Neteyam planned to ask his mother to perform a ritual that heals the spirit on you. Thinking about that, he suddenly felt anxious and he felt his heart tightening inside his chest. Neteyam had been trying not to worry about the fact that it would be extremely hard to convince his mother to accept you as his mate and perform the ritual of transference of consciousness on you but that thought had been eating him alive constantly, ever since he talked to you for the first time, outside of the laboratory’s kitchen window.

"Hi, muntxatan." (male mate) Neteyam's heart started beating quickly and it almost came out of his throat when he heard you calling him your mate in his people's language as you stopped in front of him and smiled widely, your eyes narrowing slightly. Those torturing thoughts about his mother trying to tear the both of you apart quickly were washed away from his mind by your presence. It was hypnotizing to him.

"Yawntu… You're just so beautiful. So insanely beautiful." Neteyam smiled, his eyes shining, still bewitched by you, and pushed you roughly against his body. He hugged you tighter than he ever did before since he knew he wouldn't hurt you by doing so when you're Dreamwalking. The size difference between the both of you was not that substantial anymore. His chin rested on the top of your head as he held you strongly against his body.

His roughness did not hurt you, on the contrary, it made you feel safe and protected to have his big - currently not huge, just big - arms around you, keeping your body close as your head was against his chest, your eyes shut and you could hear his heart beating fast. It made you indescribably happy to know that you were the reason for that quick heartbeat. You curled your lips up, smiling peacefully.

Peace. You spent so much time without feeling that but, after you accepted becoming Neteyam's mate, finally defeating your cruel fears, you started to feel peaceful way more often than you had ever felt in your life, even more often than you did when you were little.

Neteyam distanced your bodies a bit, still putting his hands on the sides of your arms, right below your shoulders and announced:

"Come! There's a place I wanna take you to." He took your hand and started walking in front of you, excitedly leading you somewhere

"Where are you taking me?" You smiled and chuckled softly, curious

"You'll see." It was all he said

Neteyam made you feel excited about little things, like you were just a child again, a feeling you hadn't felt in so, so long. After Neteyam came to your life, it was like he painted vivid colors on your once all too white and dull canvas. You almost shivered at the reminder that you nearly ruined your chance to have a love so pure and true such as this one because of fear of the unknown and refusal of getting out of your comfort zone.

After walking through the rainforest with you for a little while, Neteyam stopped in front of a tall, large tree and you soon recognized it. Its branches had clusters that were full of some beautiful fruits that reminded you of blueberries that used to exist on Earth, before they went extinct.

"Here. Do you recognize this tree? I've seen you look at it so many times. Were you wondering if the yovo fruits are safe to eat?"

"Yeah." You smiled bashfully "They look delicious."

"And they are. They're safe to eat, yawne. We can eat some now, if you want to." Neteyam smiled kindly at you. The fact that he remembered small details about you made your heart melt.

"I'd love that, Teyam."

Neteyam smiled, unbelieving.

"What did you call me?"

"Teyam…?" You furrowed your eyebrows "It's just a nickname I came up with for you… Do you hate it?" You contorted your features in a way that showed him you were feeling slightly insecure and embarrassed

"No! I love it, yawntutsyìp! I love it." He smiled and chuckled "I just wasn't expecting it. I love that my muntxate is calling me by a special nickname. Feels intimate." Neteyam came closer to you and held your face with both his beautiful strong blue hands

You looked up at his face with doe eyes and waited as you knew what was coming. You could feel it. The sneaky butterflies started flying inside your belly again.

Neteyam kissed you slowly, crushing his soft wet lips against yours. He pressed his lips on your mouth again and again for a short amount of time but it was enough to make your legs feel weak.

"Come, oeyä muntxate. I'll help you climb the tree."

Neteyam did as he said and soon enough you both were sitting on the wooden "floor" of the tree, sharing yovo fruits and eating them.

You two started to chill and talk about everyday life. It felt so good. It felt familiar, just like any relationship you had had before with a human guy, but better. So much better. Your alien boyfriend - mate? It felt so weird to say it like that… - made you feel things that none of your ex human boyfriends could ever dream to do. Neteyam made you feel understood. He did not judge you. He made you feel at home. Neteyam was becoming home for you.

You started to tell him how sad and done with everything you sometimes felt. Well, not sometimes… It happened all the time, even though it got better now that Neteyam was in your life. But you did not want to make him worry about you.

"You know, sometimes I feel like that too."

"What do you mean?" You questioned

"Like there's so much chaos inside that I just wanna talk to someone and vent. But I'm always so busy. There never seems to be time to find someone to do that with."

You were slightly surprised.

"Yeah, me too. Always too busy." You sighed "And exhausted, to be honest. Both physically and mentally."

"Well, I do have way more stamina than humans do" You laughed at Neteyam's teasing "But some nights I come home from training and after taking care of my siblings, really, really tired too. And I don't mean only physically."

"We have some stuff in common, don't we?" You pointed out, smiling

"We certainly do." He smiled back

You felt good knowing that.

Neteyam laid on the floor, right by your side.

"I'm full" He let out a laugh that sounded lovely in your ears while stroking his stomach.

"Me too." You laid on the floor too, just like Neteyam had just done. Your belly felt pleasantly filled up "But these fruits are so good I'd still eat a dozen of them." You playfully said, laughing

"Do you want more? I can get you some more." Neteyam gently offered

"No, it's okay, Teyam. I'm good for now." You smiled at him

Neteyam smiled back, showing no teeth, a soft, enamored look in his feline amber eyes.

You two spent some time together in comfortable silence.

"Oeyä muntxate?"

"Yeah?" You looked at him and let out a relaxed sigh, smiling softly

"Oel ngati kameie." He said, with vulnerable sincerity in his eyes

It seemed like he was gazing inside your very soul. Like his golden eyes could see something in you nobody else could. Like he saw who you truly were. Like Neteyam saw the good and bad and the ugly and the greatness and the doubts and the fears and the uniqueness and the ordinary parts of you, like he saw all of you, and it did not scare him off to see your dark side. You could feel he was staying for both your virtues and your vices. And maybe that's what "Oel ngati kameie" meant, when said to the one you're choosing to be your mate. Means connecting to someone in a raw, deep way, a way that nobody else is able to. A way that allows you to see the other person's flaws but not be afraid of them and try to find a way out. A way that allows you to see the grace in every little detail that that other soul has, to see the beauty in them that they themselves could never see.

"Oel ngati kameie…" You finally said, smiling, still not believing he had said those words to you

Neteyam smiled brightly while gazing into your eyes. He always looked deep inside your eyes… It felt almost too much but it still had just the right amount of intensity for it to be deliciously alluring instead of overwhelming.

Neteyam took your hand and intertwined your fingers on his. You felt the touch of his warm hand burning your skin in a pleasant way. After a few seconds, he kissed the back of your hand tenderly. You kept staring at both your hands glued together for a while.

"I wanna cuddle with you, oeyä muntxate." His voice brought your attention back to his face.

You could hear nervousness and need in his tone.

"Sure, yawne."

You were starting to really like calling Neteyam by na'vi pet names. The na'vi language was incredibly pleasing to the ears, in your opinion.

Neteyam started moving your body carefully, so you could lay on your side and when you obeyed, laying in said position, he himself laid on his side and pulled you in, making your body be as close to his as he could, your ass against his clothed member.

Your lungs started to do a poor job at helping you breathe now that the both of you were so close. You got nervous as you two had, yes, cuddled before, when you were in your human body, but he was never behind you like that, his body glued to yours. You knew he could feel your ass on his cock. Your heart was beating at the speed of light.

It did not take long for you to start to feel Neteyam was now fully erect, his cock pressed against your ass. You felt the inner walls of your pussy start to twitch and you got all wet, your juices spreading over your panties. Neteyam was so big and thick and your body responded like crazy to him.

It was a violent, invincible desire that made Neteyam cling so much to you, all the time. It would burn his insides, making him yearn for you, for your touch, for your warmth. There was no rational explanation inside his head for it. Neteyam could not understand it, he could only feel it covering all his being, exuding from his eyes whenever he looked at you, touched you, kissed you… He knew you could tell how much he was thirsty for you almost all the time. But Neteyam did not care about being so vulnerable. He wanted you to know what you did to him. Maybe like that you would surrender sooner and give yourself to him completely already. He felt so impatient. Everyday it was getting harder and harder for him to not take you in his arms and mate with you. This wait was killing him, day by day. It was like a slow and agonizing death. And now that he could smell your sweet juices so vividly, he felt like he could no longer hold back.

Neteyam pushed you even closer to him. You whimpered softly, the feeling of his huge, girthy cock pressed against your butt was divine.

Neteyam got you crazily wet just so quickly that it never failed to surprise you. He was like quicksand to you; you could try and run as much as you wanted but you would always end up being swallowed by his love.

"I need you so much, muntxate…" He cried out softly in your ear while rubbing his hard cock on your ass. "You're all wet for me. You smell so good, it's intoxicating." He sniffed the air, savoring your natural scent just like it was the most mouthwatering thing he had ever felt filling his sensitive nostrils "Please, lemme make you mine completely, my sweet yawne. Please…"

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@kitsunefirewail

@tumblingdevils

@a-blog-name-2003

@xylobee

@nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

@henhouse-horrors

@lala-1516

@xylianasblog

@samistars

@crazy4books1

@explosiongamora

@lik0

@your-girl-mj

@darktyrantwinner

@sereisstuff

@yeosxxx

@die4niyahhh

@iman-lu

@manumanulau

@im-in-a-pansexual-panik

@hana-yuri

@thehoneymushroomhealer

@melllinaa

@annaibansworld

@siriuslysmoking

@avatar4eva

@ellabellabus07

@badbishsblog

@neteyamsmate4life

@c-h-i-l

@criticallybella

@celi-xxmoon

344 notes · View notes

taevbears · 5 months

Text

To Be Loved - 03

Please be our guest

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader (a bit of reader x jungkook) ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.3k ⤑ warnings: hybrids are seen as sub-human, brief descriptions of abuse throughout the chapter, a bit of angst, the boys are very guarded and kind of mean toward the reader, reader is stress lol ⤑ note: sorry for the delay in this chapter, it's been really hectic these past few weeks being sick and super busy. i'm curious what your thoughts are and what you guys think namjoon is! also, i hope you all have a safe and warm holiday full of delicious food!

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

Dinner is served.

Laid out across the table is a small feast consisting of homegrown vegetables from their garden, hand-picked fruits of the season, grilled fish caught from a nearby river, roasted poultry and cooked eggs, and homemade brew that’s been aging in their cellar. Food that’s clearly been hunted and gathered from around the manor.

“You two are our guests,” Rap Monster says to you and Jungkook from the head of the table, sitting directly across from you. “Please feel free to help yourselves.”

He glances over at the wolf hybrid and gives him a tiny nod. The eldest among the pack picks up his utensils and begins to put food on his plate, and the others soon follow suit, reaching for whatever appeals to their appetites. Even Jungkook begins to pile up on the food he’s been eyeing since they’ve been set down before him, and then passes the dish to you, starving after everything you’ve both been through since you’ve ventured off the main roads.

“This is seriously so good!” Jungkook praises between bites. His eyebrows are furrowed together, as if he’s angry at how incredibly tasty everything is.

“You’re just hungry,” the leopard hybrid remarks, shoulders raising a bit as he puts some fish on his plate.

“Thank you for cooking,” you add softly, though you’re not really sure who to direct it to. Jimin had mentioned that someone named Seokjin and someone named Yoongi prepared tonight’s meal. The deer hybrid only stares at you with a frown, the leopard hybrid doesn’t even bother to make eye-contact with you, and the wolf hybrid merely nods his head without saying anything back.

The table is relatively quiet, but you can tell that it’s a level of silence they’re not used to. Although the pack of hybrids try not to make it too obvious, you can tell they’re all observing you closely.

It starts to make you feel self-conscious as you bite into an apple, not really tasting the food but going through the motions of it.

You hate attention. You’ve always had.

The pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, watching your every move, and judging your every word and action makes your skin crawl, constricts your breath, and knots your stomach. Whenever you’re forced into the spotlight – Kangdae dangling you around like a pretty thing to envy – you keep your gaze on the ground. Your voice starts to tremble. You hear people asking what’s wrong with you.

As your eyes burn on the plate, you realize that’s what’s happening now. The hybrids are making you as nervous as you’re probably making them.

Humans, after all, are the most dangerous threat to them.

“My name is Jimin.”

To your right, opposite of Jungkook, the swan hybrid speaks. He seems to sense your uneasiness and then gestures for the others to follow.

Next to him, the bear hybrid grunts, “Taehyung.”

“Seokjin,” says the wolf hybrid, gnawing on a bone.

“I’m Hoseok,” the deer hybrid pipes up from the other side of the table, across the wolf.

“Yoongi,” the leopard hybrid calls himself, sitting between Hoseok and Jungkook.

Across from you, at the other end of the table, the one you know as Rap Monster merely smiles. The dimples on his cheeks are deep as he looks at his pack fondly before his colorful eyes meet your gaze. “I don’t go by Rap Monster anymore, so you can call me by my real name. It’s Namjoon.”

Namjoon.

Finally, you have the name of the mysterious rapper.

You tell them your name, and Jungkook finishes the round of introductions with his. With one question answered, another one pops up. This time, from you. “How do you all know each other?”

The air shifts with a sudden tension, and you instantly regret the words leaving your mouth. It feels like you’ve come across a taboo topic. Information that, perhaps, none of them feel comfortable sharing with a human. You can see, by some of the emotions that cross their faces, that it hadn’t been easy for them to get here.

“The short story is that I took them all in,” Namjoon explains lightly. “Society isn’t exactly kind to creatures like us. Humans only see us as abominations. A lot of them can be unnecessarily cruel to the things they’re afraid of. To the things they don’t understand. I found them and I offered them a place in my home.”

“Which brings us to question,” Seokjin interrupts, his yellow eyes practically glowing when he looks at you, “what brought you into our territory?”

It’s a question they all seem to be wondering. Even before the car accident in the woods.

The words get stuck in your throat.

Taehyung crosses his arms. He looks broader when he does that. More intimidating. “We don’t allow humans to come anywhere near this place.”

“But she’s not like other humans!” Jungkook speaks up on your behalf, eyes wide as if that would help convince them of his plight. “She’s really nice, and she’s my friend.”

“Jungkook,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You want to stop him. To tell him that he doesn’t need to defend you. That you understand their hostility, and that you swear you’ll be gone as soon as the storm stops.

His ear twitches toward you, showing that he’s heard you, but he decides to ignore you.

“I was in bad shape when I met her, but she helped me. She treated my wounds after my owner nearly…” He shudders, unable to finish his sentence. Given the bruises and cuts on his face, and the welts and scars on his body, it’s not hard to imagine what could’ve happened. Or how far his owner would’ve gone to hurt him. “She fed me too. And bought me ice cream and banana milk.”

Seokjin snorts at that. For a brief second, Hoseok and Taehyung look a little amused by his last comment. Whereas Yoongi and Jimin visibly frown as they look more closely at Jungkook’s wounds. Namjoon’s eyes meet yours for a moment, and you feel your heart flutter before he turns to Jungkook and gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on.

“And she’s been trying to find a safe place to take me to,” he continues, turning to look at you. There’s gratitude in his eyes when he does. “We were trying to take a shortcut through the woods, but it was raining so hard and we could barely see where we were going. We’re both just trying to get away from our bad humans.”

By the silence that follows, you’re not entirely sure if they believe you’re a good person yet. That, despite Jungkook trying to defend your honor, there’s still a bit of skepticism over a human helping a hybrid out of the goodness from their heart. After everything they must have gone through by the hands of those who try to control them, you can’t blame them at all for feeling jaded.

“I believe it,” is all Namjoon says. His gaze is fixed on you now, and again, you start to feel nervous at the attention. But… not in an entirely unwanted way. “You were kind to me once before, too.”

For years, the old manor has been something straight out of a storybook. A beautiful, old home, stuck in time, untouched by humans. Deep in the woods and hard to find unless you know your way to it. Forgotten, but with a timeless and enchanting charm.

It begins with Namjoon, who discovers it. And then Yoongi, who helps him rebuild and restore it. Then, they find Hoseok, and for a while, it’s just the three of them. But that all changes when they meet Jimin and Taehyung and take them in at the same time. And finally, Seokjin joins their pack.

One by one, the hybrids have contributed and worked together to make this abandoned place their own. You see the way they protect each other, how they take care of each other. Humans haven’t stepped near their secret haven for years, and yet, here you are – an intruding threat to their sanctuary. A walking reminder of what they’ve run away from.

Yoongi, captured and thrown into a cage, about to be sent overseas in cargo to be auctioned off had he not managed to escape from his captives.

Hoseok, left for dead by the hands of hunters, antlers forcibly cut by the time Namjoon and Yoongi find him barely breathing.

Jimin and Taehyung running away from a shelter that was abusing the hybrids, starving them out, depriving them of basic essentials, and throwing them into tiny, cramped spaces before they’re next in line to be euthanized.

And Seokjin, forced to become a lone wolf after violently losing his home, family, and everything he knows to the greed of humans until he finally found the others.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask,” Namjoon assures you, clearing the plates away from dinner to wash. “I want you to feel comfortable while you’re here.”

“I appreciate it, Namjoon. Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. He grins at you, practically beaming as his name rolls off your tongue. You can’t help but smile back at him, although shyly.

It’s strange how flustered you feel around him.

“Can we look around?” Jungkook asks, coming up between you and Namjoon. He looks at him curiously as the two of you finally look away from each other.

“Of course. Jimin? Mind showing them around?” Namjoon asks the swan hybrid, who just finishes up wiping down the table.

He looks a bit surprised, but nods his head. “Oh. Sure. Let me finish this up and I’ll be right with you guys.”

“I’ll go with you guys,” Taehyung offers, glancing at you for a brief moment before he finishes up sweeping.

“What about you?” you ask. Not that you don’t mind Jimin. He’s been nice to you. Taehyung as well, though out of obligation.

You were just hoping to spend more time with Namjoon.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he promises as he looks at the other hybrids, all pretending they aren’t listening to the conversation. “I need to make sure no one else followed you here.”

As requested, Jimin and Taehyung show you and Jungkook around the manor.

The east wing is where you’ll be staying. The room that you woke up in is yours, and Jungkook has his own room near you. Dinner is at the same time every evening, and it is expected that the two of you will join the rest of the pack. There are many rooms that make this place feel like a modern castle: a ballroom with a grand piano, a lounge room with board games, puzzles, a pool table, and old gaming consoles, a conservatory with curtainless windows, table tennis, a seating area, and a greenhouse.

You can see that Jungkook is fascinated with the manor as much as you are. Maybe even more so. His eyes practically sparkle with excitement when he sees a familiar game that he played as a child, or that cheeky smile on his face when he asks if you can dance or play any instruments in the ballroom. You see Jimin and Taehyung eager to show him the cool stuff around the manor too, and you suspect that at one point, they’ve forgotten you’re on this tour as well.

Still, it’s so nice to see Jungkook smiling and laughing. Despite everything he’s been through, there’s still an endearing, childlike innocence to him. A shy, friendly aura that makes him so approachable and well-liked.

You can see him being very happy here. Even if you’re not in the picture.

“What’s over there?” Jungkook asks, curious as he nods toward the west wing.

“Oh, that place is off-limits,” Taehyung explains without giving it a second glance. “No one is allowed to go there.”

You’re a bit surprised by that. The west wing looks completely normal from where you stand. “Why not?”

“It just is,” Taehyung cuts in a little harshly as he glares at you. Your mouth immediately snaps shut, a bit hurt and taken aback by the outburst.

“You’re free to go anywhere else in the manor,” Jimin adds, trying to drop the topic. His voice is gentler as he shoots his companion a warning glance. “Just not the west wing. Understand?”

You merely nod your head, not trusting your voice at this point.

While the hybrids like Jungkook, it’s clear that they don’t feel the same about you. And you’re not certain they ever will.

As the tour continues, you can’t help but notice the other hybrids’ reactions when you come within their personal spaces in the manor. Yoongi stares at you from the high wooden beams on the ceiling. His spotted tail slowly swishes back and forth in distrust as his glaring, feline eyes never leave yours. Hoseok hides from you whenever he hears you approaching. He’s so scared, he’s trembling as you catch his wide-eyed, petrified gaze, and the guilt of almost hurting him weighs more heavily on you. Seokjin covers his mouth to hold back a low growl when you come near his room. His body is tense and his lips are curled back into a snarl. Even Taehyung is only accompanying you to make sure that Jimin is safe. That you won’t harm his dear friend.

Rain continues to heavily pour outside. You wish that the storm would die down already. Clearly, you’re not welcomed here.

A hand touches the small of your back, and you raise your head to see Jungkook giving you a tiny, comforting smile. Just like at the motel stop with the scary men, he subtly assures you that he has your back.

You give him a wry smile back, squeezing his arm in appreciation. It’s a silent exchange that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other two hybrids with you.

“This is our last stop,” Jimin announces as he and Taehyung open the double-doors. Your eyes widen in awe at the sight before you.

A library.

There are two levels, and both have standing shelves full of books. Art pieces that look like they belong in museums decorate the room as well, from busts of philosophers to exquisite paintings hung on the walls. In the center is a large couch that looks cozy enough to sink into, curled up with a good book. It’s a place much bigger and prettier than the tiny book nook in your town.

“Wow…” You step inside, mood instantly lifting as you marvel at the sight before you. You could spend months here, just trying to read through the massive collection. “This is amazing!”

Jungkook looks surprised. “You think so?”

“Is it okay if I look around?”

Jimin and Taehyung exchange looks with each other, but they nod their heads. You disappear into the nearest aisle, browsing around. Your fingers run across the spines of books and their printed titles before landing on the ones that catch your interest. Things that were in your to-read list, things that you’ve just discovered now, things that you fondly remember reading before.

To the two residential hybrids, it’s probably one of the more boring parts of the manor, yet you’re absolutely enthralled by the room.

“Are there any comics?” Jungkook shyly asks, and Taehyung’s eyes brighten a bit as he takes his wrist and shows him where they are. The two leave Jimin alone as he watches you with curiosity.

“That’s funny,” he says to himself before he follows after the other hybrids. “This is his favorite room too.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy for you. Not tonight, at least.

After everything you’ve been through – running away from Kangdae, being on the road for days, looking for the perfect home for Jungkook, being careful to cover your tracks and not get caught, and finally ending up here – you’d think you would’ve been knocked out by now, exhausted from everything.

But as you turn to face the window, the relentless storm outside seems to reflect the turmoil you feel.

The storm won’t last forever. You’ll probably be here for two or three nights. Maybe a week at most. Then, as soon as the rainy days clear up, you’ll be out of here.

But Jungkook should stay.

As you toured around the manor with Jimin and Taehyung, it’s so clear to you that this place could be exactly what you two were hoping to find for him. A place to call home.

The hybrids provide for each other. They take care of each other. And they’ve clearly taken a liking to Jungkook. He’ll have his meals, a warm bed in his own room, plenty of fun things to do, friends to talk to. He’ll be happy here with them.

You turn to face the ceiling, already dreading the inevitable conversation you’ll have to have with him. He’s become your friend, and someone you care a lot about. You just hope he won’t be so stubborn and make it harder for you to let him go.

Especially since the other hybrids don’t like you as much. Or rather, at all. In fact, you’re pretty sure they’re eager for the storm to pass as much as you are so that you can leave their secret haven.

The mean looks some of them give you. The way they snarl and hiss and tremble at your presence. It feels like there isn’t anything you can do about it. Even if Namjoon allows you to stay, even if Jungkook is there to vouch for you, they’ll just hate you no matter what, simply because you’re human.

You sigh. You can’t force them to like you, of course, and you don’t blame them for being weary of you. But the bigger problem seems to be how you’re going to get out of the woods without a car. With your face all over the news. With Kangdae’s family exhausting all their efforts to look for you.

And as you roll to face the door, you think about Namjoon.

He’s as much of a mystery to you now as he was back then. He has a charisma that commands the room, that makes it obvious that he’s the leader of the pack. That alone has all the hybrids respect him and look up to him. And to top it off, he’s also so kind for letting you and Jungkook in, for making you both feel comfortable in his home.

You can’t remember the last time Kangdae treated you as nicely. He was always so selfish and cruel, and you feel foolish to think that’s what love was.

When in reality, ever since you finally left him, you realize you know nothing about love at all. You thought, if you stayed with him long enough, you could learn to love him. That you could learn how to be loved back.

But the pitiful ache in your heart only makes you realize that, at least with Kangdae, there was never any love at all.

And yet, Namjoon…

With a finality, you throw the covers off of you. Since you can’t sleep, you decide to do something else to force your thoughts away.

You try your best to avoid the creaks on the floor as you quietly sneak out of the room. The halls of the east wing are dark, but luckily, you aren’t met with any grumpy hybrids just yet. As quietly as possible, you shut the door to your room and try to navigate through the shadowy hall, trying to remember where exactly the library is located in the huge manor.

However, your endeavor is halted when you hear voices at the end of the hall.

“You could be a little nicer to her,” Jimin begins, standing near a window where the moonlight illuminates his face. The tone in his voice sounds like he’s disappointed.

Standing before him is no one other than Taehyung. “She’s human.”

“She could be—” Jimin starts, but lowers his voice. You barely hear him as he tells Taehyung, “I think she’s it.”

His eyes widen a little, seeming to know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You think she’s—” An abrupt silence follows when they sense they’re not alone. Both of them turn to you. Even in the darkness, you think they can still see you. Then, Taehyung confirms they can when he asks, “Little human, where do you think you’re going?”

“I can’t sleep,” you reply honestly. On cue, the rumble of thunder ominously rolls in, sounding like the roar of a beast. You’re vaguely reminded of the sound that spooked Jungkook right before the accident, and you wonder if whatever it was is still out there.

“Are you afraid of the storm?” Jimin asks with a tilt of his head.

“It’s not that.” You don’t mind the rain or the sound of thunder, especially if you can stay safe and cozy indoors, sheltered from the bad weather. Under other circumstances, you might even enjoy the ambiance it brings in the background of a good book. “I think I just want to read something before I go to bed.”

“Are you afraid of us?” Taehyung suddenly asks you. His eyes glowering as he waits for your response.

But you look confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think we’re monsters?”

“Taehyung,” Jimin warns with a frown. He turns back to you, opening his mouth as if he’s about to tell you to just forget about his friend’s question.

“You’re not monsters,” you tell him seriously, without hesitation, without looking away. Your answer surprises not just the two hybrids before you, but also the ones in the shadows, listening in. “None of you are.”

You love books.

From the stories that your parents would read you to sleep, to the short stories full of childlike adventure and wonder, and later opening up to genres of drama, horror, fantasy, and romance. Even now, you love immersing yourself in the worlds of writers, escaping and overcoming trails that aren’t your own, and imagining yourself as the main character with every page you turn. It’s something that you can’t get enough of.

You love the weight of a book in your hand, the smooth texture of paper beneath your fingertips, and the earthy, musty smell of aged and worn pages that’ve been sitting on their shelves. You love being so captured by a story, you forget everything else around you, hung to every inked word across the page until the final conclusion.

Entering the library for the first time, surrounded by one of your favorite things, brings you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Kangdae never understood your fascination with books. He couldn’t relate to that interest at all, finding it boring and a waste of time. It got harder to indulge in reading when you were with him. There were always chores to do after a long day at work that he never bothered to help with, or spontaneous trips and outings that he’d drag you to just so he can ignore you for his friends and other pretty women throughout the night. Even the books you do own, Kangdae never respected them – he never did with any of your belongings – throwing them when he was mad until the pages were bent and torn from the bindings, or using them as coasters or to spill his drinks on.

Finding yourself in a place like this brings you back to a time before you ever met Kangdae. Where no one really knew you, and you could quietly indulge yourself in the stories you’ve always loved.

Of all the books in the library, one of them catches your eye.

It’s your favorite one. The one about a far-off place with daring sword fights and a prince in disguise.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you hold the book in your hands, flipping through the pages. It’s been well-kept, as have all the other books here. Unlike the copy you had at your home, ruined beyond repair. As you skim through the pages, the story immediately jumps out at you. The descriptions make it easy to imagine, and the flow of words make it hard to put the book down.

Even though you’ve read this story countless times, it never gets old. Because within the pages, entwined with all the action, adventure, and drama, is a love story.

To be loved and to be loved in return.

You’ve always wished for something like that for yourself.

All you’ve ever known about love is from Kangdae. The misery, the arguments, the fear, the anger. You think that’s just the reality of what love is supposed to be. But at least in this story, love seems nice. Even if it’s only fiction.

“That’s a good one.”

You’re startled when Namjoon appears beside you, looking at the book that you have in your hands. He looks wet, as if he’s been outside. Water drips from his soaked clothes, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.

You smile at him sheepishly and admit, “It’s actually my favorite.”

He returns your smile. Those deep dimples pop up on his cheeks as he offers, “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Oh! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I really can’t,” you decline, although very touched and almost tempted by the gift. “I don’t know how I can repay you for letting us stay here until the storm passes.”

“You don’t need to repay me anything,” he assures you sincerely. Perhaps to him, he’s just returning the favor you did for him years ago.

“I should at least give you money or something.” You don’t have much on you, though. Just whatever is left of what you’ve been secretly saving up.

Namjoon seems to consider it, but then, almost a bit shyly, he asks, “What about a date instead?”

You’re not entirely sure what Namjoon is thinking when he asks you on a date.

It’s still raining outside. Thunder, lightning, strong winds, and all. Even if you could leave the old manor, there isn’t anywhere to go. You’re surrounded by a thick forest in the middle of nowhere.

Still, Namjoon has you close your eyes.

His big, strong, and incredibly warm hands take yours in his, as he guides you to wherever he plans to take you. He smells like rain, and his clothes are still slightly damp from patrolling outside.

Your footsteps echo together in the quiet manor as he leads you out of the library. You can feel his gaze on your face, making sure you don’t ruin his surprise, and taking in all your features up close. And you bite back a giggle when you hear him bump into things every now and then before quickly assuring you that he’s okay and reminding you not to open your eyes yet.

“Watch your step,” he warns as he takes you somewhere colder. You clumsily stumble over the step anyway, nearly falling if it isn’t for his hands steadying you.

“Namjoon, where—?”

“Okay,” he says with a baited breath. “Open your eyes.”

Connected to the curtainless sunroom with the tennis table and the comfortable seating area is a greenhouse. You noticed it when Jimin and Taehyung showed you around earlier, but you didn’t have a chance to look inside. Namjoon smiles eagerly as he shows you his private, indoor garden: the bonsai trees that are starting to bloom with flowers, monstera plants standing tall with giant leaves, and bundles of flowers like roses, snapdragons, and lilies.

“Wow, Namjoon,” you say in awe, looking around. It feels like walking into the library for the first time, marveling at the magic the room brings. “These are beautiful.”

“I grew them myself,” Namjoon proudly states, rubbing his neck shyly. “They’re nothing compared to Hoseok and Jimin’s garden, but I thought I should still show you this place. I like coming here when I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see why,” you remark. It’s nice here. All the flowers and plants look like they’re well-taken care of, healthy and thriving despite the ominous weather conditions. You come across a flower that you’ve never seen before. It looks like a cross between a lily and a rose, iridescent in color but with a thing of blue and purple. Their leaves and stems shine green like emeralds. “What are these?”

“Pretty, right? I call them smeraldo flowers,” he explains. His eyes light up with the way you admire them. “In the language of flowers, they mean non potevo dire la verità – the truth that couldn’t be told.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them.” You carefully touch the soft, delicate petal of the flower. They almost look like they’re made of magic.

“They’re beautiful like you.”

You look up at Namjoon just then, a bit surprised by the compliment. He seems a bit embarrassed, trying to hide his face as if he hadn’t meant to say those words out loud.

You’ve been called beautiful before. Sometimes, you think your natural beauty is all that Kangdae sees in you. It’s the only reason he ever tried to pursue you. But hearing it from Namjoon, who seems sincere with his words and intentions, it feels different.

It feels nice.

“I don’t know about that. These are very beautiful flowers,” you reply with a shy smile. “But thank you, Namjoon. You’re really kind.”

“I know the other guys are having a… difficult time adjusting to you. We haven’t had a guest here in a long time, especially a human one,” Namjoon tries to justify on their behalf. “They’re not bad, though. None of us are. So, you don’t need to be afraid while you’re here. But if you ever feel lost or scared, you can always come here. This place, these flowers, they bring me comfort. I hope they do the same for you.”

“Thanks Namjoon,” you repeat with a small smile. He really is so kind to you. “And I get it. Don’t worry. I don’t know what any of them have been through, but I don’t blame them for being cautious of me.”

Although you haven’t had many encounters with hybrids before, you know of the mistreatment they’ve endured from humans. How they’re treated like outcasts, and are constantly on the threat of being enslaved as laborers, entertainers, or pets. You see them protesting for their rights, and how laws constantly change to their disadvantage.

But if you’ve learned anything while being with Jungkook, it’s that he isn’t too different from you. He likes to sing and dance to music while you’re driving, he snores in his sleep, he loves the taste of banana milk and ice cream.

It hurts a little, but you understand why they’re weary of you. Why the hybrids aren’t able to easily trust you the way they can trust Jungkook, even though he’s just as much of a stranger to them as you are.

“You really are different from other humans,” Namjoon states with intrigue. The look in his colorful eyes is full of warmth and sincerity.

“I don’t think I’m doing anything different than what any decent person would do.”

“It’s because not a lot of humans treat us like decent people,” Namjoon explains again with a sad smile. “You know, you humans are so fascinating to me. You build grand cities with tall skyscrapers, you create beautiful art pieces that evoke feelings and different interpretations to your work, you write countless moving stories of wisdom, fantasy, and poetry. I wanted to be a rapper because I felt like I needed my voice to be heard in this world. All the anger I felt about being born a hybrid, all the sadness and loneliness I felt from being shunned away, all the fear of never being able to be heard or accepted. I went to the underground to prove that I can be as good as the humans are. That my voice is just as worthy to be heard as theirs.”

“It is worthy,” you tell him firmly. “I still remember the night I saw you perform so clearly. You were the best one out of all of them. Even better than some professional rappers in the industry these days.”

He looks away bashfully, but quietly replies, “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

“After the incident,” you start, both of you recalling that night when people discovered that he was a hybrid, “I was hoping that I’d see you again.”

“I had hoped to see you too.”

The confession is soft, but you still hear it over the sound of rain and thunder. In the greenhouse, standing in the garden where loneliness is in full bloom, you feel something stir inside you. Something warm. Something real.

You can’t place your finger on why. But you start to think about the meaning of love.

And you have to wonder, has Namjoon been thinking about you this whole time? Does he remember that night he met you as clearly as you do? Is that why he’s so welcoming to bring you into his home? Is that why he’s been so kind to you?

“Namjoon?”

“Yes?”

His eyes are so mesmerizing, you don’t realize the rain has stopped. That the roars of thunder and flashes of lightning have suddenly died down. That all you can hear is your own heartbeat in your chest as you look up at the handsome man before you.

“What kind of hybrid are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

For the other hybrids, it’s obvious what they are: Seokjin is a wolf, Yoongi is a leopard, Hoseok is a deer, Jimin is a swan, Taehyung is a bear, and Jungkook is a bunny. But Namjoon, who mostly looks human, you have a hard time figuring out what he could be.

“I’m a beast. A miserable, ugly beast.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “I don’t think you’re—”

“But I am,” he interrupts with a frown. He looks at you seriously. “Trust me. You don’t want to see me in that form. You’ll be scared.”

You want to disagree. But you can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about the side of himself that he seems to hate so much, so you drop it. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, it’s okay. I knew you’d be curious.” He sighs and rubs his neck again, seeming a bit torn with himself. A clash of thunder sounds from the distance, as if the storm is about to pick up again. As if the anger and sadness in the skies reflect Namjoon himself. “It’s just… if I had it my way, you’d never have to see it. You’ll always remember me the way that you see me now.”

You nod your head in understanding. Perhaps that’s why you’re also forbidden to go into the west wing. Maybe the truth of what kind of beast he is lies in that area.

Your gaze turns back to the smeraldo flowers. Under the moonlight, they almost look like they’re glowing with an ethereal and tragic beauty Flowers that mean an untold truth. Somehow, that makes you feel a little sad.

“Whether you’re a beast or a human, you’re not a monster, Namjoon.”

He smiles at you sadly. “I wish I could believe that. But thank you.”

The spontaneous “date” comes to an end, and like a gentleman, Namjoon walks you up to the east wing and stops in front of your bedroom.

Before you go inside, you turn to face him. “I had a nice time, Namjoon.”

You mean it, too. Quiet nights in, looking at beautiful flowers in the garden, sharing book recommendations in the library. It’s the perfect night for you.

“You don’t have to go after the storm ends,” Namjoon suddenly tells you. “You can stay here if you want. Both you and Jungkook.”

“I don’t know, Namjoon. Your pack—”

“I’ll talk to them. I’m sure they’ll come around to the idea,” he starts, looking like he wants to add more to it. Because, for some reason, you’re very special to him.

“It’s not just that.”

He’s already done so much for you already. There’s no way you’ll be able to repay him.

“How about we make a deal?”

You pause, looking at him with hesitance. “What kind of deal?”

“I don’t want your money, or do anything that you won’t feel comfortable with,” he quickly assures you. “The woods are dangerous, and the storm isn’t going to stop anytime soon. At least here, you’ll be safe. You’ll have your own room, you can have dinner with us, you’re free to wander the east wing and use the common rooms. All I ask is that you go on another date with me tomorrow night. And the night after, if you still decide to stay.”

You think about it. It seems like the best option for now.

You’ll still be hidden from Kangdae and the people looking for you. You’ll be safe from the wolves and other predators lurking in the deep, dark woods. You won’t have to say goodbye to Jungkook so soon, and you can spend another night like this with Namjoon.

“Why would you want me to stay when I’m human?” you ask him.

“Humans are fascinating. You’re fascinating,” Namjoon admits with a shy smile. “I just want to get to know you more.”

“I don’t think I’m that interesting of a human.” You can’t build skyscrapers, you can’t create masterpieces, and you can’t write stories the way your favorite authors do. “You’ll be disappointed.”

“I won’t. Because you’re you.” He seems so sure of that.

You smile a little at that.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, heart fluttering as you half-joke, “I feel like you’re trying to make me fall in love with you.”

“You won’t,” Namjoon softly says, also just as sure. The way he looks at you makes your heart ache. “Why would someone as beautiful as you ever love a beast like me?”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#to be loved #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #hybrid namjoon #hybrid namjoon x reader #hybrid namjoon x you #hybrid bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid fic #bts hybrid x reader

232 notes · View notes

stylesispunk · 5 months

Text

"I couldn't want you anymore" | part 9

Artist!Joel Miller x florist!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: time jump, age gap (8 years), remember bee is reader's nickname, reader overthinks a lot in this one, unnecessary angst(because sad me, sad writing) fluff.

a/n: Okay, chapter 9 is here! The last chapter flopped so bad, so I hope you like this one because is more than 7k words, so give it love, please. It's kinda sad when there's no feedback at all. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. The next chapter may be the last one. Happy reading.

masterlist

One year later,

You and Joel have been dating for a year and have lived together for two weeks. You've enjoyed a lovely year together. Cooking together in the kitchen, quiet Sunday mornings with breakfast in bed, and the simple delight of coming home to one another after a long day had become treasured in both of your routines.

You couldn’t lie. You wouldn’t imagine this thing happening. Five years ago, you and Joel couldn’t even spend a minute together without wanting to murder each other, and now you were so in love that both of your hearts could burst into flames.

And today, on your first anniversary as an official couple, the day had started wonderfully okay. Joel surprised you with a beautifully arranged bouquet he made himself with flowers from your shop, a delicious breakfast in bed for you, and a promise of a dinner at night in a restaurant he had reserved for you to enjoy a romantic dinner.

He left a little earlier than you this morning since he needed to finalize some negotiations with some prominent and important painters who wanted to exhibit their work in his gallery. You were proud of him, so you didn't reach for him as much as you normally did because this day was also significant to him. So, you went about your business as normal, selling flowers and delivering a wonderful cup of tea or coffee to passers-by, occasionally stealing glances at the gallery, hoping everything was going well for Joel.

So as the evening started to envelop the clear sky, and you were closing the door of your shop, you noticed Joel’s truck was missing. You thought he had maybe gone home before you to get ready, but as soon as you arrived there, he wasn’t there. You called him, but the calls weren’t answered, and the messages neither. Still, not thinking negatively, you went upstairs to get ready.

You choose a black silky fabric flowing elegantly around you that you bought just a few days ago for this night. Despite the excitement of the evening, a flicker of concern about Joel's absence lingered in the back of your mind. You dismissed it, attributing it to the busyness of the day. As you applied a touch of makeup and styled your hair before heading to the restaurant, perhaps he was already there waiting for you.

But as night arrived, you were alone in a restaurant where you were both supposed to have dinner to celebrate your anniversary, and he hadn’t shown up.

The restaurant's ambient lighting cast a soft glow on the empty chair across from you. The anniversary celebration that started with a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers had taken an unexpected turn as the minutes ticked by, and Joel was nowhere to be seen. The anniversary celebration, which had begun with a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers, had taken an unexpected turn as the minutes passed, and Joel was nowhere to be seen.

Doubt crept into your mind, and you found yourself checking your phone for any missed messages or calls. The disappointment grew with each passing moment, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being stood up on a day meant for celebration.

The waiter approached with a sympathetic smile. "Is everything alright, miss? Would you like to order or perhaps wait a bit longer?"

You sighed, your faint smile masking your disappointment. "I'll give it a bit more time, thank you."

The restaurant's vibrant ambiance became a backdrop to the quiet anguish within as you waited. Your mind raced with questions: was there an emergency? Has he forgotten? You tried calling Joel, but his phone went directly to voicemail.

The minutes felt like hours, and the celebration, which was supposed to be full of joy and shared memories, became a lonely wait at a table set for two.

You eventually opted to leave, with the burden of disappointment weighing heavily on your shoulders. As you paid for the untouched dinner, the server showed real concern, giving gentle words of comfort.

The city lights seemed to blend as you stepped out into the night, through a mix of crystal tears and unresolved questions.

You paused at the door when you arrived home, unsure of what to expect.

You looked at your phone, expecting a message or call with an explanation. Nothing. When you entered the house, the lights were still turned off, so you walked to your shared bedroom, but Joel was not there. You took off your clothing, grabbed your pajamas, and walked to the bathroom to remove your make-up and go to bed. Just as you were finishing, the sound of a close downstairs interrupted your thoughts.

Joel entered the bedroom and smiled at you, visibly drunk.

The air in the room shifted with relief, guilt, and possibly a hint of defiance from your side as he took in your gaze. Joel stumbled slightly as he approached you.

"Love” he slurred; his words not entirely coherent. "I'm sorry. Lost track of time”

Your disappointment transformed into hurt and frustration, and a growing concern for the person before you. The scent of alcohol clung to him, and the Joel you had known, thoughtful and present, seemed distant.

"Why didn't you call?" you gently asked, yet your voice was cold as ice.

He attempted a nonchalant shrug, but it was unsteady. "Phone died. It's just a celebration, Bee. We can have another one."

As you looked at him, all the beautiful moments of the past year felt overshadowed by this moment.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Just a celebration?” you asked, clearly hurt. “You understand that we hated each other's guts for years and now we’re together, even living together.”

“Those artists want to display their work on my galley, Bee. I wanted to celebrate because it is important to me.”

“And I’m not?” you asked, feeling small. “Am I not important to you?”

Joel's unsteady behavior appeared to grow worse as your questions hung in the air. Your words sunk into the silence, generating a noticeable tension.

"No, Bee, that's not what I meant," he mumbled "Of course, you're important. It's only... This offer surprised me, and I got carried away. "I made a mistake."

Your heart ached at the disparity between your expectations and the reality of the situation. The celebration you had envisioned, a symbol of your shared journey, now lay in fragments.

"But why didn't you communicate?" you pressed; your voice filled with hurt. "A simple call, a message. I was waiting, Joel. I was excited about tonight."

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that usually conveyed frustration, but now it seemed tinged with remorse. "I know, Bee. I messed up big time. I'm sorry."

The distance between your expectations and the reality of the situation crushed your heart.

"But why didn't you tell me?" you pressed, your voice tense. "A simple phone call, a message. Joel, I was waiting for you. I was looking forward to tonight."

He ran his fingers through his hair, a usually impatient behavior that now appeared tinged with guilt. "I understand, Bee. I made a huge mistake. I apologize."

You didn’t say a word. He knew it was better to have you shouting at him than giving him this cold silence. If he had only told you about it before acting so careless about your feelings. If only he weren’t the person who always messed up with your heart.

“Where are you going?” he asked, as you grabbed your pillow.

You turned to face Joel; pain still fresh in your eyes. "I don’t want to sleep next to you tonight.”

“Can we talk in the morning?” He quietly asked.

The weight of unspoken words and not resolved emotions weighed heavily on the silence that followed. You shut the guest room door behind you, leaving Joel alone in the quiet bedroom.

When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the absence of your warmth next to him, and his heart hurt because of how thoughtless he had been the night before. His head was killing him, and when he eventually opened his eyes, he found a glass of water and a pill next to him, along with a message:

"Take them, so your stupid head doesn't hurt anymore."

He grinned, knowing that even when you were upset with him, you still found a way to take care of him.

After some time, he was freshened up and dressed. He made his way downstairs, finding Sarah pouring a glass of orange juice,

“Good morning Dad,” she said.

“Morning baby girl”, he kissed her temple. “Where’s Bee?”

“She left earlier. She left breakfast done for us though, especially for you” she said, signaling at the pancakes and orange juice on the table.

“What did she say?”

She grabbed the piece of paper with the note you had left for Joel about his breakfast.

Sarah handed the note to Joel, and he read your words:

“Breakfast is ready for you, even if you're a big dummy sometimes. Make sure to eat. We can talk later.

-Bee"

Joel sighed, realizing the gravity of his actions. The note reflected a mix of care and disappointment, a sentiment he knew he had to address.

"Thanks, Sarah," he said, genuinely grateful for the effort you had made even when upset. "I'll talk to Bee later."

“So, what did you do?” she asked,

Joel hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I made a mistake, Sarah. I let something else take priority over what really matters. It wasn't fair to Bee.”

Sarah's expression was a mix of interest and concern. "Is Bee mad at you?"

Joel gave a sad nod. "She is, indeed. She has every right to be so. "I ruined our celebration and hurt her feelings."

Sarah crossed her arms, thinking about her father's behavior. "What are you going to do about it?"

Joel groaned, with an enthusiastic look in his eyes. "I'm going to apologize and make amends." I care deeply about Bee, and I don't want to mess things up."

Sarah smiled encouragingly at him. "Have you noticed she seems more sensitive these days?"

Joel rubbed his brow as he considered Sarah's observation. "Do you think so?" "Why did you say that?"

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not sure, just an observation. Perhaps it's because you and she are becoming more serious, and she is becoming more invested in everything."

Joel nodded "You could be right. That is something I need to be more aware of. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, kid."

"Oh," she remembered, "she was throwing up in the morning, maybe she is sick?"

Sarah let out a sigh. "I'm not sure, Dad. Maybe she didn't want to bother you after last night."

Joel's expression was a mix of concern and sadness. "I messed up big time."

Sarah stroked his shoulder. "Go talk to her, Dad." Make everything right. And perhaps you could bring her some soup or something. Isn't that what you do when someone is sick?

Joel laughed. "Right. Thank you so much, darling. "I'll take care of it." With renewed enthusiasm, he set out to find you and talk.

Sarah continued, encouraged by her father's acknowledgment, "Just make sure she knows you're sorry and that you care about her." You can't afford to make a mistake here, Dad."

Joel chuckled at his daughter's insight. "You are completely correct. I'll do all in my power to set things right." He then excused himself to find you and deal with the mess he had made.

Joel returned Sarah's smile, acknowledging her perspective. "I am, kid. More than I ever imagined I could be."

Once he arrived at the gallery, he got out of the car. The first thing he did was look at your flower shop. And there were you, outside, laughing at something an old lady was telling you while you were serving her some tea at one of the tables you had outside of the flower shop.

As you were there, he couldn’t help but think how lucky he was you that loved him. You were effortless, beautiful and a kind soul he sometimes thought he didn’t deserve.

Joel took a moment to observe you from a distance, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched the interaction between you and the old lady. He felt a mixture of warmth and gratitude, knowing that you were a significant part of his life.

He approached the flower shop, gathering his bravery. You looked up from serving tea as he cleared his throat, your gaze catching his.

You smiled politely, but your eyes were a little unsure.

"Who is this handsome man?" the old lady asked, seeing you two connect.

Joel laughed, enjoying the playful interruption. "My name is Joel. I'm her boyfriend," he said, hoping his introduction wasn't too bold.

The elderly lady's eyes twinkled with delight. "Well, Joel, aren't you a lucky man? This lady has a golden heart."

The compliment made you blush, and you were happy for the distraction. "Oh, Mary, please stop. This is Mary, a regular customer and close friend."

Joel returned his gorgeous smile as he offered a hand to Mary. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mary." Bee frequently mentions you."

Mary placed his hand in hers, shaking it firmly. "Oh, she does? So, young man, you'd better take good care of her."

Joel nodded; his gaze fixed on yours. "I plan to."

Joel returned his attention to you as Mary excused herself. "Can we talk, Bee?"

You appeared conflicted for a moment, then you relented and guided him into the shop.

The aroma of fresh flowers enveloped both of you once you entered. Although the tone was light, there remained an undercurrent of unresolved anxiety. You stepped behind the counter, raising an eyebrow at Joel.

"What kind of flowers are we looking for today, sir?" you asked politely.

Joel grinned, appreciating your willingness to play along. "I'm thinking about something bright that says 'I'm sorry for being an idiot'?"

You chuckled, grabbing a mix of vibrant blooms. "Ah, the classic apology bouquet. Popular choice."

Joel leaned on the counter, watching you work. "So, Bee, about last night..."

You interrupted, holding up a finger. "Let me finish this one, and then we can talk. You're not off the hook just yet."

He nodded, a playful glint in his eyes. "I'm at your mercy, flower queen.”

Once the bouquet was ready, you handed it to Joel. "There you go, the 'I'm Sorry' special. Now, talk."

Joel took the bouquet, his eyes softening. "I messed up, Bee. I should have prioritized you over the gallery celebration. I'm truly sorry."

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “It’s not about that. You could have told me, but instead you treated our anniversary as nothing important to you.”

Joel's expression turned more earnest as he listened to your words. "Bee, you're right. I should have communicated better. I didn't mean to make you feel unimportant. Our anniversary means everything to me."

You looked at him, the frustration giving way to a softer understanding. "I just want us to be on the same page, Joel. We're in this together."

He nodded, his eyes shining with sincerity. "I understand, and I apologize for my error." I promise I'll make it up to you."

You cracked a little smile at him. "Actions, Joel, speak louder than words. Remember? I know that living together is something different now, and maybe you felt a little stifled by my presence at –

"Don't you ever say that again," he interjected seriously. The increased passion in Joel's voice surprised you. His eyes pierced into yours. "I don't feel suffocated, Bee. Not even for a second. It's what I want to have you here, sharing our lives. It's something I've always wanted."

His sincerity resonated, and you felt a warmth spreading in your chest. You nodded, the unspoken understanding settling between you two. "Okay, Joel. I believe you."

He reached for your hand; his grip gentle yet reassuring. "I love you, Bee. And I don't want you to ever doubt that."

A soft smile played on your lips.

“Come here” he said.

You walked around the counter to be close to him and allowed him to put his arms around your middle, you kissed his neck.

“Sarah told me you threw up this morning, are you sick?” he questioned, worried.

You sighed, feeling the warmth of Joel's embrace. "I think it's just a stomach bug or something. It happens."

He tightened his grip on you, concern evident in his voice. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Not yet," you admitted, "but I'll schedule an appointment if it persists."

Joel's fingers traced comforting circles on your back. "Take care of yourself, Bee. I hate seeing you unwell."

You chuckled; the vibration felt against his chest. "I'm a tough. A little bug won't bring me down."

He kissed the top of your head. "Still, let me know if you need anything. And about last night..."

You looked up at him, and he continued, "I'll make it up to you, Bee. I promise."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his understanding. "I know you will, Joel."

A few days later, Joel kept true to his promise. He had planned a surprise meal for you at a nice restaurant, and he led you inside with a slight smile on his lips. The atmosphere was cozy, with soft lighting and a bouquet of your favorite flowers on the table.

As you settled into your seats, Joel took a moment to gaze at you, admiration evident in his eyes. "I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, sincerity lacing his words. "I know I messed up our celebration, and I want to make it up to you."

"It's okay," you murmured as you took his hands in yours as you smiled at him.

Joel had chosen a dimly lit restaurant for your date, with a pleasant setting that set the tone for a romantic evening. You and Joel shared a lovely supper while telling stories and laughing. You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and connection as the night proceeded.

Joel made every effort to remain attentive throughout the meal, engaging in significant conversations and making you feel appreciated. You felt a wave of nausea as dessert arrived. Excusing yourself, you dashed to the restroom, hoping to alleviate the bad feeling.

While you were gone, Joel recognized one of the artists he had celebrated with the night before. She was seated at the bar when she noticed Joel and decided to start a conversation.

The artist, an attractive and confident woman, started to flirt with Joel. He tried to keep the talk light and professional, but the girl appeared determined to inject a little humor into their conversation. You came from the restroom just in time to see their conversation, unnoticed by Joel.

As you approached, you noticed the exchange between Joel and the artist. Your brows furrowed, and a tinge of jealousy crept into your heart.

“Excuse me” you interrupted as the woman caressed Joel’s arm, “What’s happening here?”

Joel turned, a slightly surprised expression on his face as he saw you standing there. The artist, still oblivious to Joel's relationship status, greeted you with a friendly smile.

"Oh, hi there! she said, extending a hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize Joel was here with someone."

You shook her hand, trying to maintain composure. "Hi. Who are you?"

"I'm Michelle, one of the artists from the gallery," she replied. "Joel and I were just chatting about some upcoming exhibitions.” She smiled at you through her teeth, not happy about the interruption. “Who are you?”

You glanced at Joel, who seemed to sense the tension. “His girlfriend” you said, simply.

The woman seemed speechless for a moment. “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend” she said.

“Well, you know now.”

“How long have you both been dating?” she asked, mostly to Joel.

“A year” he said, proudly, smiling at you.

“It’s not a long time” she said.

You raised an eyebrow, unamused by her comment.

"It's long enough for us." Joel said.

“And- “

“Oh my god, if you have so many questions why don’t you sit with Joel and talk” you spoke “I’m going home” you said, already walking out of the restaurant.

Joel hastily followed you out of the restaurant, catching up with you just as you reached the sidewalk. He grabbed your arm gently, turning you to face him.

"Bee, wait. I'm sorry about that. I had no idea she'd do that."

You sighed, looking into his sincere eyes. "I know you didn't invite that. It's just frustrating sometimes."

"I get it," Joel said, running a hand through his hair. "But you didn’t have to act like a child, bee. She is a really prestigious and important artist for the gallery”, he added, acting angrily.

You felt a twinge of frustration at Joel's comment. "I'm not acting like a child, Joel. I just didn't expect to see you being flirted with so blatantly, especially on our anniversary celebration. It caught me off guard."

"Let's just go home and forget about this, okay?"

“No” he said, grabbing you from your wrist, taking you off guard. “You have been overreacting lately, what’s happening to you?”

You winced at his sudden grip on your wrist, the unexpected force surprising you. Joel's frustration was evident, and you could feel the tension building.

"I'm not overreacting," you said, your voice steady but trembling with your own frustration. "I just didn't like seeing you getting flirted like that. Maybe I didn't handle it perfectly, but it bothered me."

Joel released his grip, "Bee, I just want you to trust me. Nothing happened, and I wouldn't let anything happen. You don't need to get defensive."

You took a step back, rubbing your arm where he had held you. "I trust you, Joel. It's not about that. It's just... I don't know. Maybe I'm more sensitive lately."

“Why?” he continued.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay?” you sobbed, ashamed of yourself. “Can we just go home?”

Joel nodded, realizing that pressing the issue any further might not be the best decision. He unlocked the car door for you, and you both climbed inside for the ride home. The mood inside the car was tense, due to a mix of unresolved stress and an equal need to move on from recent events.

However, during the drive, you started feeling a bit dizzy. The events of the evening, the unexpected encounter, and the rush of emotions seemed to take a toll on you. You leaned back in the seat, closing your eyes to quell the uneasiness.

Joel noticed your discomfort and became concerned. "Bee, are you okay? You seem a bit off."

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the dizziness. "I think it's just everything catching up with me. I'll be fine."

But as the car continued its journey home, the dizziness persisted, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something more than just the events of the evening was affecting you.

Joel's worry deepened, and he reached over to gently place a hand on your shoulder. "Maybe we should stop by the hospital, just to be sure."

You shook your head, attempting to muster a reassuring smile. "It's probably just fatigue. I'll rest when we get home."

However, Joel wasn't convinced. As you pulled into the driveway, he helped you out of the car, supporting you as you walked into the house. The uneasiness lingered, prompting Joel to insist on seeking medical advice.

"Let's at least call a doctor, Bee," he suggested, his concern etched across his face. "I want to make sure you're okay."

“I’ll go tomorrow,” you said.

Joel nodded hesitantly, knowing your hesitation. He led you to the couch and urged you to rest while he went to get a drink of water. The room appeared to spin as you sat there, and the unease in your gut continued.

When Joel returned, he handed you the water with concern in his eyes. "I know you're tough, but this isn't normal, Bee." Please have you checked out by a doctor tonight."

You took a sip of water while you pondered his statements. The dizziness and discomfort were fading away.

"I told you I'll go tomorrow. I'm better," you said with a faint smile.

"Okay"

After a few hours, in the middle of the night, Joel woke up to your absence beside him in bed. Instant worry creeped up in his body. Where would you be at this time of the night? He made his way downstairs, finding the little dim light of the kitchen on with no sign of you.

Joel's worried expression transformed into a mixture of relief and amusement as he saw you on the kitchen floor, eating ice-cream.

"Love, what are you doing down here?" he asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Caught in the act, you looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise. A moment of silence passed before you burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the quiet kitchen.

"I couldn't sleep, and I was craving something sweet," you explained between giggles.

Joel chuckled, joining you on the floor. "In the middle of the night? You're a true midnight snacker, aren't you?"

You nodded, still laughing. "Guilty as charged." You smiled at him again. “I didn’t get to finish my dessert at the restaurant.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "You never cease to surprise me, my love."

With a playful grin, you held up the ice cream container. "Want to join me?"

Joel shook his head, feigning seriousness. "I'll pass. It's past my bedtime, you know."

“Are you going back to bed?”

Joel nodded, his playful smile lingering. "Yeah, I should. But if you're going to stay up, I might make an exception."

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, go back to sleep. I'll join you in a bit."

He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Alright, but don't stay up too late. I'll be waiting for you."

As Joel headed back to bed, you enjoyed the solitude of the quiet kitchen, savoring the ice cream. You didn’t know why you have been craving sweet snacks so much lately.

After a while, you decided to join Joel in bed, carrying the warmth of the content feeling you had after enjoying the midnight snack. The soft glow of the moonlight seeped through the curtains as you quietly entered the bedroom, finding Joel peacefully asleep.

Slipping under the covers, you cuddled up beside him, savoring the warmth and familiarity of his presence. As you closed your eyes, you fell asleep into the peaceful dream you have had in a long time.

In the following days, your unease persisted, prompting you to make an appointment with the doctor, as Joel had suggested. The clinic was calm, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, making you a bit more uncomfortable.

Joel accompanied you to the doctor, his hand reassuringly holding yours throughout the process. As you anxiously waited for the results, your mind raced with thoughts about what might be causing your recent discomfort. The doctor, a friendly and reassuring figure, led you through the examination.

Finally, the doctor returned, a warm smile on their face “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

The news hung in the air, filling the room with a mix of shock and thrill. Tears flooded into your eyes as you realized the new life growing inside you, triggering an eruption of the mix of emotions.

As you left the clinic, a myriad of thoughts and emotions swirled within you. You decided not to immediately share the news with Joel, you were scared all over again.

You had recently passed your first year of a relationship and you were both adjusting to your life living together. You felt anxious as you walked through the hallway of the hospital

the weight of the revelation settling in your mind. The hallway seemed longer than usual, and the white walls closed in on you, echoing your internal turmoil.

Joel, sensing your unease, gently placed a hand on the small of your back as you walked together. "Are you okay, Bee? How was it?”

You forced a smile, though your eyes betrayed some tears. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind. Let's talk about it later."

“Are you sure?” He stopped in his tracks to face you. “Love, don’t scare me”

You faked the best of your smiles and nodded “I’m sure. Just a stomach bug. Let’s go” you said, walking ahead.

What if he didn’t want to have a baby with you?

Later that evening, as the three of you settled on the couch to watch a movie, the atmosphere was relaxed. Sarah, snuggled between you and Joel, seemed in high spirits.

"This is always fun, guys," she exclaimed, eyes flickering between the screen and both of you.

You and Joel shared a smile, enjoying the simplicity of your movie’s nights together. However, the air started to suffocate you. The characters on the screen welcomed a new baby, forcing Sarah to speak up.

"Hey, Dad," she began innocently, "wouldn't it be cool if Bee had a baby? I'd love a little sister."

You exchanged a glance with Joel, the topic catching you off guard. Joel's expression shifted, his features revealing a mix of surprise and hesitation. You sensed a sudden tension in the air.

"Uh, well, Sarah," Joel started carefully, "I think we're good as we are. Being a father again... it's not something I'm looking for."

Sarah's brow furrowed, processing Joel's response. "But you'd be such a great dad, and I'd be an awesome big sister!"

You placed a hand on Joel's arm, offering silent support. "It's okay, Sarah. Not everyone wants the same things in life, and that's perfectly fine."

Joel's comments had a heavy weight on your chest. Your thoughts raced as Sarah began to explain her naïve hopes for a new addition to the family. You weren't expecting this topic to come up tonight, and Joel's reaction left you crying with the silent secret growing within you.

The movie was playing on the screen, but your attention was wandering. You felt a rush of emotions, including disappointment, worry, and an increasing feeling of guilt for not telling Joel about the baby. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and you could feel the weight of the unspoken truth suffocating you.

Joel noticed the change in the mood. He looked at you with concern on his face. You had a decision at that point: tell the truth and or continue to bear the weight of the secret.

Once you were snug as a bug in bed, Joel was finishing putting on his t-shirt to join you in bed. The weight of the previous conversation was still pressing your heart.

“Would it be so bad, tough?” You asked, breaking the silence without glancing at Joel.

“What?”

“Having a baby with me” you said.

Joel paused, the significance of your words sinking in. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing you. "Bee, it's not about whether it would be bad or not. It's just unexpected, and I didn't know you were thinking about that”

You two fell into a tense silence, the weight of the unspoken lingering in the air. You met Joel's eyes, searching for any sign of his feelings.

"I should have told you earlier," you admitted, your voice carrying a tinge of shame "I wanted to be sure before bringing it up."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's a big decision, Bee. We need to talk about it, consider everything."

Joel looked into your eyes, his expression earnest. "Bee, you're my future. I love you, and I want to build a life with you. But having a baby is a big step. We need to be sure we're ready for it."

There were no more words after that, so you chose to pretend you fell asleep feeling the weight of your thoughts; the words he had told and the secret in your belly settled in the middle of your two bodies. For the first time since you moved with him, he didn’t place his arm around your waist.

The next day wasn’t any easier. You woke up feeling nauseous, as your body had started signaling the beginning of changes. The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. Joel was already up, preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

As you walked into the kitchen, the aroma of eggs filled the air. Joel turned to greet you, but his expression was a mix of concern and uncertainty.

"Morning," you said, attempting a smile.

"Morning," Joel replied, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. "How are you feeling?"

“Good” you replied shortly, “I think I’m heading out earlier to the shop” you said, trying to escape from the uncomfortable conversation you were avoiding.

Joel nodded, his eyes lingering on you. "Alright, but we can't keep avoiding this. We need to talk about what's happening."

You sighed, knowing he was right but not ready to dive into that discussion just yet. "I know, Joel."

You said before heading out to the shop, you tried to focus on your daily tasks, but the undercurrent of tension followed you. The shop's familiar surroundings felt different, as if the walls themselves were aware of the unspoken secret.

And the smell of flowers was making you vomit, but you had to keep this hidden for a little bit longer.

Your thoughts kept returning to Joel and the talk you both needed to have while you arranged flowers and assisted clients, but because you were concealed in your shop, the chiming of the door distracted you from your own demons.

“I’m coming” you said, faking a happy tone. Just as you appeared in sight, you went frozen.

“This place looks as nice as I remember.”

"Connell?!" you exclaimed; your surprise evident.

"In person" Connell replied with a gorgeous grin.

The doorbell chimed again, and a customer entered, giving you a moment to compose yourself. You exchanged pleasantries with the customer, all the while glancing at Connell.

Once the customer left, Connell took a step closer. "Surprised to see me?"

"More than surprised," you admitted, a mix of emotions bubbling inside you. "What brings you here?"

Connell's gaze travelled around the shop. "Just passing through town and thought I'd drop by. It's been a while." He smiled.

“I thought you hated me” you spoke.

Connell's smile faded, and he looked at you with sincerity. "Oh my God, I could never hate you. You just followed your heart but I never hated you.” A smirk creeped on his lips “Besides, I met someone, you know?”

You felt happiness at his revelation. "Really?" you exclaimed "I'm glad. Lucky person" you replied genuinely. "I hope you're happy."

Connell nodded. "Yeah, she's great. We met at the hospital, and things just clicked. Life has a funny way of working out sometimes."

Connell leaned against the counter. "So, how's life treating you? And Joel?"

A part of you hesitated, unsure of how much to share. "Life's... complicated. Joel and I are okay, I guess."

Connell raised an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"

You sighed, choosing your words carefully. "It's not that simple. We're just figuring things out, you know?"

Connell nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "Relationships are never easy. If you ever need to talk, I'm one video call away" he said.

He genuinely cared for you. He had always had, and even now, when you weren't connected in a romantic way anymore, you were still a friend he was always going to protect.

"Thanks, Connell. I appreciate that," you said, genuinely grateful for his support.

“But you look gorgeous. You’re glowing” he said, happily taking your form. “It’s like you-

Your smile faded a little at that.

“Are you…?” He asked.

You took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before responding. "Yes, Connell, I am."

Connell's eyes widened in surprise, and he took a step back. "Wow! Well, that's... unexpected."

"Yeah, it is," you admitted, a mix of emotions coursing through you. "I found out yesterday, and I haven't told Joel about it yet."

Connell's expression shifted to one of concern. "Joel doesn't know?"

You shook your head. "Not yet. It's complicated, Connell. I-He said he doesn't know if he wants to be a father again." You felt a lump in your throat, and you started crying without a reason. Connell hug you tightly immediately, without hesitation.

As you cried on his shoulder, the door chimed.

“What’s going on here?” Joel’s voice broke at that moment. He wasn’t happy about the scene unfolding before his eyes.

“Is this why you had been acting so weird?”

Joel's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Connell released you from the hug, and you wiped away your tears hastily, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Joel," you stammered, "it's not what it looks like."

Connell stepped back, giving you space to explain. Joel's gaze shifted between you and Connell,with confusion and concern on his face.

"What's happening, Bee?" Joel asked, his tone demanding an explanation.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Connell came to visit me, we were just catching up, and, well, emotions got the best of me."

Joel's expression remained stern, and he crossed his arms. "Catching up, huh?"

Connell, sensing the tension, spoke up. "Joel, I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I was just passing through and thought I'd say hi."

Joel's gaze didn't waver. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Connell nodded, shooting you a sympathetic look before heading toward the door. "Take care, Bee. I'll be around if you need to talk."

"Don't be an ass to her, you promised me that, remember" he warned, before stepping out.

As Connell left, the atmosphere in the room remained tense. Joel turned his attention back to you, waiting for an explanation.

You took a deep breath, meeting Joel's gaze with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Joel, I didn't plan for Connell to show up like this. We were just talking. I didn't mean for it to become emotional."

Joel's expression remained stern, his arms still crossed. "Emotional? What kind of emotions are we talking about here?"

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Connell noticed something, something I wasn't ready to share yet."

Joel's eyebrows furrowed. "Share? Bee, what are you talking about?"

You glanced away, a knot forming in your stomach “If I tell you I may lose you.”

“You’re losing me now, bee.” he warned.

But you didn’t say anything, you were afraid.

“Then fuck you, Bee.”

Joel turned and left the room, leaving you standing there with a sinking feeling in your chest. The once warm and hopeful atmosphere had turned cold and uncertain, and the road ahead seemed daunting.

Later that evening, you arrived home to find Sarah and Joel sitting at the dinner table. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and Joel's eyes held hurt and frustration. You took a deep breath, knowing the conversation couldn't be delayed any longer.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice carrying a hint of apprehension.

"Hey," Joel replied, his tone not better than yours.

Sarah glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitated for a moment before responding. "Joel, we need to talk."

He nodded; his expression guarded. "Yeah, we do."

"I'm not staying tonight," you informed them. "I need some time away from you, and I'll be at Lily's."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she looked from you to Joel. "What's going on?"

You shot Joel a quick glance before turning back to Sarah. "It's just something we need to figure out, Baby girl. Don't worry"

Without waiting for a response, you headed upstairs to pack a bag for the night. The weight of the situation pressed on you as you grabbed a few essentials, unsure of what was going to happen tomorrow.

Joel followed you upstairs, the tension in the air palpable. As you started packing a bag, he stood in the doorway, unsure of how to approach the conversation. The atmosphere in the room felt heavy with unspoken words.

"Love, please," Joel finally spoke, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and concern. "You don't have to go."

You continued packing, avoiding eye contact. "Joel, I need some space to think. I can't stay here tonight."

He stepped further into the room, his gaze pleading. "I'm sorry for how I reacted. I shouldn't have said those things."

You sighed, pausing your packing but not turning to face him. "Joel, this is bigger than just tonight. We need to figure out what we both want and if we're on the same page."

He took a step closer, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "Bee, I love you. I don't want you to go, especially not like this."

You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. The conflict within you intensified, torn between the emotions inside you.

"I need time, Joel," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I need to understand why you don’t want the same things for us."

Joel's features softened, and he removed his hand, allowing you the space you needed. The room was filled with an uneasy silence as you zipped up your bag, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions.

"I messed up," Joel admitted, his voice carrying regret. "I love you, Bee. I don't want to lose you."

You closed your eyes, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "You won't lose me" you clarified.

As you made your way to the door, the heaviness of your decision bore down on you. In your hurry, you stumbled, almost losing your balance. The bags in your hands threatened to spill, but just in the nick of time, Joel's strong arms caught you. His reflexes kicked in, and he steadied you, a mixture of concern and confusion in his eyes.

"Bee, be careful," he urged, his hands still on your arms. The warmth of his touch, even in this moment of tension, sent a shiver through you.

You winced, feeling the impact of the close call. The realization of your vulnerability sank in, and you instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly. Joel's eyes widened as he followed the movement.

Concern etched across his face; he gently placed a hand on your stomach. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

Your eyes met his, and in that shared gaze, Joel sensed something deeper. A silent understanding passed between you, and he connected the dots. It was like all his life passed in front of his eyes.

With a soft gasp, Joel whispered, "Are you...?"

You didn’t respond, instead you hold his hand placed over your stomach and gripped tightly as if this was the decisive moment in the course of your relationship.

but still, his features on his face were unreadable. You knew what those moments meant between you. The words say but nothing back in return. It was like all that night all over again and you couldn't bear silence once again. You weren't alone this time. Unable to endure the quiet any longer, you broke it with a whispered, "Joel." Your voice carried a mix of vulnerability and hope, seeking connection and understanding.

At that moment, Joel let go of you carefully, creating a bit of space between you two. His eyes continued to hold a mixture of awe and realization, and it was clear that the weight of the revelation was sinking inside him.

What he had to say was going to define the rest of your story.

a/n: Reader loves self-sabotaging.

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3 @ssacharcoalgrey @missladym1981 @littleshadow17 @sevillagrenada

150 notes · View notes

blue-slxt · 8 months

Text

Our Song Cord: Nobody Gets Out of Love Alive

(Chapter 4)

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Time to finally get to the plot point that inspired this whole fic for me lol. This idea just came smack outta nowhere and it wouldn't leave my brain until I got it down so I hope you guys enjoy it. Every chapter title is a song reference, so if you know the song, you get a cookie. I really really appreciate feedback so comments and reblogs are heavily encouraged. All characters are aged up.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part | Next Part

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Reader Making Poor Life Decisions, Kiri Being the Best, Mentions of Smut, Cheating? (If you squint), Friends to Lovers, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mentions of Pregnancy

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Consequences and misunderstandings.

There’s a distinct shift in you and Neteyam’s relationship over the next week or so. In public, you both give the appearance of best friends. Partners in crime that do everything together just like everyone had always known you to. But in private, you more often than not spent your time as a sweaty, heaving pile of intertwined limbs. Even after the end of your heat, the two of you still couldn’t seem to keep your hands off of each other.

Neteyam, in particular, was getting bolder with his affection. It would be a small brush of his tail against yours, his hand lingering on the small of your back during actual training sessions, or even a quick sneaky kiss he’d press against your cheek when no one was looking. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely adore all the attention he showered you with. Your heart called out for him in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but it hit you with a force strong enough to make the blood all rush to your head. Your body craved him deeply as if he was the very air you needed to fill your lungs. But the revelation of all these feelings did complicate things.

The reality was, Neteyam didn’t belong to you. And soon, he was going to belong to someone else. You felt ashamed every time you would see Layao shoot him a smile or let her hands trail over his arms and you would feel your gut twist with nausea.

You knew that this arrangement you had with Neteyam was going to be coming to an end soon as his ceremony was coming in just a couple days. But it was the fact that your time was running out that made you want him that much more. To steal these small moments with him more often. Build more memories to hold on to like a security blanket. She would have him for the rest of their lives, you should be allowed these last few days.

And what an eventful few days it was. The two of you would see each other every single night. You would spend hours experimenting with new positions and possible kinks. You’ve both discovered a lot about each other and yourselves. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had him spit in your mouth. The thought of such a thing before would have disgusted you, but when you hold your head back and mouth open still holding some of his cum on your tongue and you watch that steady stream roll from his tongue to yours, you swear you’ve never tasted anything more delicious in your life. And Neteyam loves having you on top. He loves being able to watch your head fall back and release so many sweet, dirty sounds while your tits bounce with your every move.

And as much as you loved fucking him, you equally loved the tender way he’d hold you afterwards. You’d lay your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat and he’d kiss the top of your head while cooing sweet words to you. On several nights, the two of you would lose track of time and have to scramble to make it back home before everyone else woke up. It was a risky arrangement, but that just added to the thrill of it all.

But now, Neteyam’s ceremony is in 2 days and you can’t help the deep sense of dread you feel lurking just under the surface. It causes your vision to go unsteady and your stomach churn when you wake up in the morning. Suddenly, you’re rushing out of your home and to a nearby bush coughing up your stomach contents. It burns your throat and leaves a disgusting taste in your mouth. Your body feels weak trying to walk back to your home. You quickly rinse your mouth out with some water you have and decide it’s probably smart to go to the healing tent and be checked just to be totally sure that you’re not coming down with a cold. Hopefully, they have something that will settle your stomach.

When you walk into the healing tent you look around for any familiar face. “Kiri? Tsahik?” Footsteps shuffle over to you and it’s Layao. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking for Kiri or Mo’at.”

“Oh, they’re out gathering herbs. Are you alright? Is it something I can help you with?” Her voice is sweet and her expression is gentle. Another churn of your stomach plagues you as you fight to swallow back down the bile building in your throat.

“W-well, I woke up not feeling very well. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t getting sick.”

“I can definitely help you. Mo’at has been training me more in these kinds of things. Come, sit.” She gently holds your wrist and leads you to sit on a mat nearby. You try to take deep breaths to help ease the erratic beating of your heart. Your eyes study her as she pulls out a small, sharp bone similar to the one that Mo’at keeps with her. Her voice is still gentle when she approaches you.

“It’s just going to be a little prick.” She pokes just barely through your skin and brings the tip of the bone up to her lips and lets her eyes close while she listens for Eywa.

After only a few seconds, her eyes shoot open and she smiles brightly at you. “You are with child. You have been blessed.”

A ringing in your ears starts. “I’m sorry, that must be a mistake. A child?” “It is no mistake. I have done this several times now. Eywa is going to bless you and your mate with a precious baby.” She clasps her hands together showing her genuine excitement for you.

Your chest tightens with a mix of emotions.

“I did not know that you had a mate already. I’m sure he will be overjoyed to know!” she places a hand on your shoulder and you do your best to not recoil from her touch.

“This is big news. I should go so I can rest. Uh, thank you.” You say starting to stand up.

“Oh, wait.” She turns to fidget with a myriad of different bowls and herbs and things behind her. “Here. These should help with the nausea and weakness.” She says as she places a small sack of herbs in your hands.

“Thank you. I should get going.”

The walk back to your home feels like it passes by in a blur. Your mind can’t process anything properly right now. A baby…you were going to have a baby. Neteyam’s baby.

‘Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ is your initial reaction. You flop down on your sleep mat and stare blankly ahead. What are you supposed to do?

You look down at your stomach and, all of a sudden, you’re hit with a wave of overwhelming affection. You hold a hand lightly just under your navel and let it sink in that there’s a little manifestation of your love growing inside of you.

But how are you supposed to tell Neteyam? This would completely derail his arrangement with Layao. You don’t want to cause any trouble or embarrassment for anyone.

While you’re lost in thought, there’s a knock on the post outside the entrance to your home. You jump at the sound, but relax a little when you see that it’s only Kiri. “Hey, Kiri.”

“Hey, Layao told us you came by the tent.”

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t feeling good when I woke up so I just came to get checked.” The apprehension is written all over your face and Kiri can sense it.

“She told us about…” she doesn’t finish her sentence but gestures to your stomach.

“Ah, I see.”

Kiri comes closer to you and crouches next to you. “Don’t look so excited.” She jokes. You know she’s trying to cheer you up, but there’s too much anxiety storming in your mind right now.

“So, who is the lucky guy? Is it Aykxo? I saw you talking with him a while ago. He’s quite the catch.”

You try to quickly compose yourself when you turn your head away from her, but the quiver in your lip shakes your voice as it comes out. “No. It is not Aykxo. But I can’t say.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “If it’s not Aykxo, then who else would it be? The only other person I ever see you with is Net—“, she cuts her own sentence short when the circuits connect. When she goes silent, all you can do is look at her. Her expression shifts from shock to pity. “Oh no.”

“You can’t tell him, Kiri.”

“You’re joking. Please tell me you’re not serious. How did this happen? When? Is that why you’ve been out so late together every night? And all the marks on you? Oh, Eywa, I think I’m going to be sick!” You can barely register Kiri’s rambling when your head falls into your hands and the tears start to well in your eyes.

She pauses and takes a breath when she notices your small sniffles. She places an arm around your shoulders. “What are you planning to do?”

“I can’t tell him. It would ruin everything for him. I can’t do that to him.”

“But this is his baby. He’ll want to be there for you. He has to know. Besides, what are you going to tell him when your belly starts growing?”

She’s right. And you know she is. Of course, Neteyam deserves to know and you know that he would want to be there, but the fear of what this could do to your relationship is too great in your heart. It’s one thing for him to reject you, but to turn away you and your baby would utterly crush you.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I can’t tell him, Kiri. I can’t. And you can’t either. Nobody can know.”

“Fine. I won’t say anything. But he should know. This baby is as much his as it is yours.”

You huff out a breath trying to decide on the best course of action.

“Do you need anything?” she asks still holding onto you.

“Just time.” You say plainly.

“Alright. Consider it done.” She responds in a very matter-of-fact tone.

You watch her in confusion as she stands and makes her way out of your home before you even have the chance to ask her what she means. Instead, you fall on to your back on your sleep mat and stare up at the sky musing to yourself about your situation.

…

This might be a mistake. When Neteyam asked you earlier if the two of you were still meeting tonight, every logical part of you screamed at you to make up some kind of excuse to say no. But seeing his hopeful eyes and that damned smile that defied all logic, you couldn’t find it in you to turn him down.

So, here you stood near the shack waiting. You beat him here tonight since your anxiety was running too high for you to just sit at home.

When you hear a rustling in the nearby bushes, your body tenses feeling him get closer. When Neteyam finally emerges, he’s clearly surprised to see you here first, but happy all the same.

“You’re already here. That excited to see me?” he jokes walking straight to you and wrapping his arms around your middle. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck and presses feather light kisses to your shoulder.

By Eywa, how are you not supposed to just soften under his gentle hold? “Teyam?”

“Hm?” he hums in response without moving his face away from your neck.

“Can we just sit together for a while? It’s been kind of a rough day and I just really need you.” Your voice is hesitant and small. But when he pulls back, there’s not even a hint of disappointment there.

“Of course, sevin.”

He’s gotten much more comfortable with things like that too lately. Every now and then, Neteyam will drop in a pet name for you. It makes your heart pound every time, even if you feel like it shouldn’t.

He sits on the ground cross legged and opens his arms out for you in waiting. You smile to yourself before slotting yourself right into his lap facing him and crossing your legs behind his back. You rest your head on his shoulder and he mimics you while rubbing his hand up and down the expanse of your back.

“What is bothering you, syulang?”

If there was ever a time to tell him the truth, this would be it. It should be. And yet, your mouth just opens and closes repeatedly searching for the right string of words.

“I just woke up not feeling really good…” not technically a lie. “And I just keep thinking about this. Soon, you are going to have your mating ceremony and we’ll have to stop this.” It sounds needier to your ears than you’d like for it to. “I mean, you won’t need my help anymore, you know?”

Your attempt at a recovery is unconvincing at best and you just pray that Neteyam won’t pick up on the underlying context. He’d never tell you whether he did or didn’t, though. Neteyam is a smart man. But still, it doesn’t take much more than half a brain and a pair of working eyes to figure out that you had it bad for him. He found it nothing short of adorable how your face would flush when he’d kiss your cheek or how you would stutter and stumble over your words when you’d ask for him to touch you.

“Well, if that is worrying you, then you’ll be happy to know that the ceremony has been postponed.” He says still just mindlessly rubbing his fingertips in shapes on your back.

Instead of happiness, your first emotion is surprise. You pull your face back to be able to look at him to make sure he was being serious. “What? Why?”

He just shrugs his shoulders, “I’m not sure. Apparently, grandmother had a change of opinion and suggested to my parents that we put the whole thing on hold.” “For how long?” “They didn’t say. Just until she is sure again, I guess.”

Your brain tries to figure out what reason Mo’at could possibly have for changing her mind. That was something she rarely ever did. Once she had an idea set in her mind, there was usually no talking her out of it. And, for some reason, your mind keeps flashing back to your conversation with Kiri from earlier.

“Do you need anything?”

“Just time.”

“Alright. Consider it done.”

There’s no way. You thought her demeanor was a little odd, but there’s no way that she managed to pull this off. You try to suppress the small smile that makes its way onto your face. You mentally file away a note to make her the best bracelet your amateur fingers could manage.

Neteyam notices the lift in your expression and it clearly pleases him to see you happy.

“I will always need you. We’ve spent our whole lives together. How could I ever not need you?” The hint of love in his voice and eyes is disarming. How are you supposed to not be completely in love with this man? You place your hands on either side of his face and brush your nose against his with a small giggle. “You are too sweet to me, Teyam.”

For the rest of the night, you both pass your time with just casual conversation. Neteyam tells you what kind of trouble Lo’ak has gotten himself mixed up in lately and you fill him in on the latest gossip among the people. Neteyam isn’t really one for gossip, but he loves seeing how enthusiastic you are with your vivid retellings. Neither of you can keep your hands to yourselves the whole time. You always have to be touching in some kind of way. Sometimes Neteyam has you sit in his lap, sometimes your back is pressed against his chest while you sit between his legs, hand holding, playing with each other’s braids, stolen kisses, longing looks, it’s more intimate than some mated couples.

It’s enough to make you temporarily forget about the tiny truth hiding in your womb behind your still flat stomach.

Once daylight starts threatening to creep in, you both decide to call it a night and sneak back home. Since it’s still so early, you actually accept Neteyam’s offer to walk you home this time. It’s far too early for even the earliest risers to be stirring around so there should be no real harm in it. All the while, your mind is trying to work out the best way to break the news to him. And then comes the fear. You don’t want to lose this. It’s so comfortable and pure and you don’t want to ruin that. But you won’t be able to keep this under wraps for long.

“Thank you for walking me, Teyam. You really didn’t have to.” You say turning to him once you reach your home.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I want to make sure you’re safe. Besides, it gives me an excuse to spend an extra few minutes with you.” His slanted grin exposes one of his fangs and you want to roll your eyes at him, but your smile gives you away. You go to turn and walk in, but you stop when he grabs your hand and turns you back to him. His eyes roam up and down your body and his voice is low. “Will I see you later?”

Fuck, he can’t look at you like that and talk like that. You literally can’t say no to him when he looks at you like that. You have to bite your lip just to keep from screaming. “Sure, Nete.” You say his name in a singsong voice teasing him.

He may laugh, but you know that he not-so-secretly loves it. He steps forward to peck your lips one quick time before finally letting go of your hand and watching you walk inside.

Neteyam knows that he’s in a tricky spot. On the one hand, he feels a deep sense of duty to his family, to his people, and to Layao. But on the other hand, he’d be lying if said he was upset about the arrangement being postponed because that means that he gets to hold on to this fantasy a little longer. He gets to fulfill his duty to his own heart. But which one should take precedent? It’s true he doesn’t want to disappoint his parents or his intended mate, but he can’t picture his future without you. Loving you, mating with you, having you bare his children. Not to mention how you not-so-secretly loved him back. It should be just as simple as that, shouldn’t it? He decided that he needs to have a talk with his father.

…

Rays of light beaming through the spaces of your kelku wake you late in the morning. Your stomach flips and threatens to make you spill, but you choke it back down just barely. This nausea feels like it will be the death of you. But you have daily chores to attend to. With a couple of deep breaths and a couple swigs of water, you settle your stomach enough to make it out of bed and out into the village. Today would be the perfect day to help weave some baskets. You can sit still and you can practice your weaving skills. You take a seat near the other women working on their baskets and use your fingers to slowly form the right intertwining pattern.

It’s tricky for you to say the least. Weaving has never really been your strong suit. Trying to understand the way the patterns and lines all come together to form one cohesive object was beyond you, but you give it your best effort regardless.

You get a little distracted by the feeling of eyes on you. When you look up, you can notice some of the other girls looking at you and whispering amongst themselves. That’s a little odd, but you figure it’s nothing worth worrying about.

“What ya working on?” a familiar voice appears right behind you and makes you jump. When you look, a smiling Kiri is crouched behind you.

“Kiri, you nearly made my heart stop!”

She hides her laugh behind her hand, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You were just focusing so hard.” She moves around so that she’s sitting next to you now. “So, how did things go?”

You swallow hard trying to find the right words yet again.

“It went fine. We talked…a lot…about a lot of…stuff” you couldn’t sound more unconvincing if you tried.

“You didn’t tell him yet, did you?” you flinch a bit at her deadpan expression and tone.

“It just wasn’t the right time.” “Well, I’ve made sure that you have plenty of that.”

“So it was you!” your voice gets a little louder before you can really catch it.

“Shhhh, keep your voice down! You said you needed time so I bought you some time. But you only have so long before you’re not going to be able to hide it anymore. Plus, I have no clue how long before my grandmother actually makes up her mind. So, whatever you do, you better do it quickly.”

She’s not wrong. And you’re grateful for her help, but what are you supposed to do? How do you break news like this?

“But what am I supposed to say to him, Kiri? ‘Hey Neteyam, I know you’re supposed to be with Layao but, I’m pregnant with your baby’? How well do you really think that will go?” you ask with all the sarcasm you can muster.

“Very well, actually! Even the blind can see how much my brother loves you. And I mean love loves you. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

Your cheeks get hot and you can only look away from her. “The timing just still feels off. I’ll tell him. I will. I just need to find the right time.”

Kiri sighs deeply next to you, “Fine, but just don’t let it get away from you.”

“Alright.”

…

When Neteyam arrives back at his family’s kelku, only his mother and Tuk are there. Neytiri was prepping meat for their dinner and Tuk was working on weaving a small basket for herself. Neytiri smiles at Neteyam when he walks in. “Welcome home ma’itan. Food will be ready soon.” She says barely taking her eyes off her working hands.

“Where is dad? I need to speak with him about something important.”

“Your father is in a strategy meeting.” She says and finally looks at Neteyam to see the apprehension written all over him. “What is it that’s troubling you?” She finally sets down the meat and her knife while she watches him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Neteyam considers brushing it off as nothing and coming up with some kind of excuse so he could avoid this conversation with his mother. But then he thinks about it a little deeper. Maybe his mom was the right person to start with after all. While she was always strong and firm, she was also incredibly empathetic when it came to her family. She was often the more level-headed one and more willing to hear them out. He relents with a sigh and walks over to help her with prepping the food for dinner while he talks.

“It is about the arrangement with Layao…I am having some doubts about the whole thing. I understand that she is who you and dad and grandmother have chosen and she is a nice girl, but—”

“But you hold someone else in your heart.” She finishes the thought for him. She was always good at that kind of thing.

He finds himself unable to speak and opts to simply nod his head instead while he continues to work on his slicing. Neytiri places a hand on Neteyam’s face and makes him look at her.

“Layao is a good girl and the two of you together is good for the clan.” Neteyam’s stomach drops hearing this. “But, at the end of the day, you need to do what is good for yourself and if it is this other girl, then Eywa will find a way to make it so.” A small glimmer of hope reappears in Neteyam’s eyes.

“It would not be the first time something like this has happened. It’s how I ended up with your father.” She casually drops in.

Neteyam laughs a little to himself remembering all the times his parents would recall their love story to him and his siblings when they were little. It gave him hope that if things could work out for them this well, then maybe Eywa could make something work out for him too.

Neytiri takes the knife and food from Neteyam, “Go, find your father. It sounds like you need to speak to him.” A ghost of a smile sits on her face and Neteyam perks up a bit feeling a new wave of surety. He offers his mother a kiss on the cheek before jumping up from his spot and heading out to search for Jake.

The clan is alive with the hustle and bustle of everyone going about their day and getting their duties done. In the midst of his search for his father, Neteyam hears a call through the crowd of people.

“Neteyam! There you are!”

When he turns around, Layao is already making her way over to him. He sighs a bit because he doesn’t have time for this right now, but he doesn’t want to be rude to the poor girl. It was already bad enough that he was on his way to call off their arrangement. No need to twist the knife by ignoring her too.

“Layao. Were you looking for me?” he asks putting on his best, most casual smile he can right now.

“Yes, I wanted to give you this. I heard that you like yovo fruit and I figured you could use a snack while you’re going about your day. I’m sure you’re very busy.” Her hand rubs at the back of her neck trying to calm her nerves. Neteyam’s heart breaks for her. She’s truly a sweet girl and she is a catch in her own right, but she just isn’t the one that his heart calls for.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s nothing. Have you heard the good news?”

“What news?”

“About your friend. She and her mate are being blessed with a child.” Her excitement is evident, but Neteyam feels like his brain just short-circuited.

“She and her mate? A child?” he reiterates to ensure he heard her correctly.

“Yes! She came to me the other day because she was feeling ill and I received the message from Eywa. Isn’t it exciting? But I didn’t know she was mated already. I wonder if it’s Aykxo. Remember when we saw them talking that one day? And then they disappeared off into the forest together after eclipse. It has to be, right? That’s what everyone else is saying.” her smile grows wider while she theorizes about the origin of your unborn baby and the secret of your lover.

Now, Neteyam is the one who’s feeling ill. This couldn’t possibly be true, could it? You would have told him…wouldn’t you?

…

Nerves consume you as you lean against the tree near the shack. Neteyam is late. He usually would be here by now and Neteyam is never one for being late. Maybe he got caught by someone trying to sneak off and he needs more time to get away. Your foot is involuntarily tapping the ground trying to release some of the tension in your body. Suddenly, you hear rustling through the bushes and can faintly make out dramatically swaying braids in the dark.

“Teyam! I was starting to worry that you weren’t coming tonight.” You greet him with a smile and walk towards him as he breaks through the foliage. When you approach him, he takes a step back from you. Your face falls. Neteyam has never avoided your touch before. Especially not recently. Usually, his hands are drawn to you like moths to a flame the second he lays eyes on you.

“What’s wrong?”

His jaw clenches and he’s avoiding looking you in the eye. This isn’t like him at all.

“Neteyam!” your voice gets a little louder urging him to finally look at you and say something. When he does look at you, the sight makes your heart break. His eyes are red and filling with tears and there’s a deep sadness tainting his otherwise flawless face.

“Teyam?” your voice is just above a whisper stepping towards him. Your hand is about to rise to touch his face, but his hand gently stops yours by your wrist.

“Is it true?”

You almost can’t even hear the question with how low his voice is.

“Is what true?” “Are you pregnant?”

Silence. Your entire body stills. It feels like even your lungs have frozen in place and stopped your breath all together. His eyes study your face waiting for some kind of sign or an answer. But, in truth, your silence says it all.

“Is it Aykxo’s?” his voice wavers ever so slightly when he speaks.

“Who did you hear that from?”

“That’s what everyone is saying. And I know you went off with him that night you went into heat.” The hurt in his voice is evident. You want nothing more than to deny it; to tell him the truth. But when your mouth falls open to speak, you can’t seem to find words.

“What’s worse is that you didn’t even tell me. I had to hear it from someone else.”

“Who did you hear it from?” “What does that matter? The point is that it should have come from you.” His voice is more firm with the hurt giving way to agitation.

“Teyam, I wanted to tell you, but it’s complicated…” tears start to well in your eyes ready to spill at a moment’s notice.

“No kidding. And to think, I thought you might actually…” a small sob breaks his sentence and he has to pause to take a breath and recompose himself. “Never mind. I don’t know what I expected. This whole thing was always supposed to be just temporary anyways so why don’t we just cut it here? We’ve got all we needed out of each other so no need to continue anymore.”

“Tey, please don’t do this. Just let me explain—”

“Congratulations on your child.” He turns and walks back through the dense bushes and branches and disappears right before your eyes.

The shock finally subsides and the despair flows through you. Your knees give out and you fall to the ground with tears cascading down your face. Sobs rack your body as you hold your stomach. It’s your worst nightmare come true. The man you love has renounced you and your baby. The baby that you didn’t have the courage to tell him belonged to him. That you belonged to him. Looking down at your belly, you quietly promise your baby that the two of you will make it through this…somehow.

Taglist: @soleilmoon @netemoon @fifia-writes @strangersav11

@eywascall @neteyamsluvts @heart-an0n @iman-lu @xylianasblog @theunfortunateplace @hyejusdiary @savvysscandles @randxmthxughts @tiredmamaissy @yeosxxx @atwow69 @bellstwd @iseeyouuu @simp4ff @universal-s1ut @mynameisjuno @teyamsatan @uaze123 @nelissecrectplace @angrypomeranianwifey @perfectxserendipity @yumimak @rainbowturdz @rhiannonhippiegirl @sullymenrhot @hiddensnow1 @rainymoonsheep @ivysully @badbussylol @afro-hispwriter @fandom-geek17 @teyamsmate @iameatingmyhair @leaveitbythewave @battylupin @angie-1306 @annahblue @criticallybella @xreadersstuff @yunho-leeknow

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist. If your tag isn't working, please check your settings.)

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar fic #awow #neteyam x na'vi!reader #atwow #atwow neteyam #avatar twow #avatar neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar smut

305 notes · View notes

blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, angst, hurt/no comfort (there will be a happy ending!)

chapter ten : overcome (10k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #29-#33. Eddie's two songs aren't mentioned by name, but the others are. #34 is a good add-on at the end if you want to cry harder.

Do you ever wonder what it’s like

Losing what you cannot be without?

I’ll keep running

Overcome — Skott

You’re staring down at the kaleidoscope of color that makes up your salad. The green of crisp cucumbers, delicate arugula, and soft, fragrant mint. The deep purple of olives. The burnt gold of rich chickpeas and toasty pine nuts. The pale cream of fluffy quinoa and the bright white of tart feta. Your gaze lingers longest on the oven-roasted tomatoes scattered like gashes of red amongst the roughage.

It's a Mediterranean salad your sister kindly prepared for your first lunch at work post-breakup, and it looks delicious— vibrant and fresh, promising a palate of savory flavors that will dance on your tongue. Yet since you sat down in the staff lounge to break for a late lunch, not one bite of salad has made it past your lips. Your elbow is planted on the table, fork listlessly poking around in the glass container as you slump, leaning your chin heavily in your hand. Your mind is far from the allure of color. It's distracted, just as it has been since the moment you woke.

You’re thinking about Eddie.

Now that your relationship with Steve is over and you’ve had the weekend to process it, your relationship with Eddie— whatever it is, whatever it could be— has been all you can think about. Longing, fear, hope, and guilt mix into a tempest while you chart patient records and call names into the waiting room. By your two-thirty lunch break, the storm has accumulated into a vague feeling of nausea that overwhelms your hunger. Your thoughts are relentless, swirling around in a looping pattern that seems never to resolve.

You dwell on Eddie’s gentle brown eyes, the softness of his kisses, and the rough pads of his fingers wiping your tears. You think about his manic smiles and his playfulness, his unapologetic dramatics and his frenetic energy. You remember the smoke words that still swirl around in behind your ribs even now. ‘I want you, y/n. I don’t want to hurt you; I really care about you. Anything for you.’ Wings flutter, your flowers bloom, and red fruit yearns to spill from your tongue.

But then the guilt resurges, sticky and insistent, mixing with the freezing bite of fear. You know you care for Eddie deeply, but how can you expect to compete with Chrissy? Saccharine-sweet Chrissy, with her powdery-soft skin, bright blue eyes, lithe arms, and delicate waist? How can you compare to high school sweethearts, to five years of history, to plans for engagement and talks of children? Five years versus five months. That’s all you’ve known him for. How could you expect Eddie to throw all of that away? You’ve told one another that you care. But when the allure of desiring what he can’t have is gone— now that you’re well and truly split from Steve— when it comes down to it, would Eddie balk at the reality of what that means?

And even if he doesn’t balk, you can’t stop hearing Steve’s words echo in your head.

‘I just feel bad for Chris.’

Despair slinks back, drool dripping from its maw to hiss as it contacts the tender growth of your green, singeing the leaves with bitter poison. Yet light and smoky charcoal— Eddie’s black and white— chase it away, nourishing the damaged leaves until all are new again, and the cycle repeats.

It circles over and over until you’re left with a final thought: Wanting Eddie to be with me… asking him to… it—

“Y/n?”

You startle, wide eyes darting to the doorway where Denise leans half-inside, stethoscope swaying. “Yeah?”

“Dr. Nichols is looking for you.”

You nod quickly, snapping the lid back on your uneaten salad. “Thanks, Denise. I’ll be right out.” You shoot her a quick smile, and she smiles back before leaving you with only the refrigerator's hum to accompany the swirling of your thoughts.

You know the loop can’t last forever; it must resolve somehow. And as you remember the hurt in Eddie’s eyes when he’d asked whether you were too busy to listen to his song, you also know you can’t leave him waiting. You need to talk to him.

So you find yourself seated at Penny’s kitchen island later that evening, facing an empty wine glass placed carefully beside the black screen of your phone. The wine bottle stares at you, and you stare back until you give in, pouring another half-glass of deep red liquid with slightly shaky fingers. The two in your stomach are already spreading warm from your belly to fuzz in your head, taking the edge off your nerves as you direct your stare down at your inactive phone.

The loop has been resolved, your decision has been made, and now, you’re just mentally preparing to ask Eddie if you can see him. The sooner, the better, you think, though the squirmy, tight nervousness has kept you from actually going through with it.

Finally, your nerves are numbed enough by the fuzz of the wine for you to make your move. You down your final half-glass of wine, dry and tart as it clings to your tongue and the roof of your mouth; the glass clinks definitively against the marble countertop, and you fix determined eyes on your phone. Before the courage can leave you, you swipe it open and find your text message chain with Eddie.

The last message is still Eddie’s song, and you try to ignore the pang it conjures as you type quickly and hit send before you can overthink it.

‘Can I see you?’

Straight to the point, no preamble. A little bald, truthfully, but it’s the best you can do.

Your fingers tap against the edge of the countertop as your eyes dart compulsively. They flick to the empty wineglass and the drop of burgundy clinging to its lip, then back to your phone, to the plants on the sill above the kitchen sink, then back to your phone. Back and forth as if you’re desperate to escape but can’t pull your eyes away from those four words for too long.

And then one more dart, from the shine of the stainless steel fridge to the screen, and Eddie’s reply is suddenly there.

‘Now?’

Your heart skips and thuds as you surge with nerves. You’d thought the sooner, the better, but you weren’t ready for that soon. You type with fingers unsteady from adrenaline. ‘Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow?’

His answer comes quickly. ‘I have a show tomorrow night. Come. We can do something after.’

You suck in a tremulous breath, stomach sinking even as you flutter with anticipation. Going out alone isn’t something you like to do; you tend to feel even more self-conscious without the buffer of a friend or partner to shelter behind. And considering the private conversation you’re planning to have with Eddie, inviting a friend only to ditch them as soon as the show is over seems selfish and inconsiderate. You chew on your thumbnail, debating for a tense moment. In the end, you think of the first time you met Eddie, how his brown eyes had crinkled with his wide, genuine smile when you told him you liked his music.

You know you can’t deny him.

‘Same place as last time?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he answers.

The loop has been resolved, but you’re slowly spinning as your fingers tap your final reply. ‘I’ll be there.’

–

The crumbling brick facade and fissures in the asphalt are the same as the first time you’d visited this bar, but the dry, brittle skeletons of weeds are now plush with green flesh and butter-yellow heads. When in February, the winter wind had cut through your puffy coat, your arms are now bare, skin dewy in the June heat that ushers you from your car to the front door. There are no frozen puddles for Steve to guide you around; you aren’t dressed in skin-tight white. Instead, your blue dress swishes against your thighs, and your sandals take you straight up to the front door.

You’d showered and changed after work before going out for the night, wanting to both feel fresh and use the ritual of preparing to help the time pass quicker. You opted for something light, a comfortable dusty blue summer dress with short sleeves that will hopefully keep you cool in the sticky humidity you anticipate will fill the bar during the show. Fumbling for your driver’s license in your crossbody bag, you approach one of the bouncers. He eyes you shrewdly as you finally wrench it from your wallet and pass it over. You stand with your hands clasped sheepishly until he gives it back to you, his face now impassive. Timid steps carry you inside.

You freeze at the threshold of the main room. It’s brighter inside this time; the lights have not yet dimmed for the performance, and rock music plays through tinny speakers, hushed slightly under the light buzz of conversation. It’s also much less crowded tonight since it's a Tuesday, though you are surprised by the disproportionate number of girls in the place. Generally, you’d expect to see more men than women on a Tuesday night in a seedy establishment like this. You spot the chalkboard sign beside the bar: ‘Tuesdays are for the Ladies! $6 well drinks and $3 shots.’ You suppose only ladies in college or young enough to be reckless with their Wednesday morning workdays would be willing to stay out late for cheap drinks, which explains the girlish squeals and tiny skirts lingering near the bar. They’re all clustered in little groups, pairs at the very least; a quick glance and you can already tell you’re the only girl here alone.

You inhale slowly through your nose, fighting against roiling nerves as your eyes scan the room for another reason. Luckily, not many tables are currently occupied, and you cut a direct path to the center of the room, hopping easily onto the stool and pulling your small purse into your lap. You take out your phone to check the time: it’s a quarter to eight, so you only have about fifteen minutes to wait before Eddie’s band comes out.

A peal of laughter has your eyes darting toward the bar, where many of the young women are still loitering, though some have wandered toward the front of the stage to wait for the show to begin. You turn pointedly from the bar, settling your elbows against the bartop as your knee begins to jolt. Though you know a drink would help to calm your nerves, you don’t want to be anything but sober for this conversation. It’s too important. So you weather your nerves, distracting yourself with your muted Tiktok feed until the lights suddenly dim, drawing your eyes to the stage.

Your breath quickens as the darkened forms of four masculine bodies trail out amid grinding ambient sounds, illuminated from behind by piercing red light. Feminine chatter crests like a wave as a crush of silky heads crowd together around the base of the stage. Though your view remains hazy, obscured by the harsh red backlighting, three bodies slowly materialize, gaining shape in the haze. And then, the final form takes center stage. It’s a familiar silhouette you would recognize anywhere.

A crowd of heads tips up to watch as the grinding ambient sounds fade, voices hushing until the entire room seems silent, as if put under a spell. After a lingering moment of tense quiet, two snappy drum hits cut through the air, and the front lights finally flash on as Eddie strums the first notes of the opening song.

He’s a study in black and white with a gash of red, and just like the first time, the sight of him consumes you entirely.

His legs are splayed wide, clad in tight dark jeans slung low on narrow hips. His long dark curls kiss his strong shoulders, wild and beautiful as they frame his pale quartz face. A white tank, near thread-bare and ripped, barely conceals his torso, which is branded with a tapestry of dark ink that smatters across his chest and travels down his arms like body armor. His deft pale fingers are adorned with those chunky silver rings, fingers that strum his sleek blood-red guitar with intent ease as he gazes out at the crowd. From this distance, you can see Eddie’s face clearly: sharp jaw, full lips, soft nose. Dark eyes that, despite the enthusiastic feminine squeals and reaching fingers of the women at his feet, scan restlessly until they skim yours, only to return and catch, holding fast once he realizes it’s you. You see the instantaneous shift— the way the dark umber of Eddie’s eyes lightens to honey and a corner of his lips tugs up in a crooked smile. He presses them against the mic to croon the song’s opening words: “Hey you.”

Your moth wings flutter at the intimacy of knowing that despite the multitude of women at his feet, Eddie Munson is singing to you.

As you watch Eddie perform for you, he watches you watch him. When his fingers shift on the frets, you feel those calloused pads rasp along the doughy flesh of your thighs. When his plush lips kiss the mic, you feel them brush warm along the shell of your ear. When those curls dampen with sweat, you feel them drag and tickle your soft stomach as he travels down, down, down your body. And when Eddie sings— when he drawls and croons and shouts til grit roughens and breaks the timbre— you inhale every ounce of smoke he exhales until it settles deep within you, heady and more intoxicating than alcohol could ever be.

Yet despite the charisma of Eddie’s performance, underneath it all, the writhing nerves never leave you, like you can’t allow yourself to forget the conversation that looms ever larger with each passing song.

After an extended set of seven consecutive songs, Eddie’s white shirt has gone near translucent from exertion and the humidity you’d predicted would accumulate in the room. That pale chest inked with armor is heaving, but his brown eyes are bright, lips split in a manic smile as he addresses the crowd with a hoarsened voice. “How’re we doing tonight?” He doesn’t shout; instead, he smolders, that amplified murmur almost a purr as the crowd shrieks their enthusiasm. You can feel how much they love him, and it doesn’t make you jealous; instead, beneath your nerves, you feel pleased for Eddie, warm with the knowledge that others appreciate him just as much as you do.

He continues, “We’re Corroded Coffin—”

A surge of more shrieking, and Eddie chuckles, husky and full, as his eyes flash to yours. He sees your broad smile, the pleasure in your flushed cheeks, and his smirk softens. “That’s Gareth on the drums—” Eddie gestures behind him, and it almost feels like he’s introducing you as Gareth tosses his brown hair and lifts his sticks before beating out a short, frenetic fill. “Jeff is on rhythm guitar—” The dark of his skin is broken by a flash of white teeth as he salutes before strumming a short chord, bending the strings so they whammy. “Brian’s on bass—” The larger guy with the bristly hair walks a baseline with thick, capable fingers. “And I’m Eddie.” Another round of cheers and clapping, and he grins again when you clap enthusiastically like one of his groupies.

Eddie’s grin fades, and he pulls off the mic; he says something inaudible to Jeff, who nods, communicating to the others. Before you can wonder about it, Eddie murmurs again into the mic, smoke voice low and close to intimate. “Wrote this one this weekend. Came together pretty quick.” And then he looks at you, and the expression on his face makes your throat go thick. “This is for someone sweet.”

Immediately you can tell that the mood of this song is very different from the ones that came before. Delicate and atmospheric, pensive, but not quite melancholic. You watch Eddie’s pale fingers pick the strings, knuckles ruddy above chunky silver rings as the notes ring out in the silence of the bar. And you feel it: the quiver of your roots, the stretch of your green as it strives for him. A deep, poignant yearning that mixes with a somber sort of weight as he starts to sing.

“Floating on the water, ever-changing. Picture hours out from that in tune with all our dreams.”

Eddie’s voice is always beautiful, and you told him that. But there’s something different about the smoke that flows from him now. As it rakes down your spine, its touch is gentle. As it enters your mouth, its taste is sweeter. You think it must be written all over your face, how it’s making you feel— how your white flowers open their faces even as a deep ache blooms behind your sternum, pricking at your eyes. Yet you don’t look away. You can’t look away because Eddie is singing to you.

But he isn’t just singing to you. He’s singing about you.

“The ocean takes me into watch your shaking. Watch you weigh your powers, tempt with hours of pleasure.” The intensity of your feeling increases as Eddie presses close to the mic, eyes scrunching closed as his voice goes higher, almost a caress. “Take me one more time; take me one more wave; take me for one last ride; I’m out of my head—”

He gasps a ragged breath, and your heart squeezes as the passion leaks through in that one word. “—tonight!”

The music intensifies, and the girls clumped around the stage are swaying, reaching their dainty fingers towards Eddie’s feet, hopping in their high heels to the beat. Because despite never having heard this song before, they love it. And, of course, they love it; the song is good. But you think even if the song wasn’t good, even if it was nothing more than clumsy notes spilling from trembling fingers and a cracked smoke voice, you would feel exactly as you do now.

Hearing how Eddie has interpreted and translated moments of your time together— holding each other in the ocean, trembling beneath him as you orgasmed for the first time, driving you home in his van, the only time you’d been alone together since the first night you’d met— is nearly overwhelming. It’s breathtaking; it caresses your green and pierces you at the same time.

Eddie sings about you, and as a watery smile blooms on your face, you watch him answer it with a gentle spread of heartbreaking pink.

–

When the show finally ends, the crowd at the front of the stage disperses. You remain seated on your barstool, your purse cradled in your lap, only stirring when you feel the vibration of your phone.

‘Come backstage. Use the unmarked door near the bathrooms.’

You suck in a shaky breath, trying to calm the immediate pounding of your heart. Here goes.

You venture in that direction, hugging your arms close as you skirt around bodies, following Eddie’s instruction. You duck into a narrow hallway and tentatively push open the door beyond the bathrooms, eyes darting down the darkened corridor until they catch on black and white at the end of the hall.

Eddie’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, the toe of one black boot planted against the concrete. Behind him, the door is open, and the warmth of the summer air rushes in with the chirping of crickets, soothing against your cheeks and neck as it blows back your hair. He’s cast in the glow of a floodlight just outside, which illuminates the darkness of his curls with warm light. As you approach him, fingers worrying the hem of your dress at your side, his features sharpen, growing clearer until you can see him fully.

He still looks incredibly overheated— the white of his ripped tank sticks like tissue to his abdomen and chest, and his curls are damp with sweat, corkscrewed at his hairline and hanging limp at the ends where they trail against the charcoal ink on his shoulders. You can see the visible rise and fall of his chest as he drops his arms, still panting from his exertions on stage. But his brown eyes are bright, and his pink lips are split in a manic grin. And as you get closer, you notice the wet spot on the front of his shirt, like he’d sloppily guzzled a water bottle and rushed right outside to see you.

Your heart lurches as you realize he probably did just that.

The poignancy of your yearning swiftly overtakes you. As you reach the threshold, Eddie steps forward, brown eyes warm. “Hey—”

You fall into him, arms crushing around his back, squishing your face to his sweaty chest. Eddie staggers slightly with an audible ‘oof,’ clearly not expecting the suddenness of your hug, but his arms circle you unhesitantly, holding you as you press yourself to him. You relish the warmth of his body despite its dampness; the tattoo of his steady heartbeat under your cheek; his scent in your nose, musky from exertion above notes of smoke and delicate apple. He chuckles as you cling to him, warm and husky. You sigh as his breath fans against the top of your head, and his chest vibrates under your cheek with his laughter. You hold on until you feel his chuckles subside, until the moment has lingered too long for the hug just to be a hug hello, but you can’t wrench yourself away. Eddie quiets, arms simultaneously softening and holding you tighter, and one palm settles heavily on the back of your head. It’s a comforting weight, giving you the strength to shudder a breath against his chest and finally pull away.

Eddie seems to have picked up on your nerves, and his brow is furrowed slightly even as you smile at him. “You were incredible,” you say sincerely, and a corner of his lips quirks. His fingers run lightly along the length of your hair, brushing it back from your face.

“Thanks,” he says, though the warmth is dampened by the question clearly pressing behind his teeth. You scrape your teeth against your bottom lip, taking one tiny step back. Nerves wriggle up from the pit of your stomach to squirm in your chest, and you fight against the urge to fidget under Eddie’s stare.

“Can we sit in your van?” you ask, voice small as you look up at him. “I have to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” Eddie's reply is immediate despite the concern creasing his face, and he ushers you forward with a warm palm on your back, kicking aside the brick that was propping the door open. It thumps closed behind you.

The slight breeze is gone now, and the air is warm and stagnant, thick with humidity as if a summer storm is soon to come. Eddie’s boots crunch on gravel as he silently leads you to his van, parked alongside crumbling brick, waiting to be loaded after the show. He opens the passenger door for you, and you take his proffered hand, relishing the rasp of his callouses against your soft palm as he helps you up.

When Eddie clicks the door shut, the muffled silence— the sudden cut in the rhythmic chirping of the outdoors— leaves you feeling almost bereft. The chirping returns as he opens his door, stretching his lanky legs under the steering wheel as he settles into the driver’s seat. Sharply, he pulls the door closed, plunging you into silence again.

Words don’t come easy to you; you often don’t know what to say. And though you’d practiced it, these words are no different. It takes you a moment to struggle against the nerves and fear because you really don’t know how Eddie is going to react to this. It feels even harder than breaking up with Steve. Your fingers are trembling, and you clench them tightly in your lap as you push yourself to meet his eye.

Eddie still looks concerned, but his expression is open and accepting; his white is on display, and it helps you part your lips. Your voice is quiet but perfectly audible in the hush of the van. “On Saturday morning, I—”

Your words choke in your throat as your nerves spike. You push through, though you can’t stop your voice from wavering. “I ended things with Steve.”

Eddie’s shock is clear. His eyebrows jerk violently; his brown eyes widen as his face goes slack. Your eyes dart between his, anxiousness leaping into your throat to curdle there. You almost don’t want to examine his reaction, but you can’t help yourself. You watch Eddie attempt to school his features: brows resetting, adam’s apple bobbing in a thick swallow. The silence is becoming oppressive, and you almost feel the need to break it yourself, to fill it with babbling or tell him exactly what happened, every sordid detail. Anything to disrupt the overwhelming silence.

Finally, Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips; they part, and he just asks one question. “Are you okay?”

His voice is such sweet relief from the tension that you release a sigh, but it’s the question itself— the fact that Eddie’s first thought is to ask you if you’re all right— that has your eyes stinging. There’s a sudden lump in your throat not borne of nerves, but it doesn’t stop you from speaking. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You take a deep breath, eyes darting around the cabin as you attempt to explain. “Something was always missing, I think, in our relationship. I just didn’t know any better. Steve was really my first boyfriend. I’d dated guys casually before him, but nothing was ever as serious as it was with Steve. And I thought things were good, and I guess they were for awhile. But….” Your eyes dart to Eddie almost shyly, darting away again from the intensity there. “These last few months changed how I saw the relationship, and I couldn’t pretend like everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

The flow of words slows to a drip until you feel you’ve finally released them all. You fall quiet, watching your thumb run against your fingernail for a moment until you hazard a glance up at Eddie again. When you make contact, he nods, expression open and accepting again, and his dark curls sway around his face. You want to tuck them behind his ear, but this next part is important, and you don’t want to distract from it. You hold his gaze as you add, “And you should know… I didn’t tell Steve about Friday. What we did. I couldn’t do that to him after Nancy; it would’ve hurt him so badly.”

Eddie nods again. “I get it,” he says. “I do.” And you think he does. His brown eyes flick away as he licks his lips again. “Was he… upset?”

He sounds careful, almost hesitant. You wonder if Eddie wants to ask whether he came up in the conversation, but you suspect, from the look on his face, that he already knows he did. You think of the dullness of Steve’s hazel eyes, the briny mud. You think of his mirthless chuckle, of the words he’d spit at you. ‘‘Cause then it means you can have Eddie. And you can convince yourself you don't have to feel bad about what you've done.’

You nod, and it comes out shaky and weak, just like the words do. “Yeah, he was upset.”

Eddie’s face creases further, and you think it could be guilt, that ooze you’re so familiar with. “Are you upset?”

You don’t have to wait for your answer to well up; you feel the words pooling on your tongue already. You marvel over how it should be awkward to talk about this with Eddie, but somehow it isn’t. “There is a part of me that’s sad it’s over. We were together for three years, you know? And sometimes it was really good. But after what he told me about Nancy and about—” You shake your head, interrupting yourself. “I don’t really wanna get into it, but… I don’t think Steve ever really healed after what happened. And it seeped into us. I think he did love me, and I loved him, but he was never able to be fully open and honest. And I don’t know if he ever would have gotten there with me.”

The familiar weight of sorrow coats your skin as you mourn what you’ve lost, but it isn’t as heavy as it had been on Saturday night. And you find that as you speak the words to Eddie, it makes you realize that the problem with your relationship with Steve was always as simple as that— that he wasn’t able to tend to you the way you tended to him.

Eddie nods again. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet this entire time, though you suppose it isn’t out of place for the circumstances. And then he’s tilting toward you to reach over the armrest.

Your breath catches as you realize his intent; you untangle your hands in your lap in time for him to take one. His hold is soft, skin warm and rough as he anchors you with it, offering silent support. His thumb rubs slowly over the back of your hand, and the feeling makes your wings stir. When he finally speaks, Eddie’s smoke voice is quiet, still hoarse from his performance. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling both comforted and nervous. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be okay.” You lean your head back against the headrest, allowing yourself a moment to indulge in Eddie’s touch before your nerves get the better of you. Gently, you pull your hand away, smiling to reassure him that you welcomed his comfort. Eddie answers the tilt of your lips with a little smile of his own.

Your eyes wander as you sit quietly in the interior of Eddie’s van, which smells like stale cigarettes and soapy, artificial pine. There’s a new pack of Twizzlers in his cupholder, not yet opened. You stare at it as you gather your courage, breath trembling in your freezing chest.

The conversation isn’t over yet.

“So—”

“Eddie, I—”

You snap your mouth shut as your voices overlap, and so does Eddie; your eyes catch, and he laughs. Though it’s a little awkward, the husky sound still hits you in that same spot inside, deep at the bottom of you. “You first,” he offers easily, brown eyes warm and glinting in the warm light of the van’s cabin.

You’re nearly shivering with the freeze that spreads along your sternum, and your heart races desperately behind your frosted ribs as if trying to escape its cage. Because it’s finally here: the moment you’ve been fearing. Dreading.

The conclusion of your loop.

“Eddie,” you say, “I need to be honest with you.” The impact of your words is immediate; the lingering smile slides from his lips. Despite yourself, you pause for a moment to memorize the way he looks before everything changes.

Eddie Munson is beautiful. His eyes are deep like warm honey, wide and framed by long, dark lashes. You remember how they crinkle when he smiles. His nose is soft, soft like the dark bangs that feather across his forehead. You remember how he buries it against your skin when his face finds the crook of your neck. His lips are pink, so plush and full. You remember how they feel trailing tenderly across your skin. His jaw is strong and sharp, and his neck is pale and corded. You remember how his throat rumbles against your lips when he hums contentedly. Eddie’s curls are wild and dark, and they skim the ink that darkens the pale quartz of his skin. You remember the black and white that has always drawn you in, the smoke of his voice that, from the first moment you heard it, called to something deep inside you.

Your eyes want to dart away, but you keep them on beautiful brown. “Part of why I broke up with Steve is because….” Your voice wobbles, but you steady it. “Because of how I feel about you.”

Your words fill the space between you, and you watch that beautiful brown go wide. And when it transforms— when it starts to melt, to spread gentleness onto the tops of Eddie’s cheeks— you hurry yourself along. Choking out the next word.

“But—”

The freeze of Eddie’s expression, the sudden arresting of his features, pierces you. But it doesn’t change what you realized. What you’ve decided.

You think of the loop: the poison of doubt dripping from despair’s maw, the hope of Eddie’s light and charcoal repairing its damage. But Eddie isn’t the only person that matters.

Chrissy matters, too.

When you pictured the beloved face of your friend, the charmingly crooked teeth in her broad smile, the sound of her giggle and her sweet voice… it wasn’t the sourness of jealousy that resolved you. It wasn’t the fear that you can’t compete with five years and talks of girls and boys or the insecurity that you’ll never be as beautiful as she is. Instead, it was the injury you knew you would inflict, the haunting question you couldn’t dismiss. You’d finally realized the indisputable truth.

Wanting Eddie to be with me, asking him to…

It isn’t right.

It’s nothing but selfish.

Selfish to want to take this man from your friend, a person who has never been anything but good to you. Selfish to break her heart for the sake of yours.

So you finish your sentence.

You look into Eddie Munson’s gentle eyes and whisper, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Eddie’s head jerks back; he recoils as if you’ve slapped him. His voice is no longer hoarse from the exertion of his performance. Now, it’s dry and cracked. “What? But—”

You rush to cover the cracks of his voice with your own. You know you can’t give Eddie a chance to say anything that might change your mind; this is already too hard. You picture bright blue eyes pierced with hurt. “What we did… it wasn’t right. Not to Steve, and not to Chrissy. We should never have betrayed them like that.”

Eddie’s mouth works soundlessly before he stammers, “I, I mean, I don’t… y/n, I don’t regret what we did. I’m—”

You cut him off again, pleading for him to understand. “I can’t get in between you and Chrissy, Eddie. You’ve been together for five years. You’re high school sweethearts!” Your chin begins to tremble. Earnestness becomes tinged with desperation as you admit your selfishness. Your shame. “She told me how— how you’re gonna propose to her soon. How excited she is to be your wife. How she wants a boy, and you want a girl. You’ve made plans for the future, and she was so excited, so happy.”

The impact of your betrayal hits you fully, and your lips press tight to contain a dismayed whimper. Horrible guilt oozes, crawling up, up, up to press against your teeth, to coat the back of your tongue until you feel ill with it.

Eddie looks pained. He looks nearly as ill as you feel. And you suppose it's finally hitting him, too— what the two of you have done. The realization only resolves you in your decision, and you let the ooze of your guilt leak from your lips, dribbling out to coat the center console that separates you. Your voice is thick with it. “She told me all of that, and then I still—”

You choke on the viscous ooze, unable to voice it: that you knew how much your friend loves Eddie, and you fucked him behind her back anyway. Your eyes sting with tears more insistently than before. “I know— I know you think you want me, Eddie, but we can’t do this to Chrissy. I can’t—”

You break off, shuddering a breath as you fight against your tears. You blink up at the ceiling, and as you wait for the tears to recede, your eyes are drawn to the warm light above. The one that glints off Eddie’s dark curls, haloing them in a bright glow. It burns into your retinas, darkening a rectangle in your vision, but you can’t tilt your chin back down. You can’t look away. Not until you feel the caress of smoke from Eddie’s quiet voice against your cheek.

“Is this what you want?”

Almost by instinct, you breathe the question in; almost by instinct, your eyes seek beautiful brown. Your growth quivers, reaching, striving. Your ripe fruit trembles on the vine, begging you to let it fall from your lips.

You want to say, No, Eddie. I just want you.

Instead, you say, “Yes. It’s what I want.”

And then he’s nodding like he had before. Accepting your words; never pushing for too much. Tending to you always. "I understand," Eddie tells you, and the lack of resistance brings relief and pain.

After all, it’s what he said. 'Anything for you.'

Eddie splays his fingers, holding out his hand palm up to you. A silent offering.

Lip wobbling, your eyes run over the callouses on Eddie’s fingertips, the glint of chunky silver on his fingers. His touch calls to you, and you give in. You allow yourself this last thing.

You take Eddie’s hand.

You weave your fingers with his, slowly, slowly, relishing the rasp against your soft skin, the warmth of his broad palm. And then, when your eyes turn from your clasped hands to his face, Eddie squeezes your hand. And he doesn’t release his grip; he keeps your hand squeezed tight. And so do you; you squeeze Eddie’s hand, and you keep it squeezed until the pain of your grief and yearning burns like a deep ache in your chest. Until it’s so unbearable that you can’t stand it anymore.

Only then do you break the silence. “I should go,” you whisper.

Your hand slips from his, and Eddie loosens his grip. You wrench your eyes from beautiful, glossy brown, and Eddie blinks and looks away. You find the door handle, and when you push it open, the chirp of crickets floods the silence. Eddie’s voice doesn’t join them. You breathe the balmy summer air and it chases the scent of smoke and apples from your lungs.

You shut the van door, and Eddie doesn’t stop you.

As you cross the cracked asphalt, leaving black and white behind, your leaves droop. The vines that hug your ribs sag as if shuddering a heavy sigh. Your blooms close their faces; your petals wilt, turning down toward the earth. Roots curl into themselves, seeking respite from peat now sapped of nutrients.

Because the source of your light has gone, and in its place, a full moon rises.

–

You don’t see Eddie Munson again for four months.

By the time summer’s heat has cooled and fat yellow dandelion heads have puffed white and blown away, you’ve grown used to the moon. But it wasn’t always so. The loss of those two men who once were so important in your life stirred up your dirt, leaving spaces needing to be filled; the earth within you shifted, groaning as it adapted to its new normal. It had been difficult at first. Their absence, the disruption of your daily life, was felt keenly. No longer did you reach for your bedside table upon waking at one in the morning to see the screen lit with a song. No longer did you exchange soft giggles with a dear close friend. No longer did you know exactly what you’d be doing on Friday nights— week after week spent tangled pleasurably with expensive perfume, citrus and sea salt, and smoke and apples. No longer did you stretch against the cool sheets of a king-sized bed; instead, the cheery window in Penny’s old office cast thick stripes of morning sun across your twin comforter. But the change of scenery did help. You established a new routine; there wasn’t even any reason to venture into the city aside from the weekends you’d spend leaning into old friendships you renewed with vigorous attention. Gradually, you eased into your new normal, and soon, the absences were no longer keenly felt. By fall, your moth wings have settled, adapting to the deep twilight that bathes you in a cool glow. You’d spent the first twenty-four years of your life illuminated by the moon, and you’d been content. You would be so again.

Never mind that contentment means cold. It means frost on sluggish wings. It means dormant growth, leaves curled towards stems, and fruit desiccated on the vine. Never mind that, because at least the ache has been numbed until it can no longer be felt. There’s a kind of peace in the coldness of the full moon.

And you’d just grown content with living without the light when it returns suddenly and without warning one innocuous Friday evening in late October.

The dusk casts deepening shadows over the couch in Penny’s living room, and the curtains stir in the crisp breeze where you’ve thrown open the windows. You’re seated at the kitchen island. A bouquet of flowers rests in a glass vase in its center, faded just slightly now, bought last week at the market on 28th Street. Paper plates form a ring around your cutting board, holding mounds of chopped carrots, red bell pepper, and onion that will be added to your stir fry. Your sharp knife raps rhythmically against worn wood, shearing broccoli into little crowns as your speaker cycles through your Liked songs on Spotify. Air So Sweet by dodie complements the peace of the moment— the smell of autumn leaves seeping into the deep mahogany of Penny’s kitchen cabinets, the rhythmic thumping of your knife, the words falling from your lips as you sing quietly under your breath, your voice high and delicate. “The air so sweet, I gulp and gasp for more—”

Three sharp raps cut through the peace, and your eyes snap to the locked front door.

You balance your knife against the edge of the cutting board, sliding off the barstool with a fond if exasperated sigh as dodie eases into Before the Fall. You pull your loose flannel tighter around you, gliding in your socks and worn, stretchy leggings toward the front door. Penny has been a wonderful sister for these last four months of living together, but sometimes, she can be a difficult roommate. For one, she is very particular about the organization of the fridge, and she has a strict and somewhat complex schedule for laundry and dishwashing that you have struggled to get used to. Despite her meticulousness in other areas, this wouldn’t be the first time she’d left her house key behind and needed you to let her in. Not a shoe is out of place in the rack near the front door, and yet Penny can’t be bothered to hook the key back to the keyring after getting a copy made for you.

You reach for the handle, huffing your tease through the wood. “Again, Pen? You know, I could just leave you out here. How much do you love me—?”

Your words die in your throat as the door swings open to black and white.

Eddie is standing stiffly at your door, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his tight black jeans, his wallet chain caught on his pale wrist. He’s wearing short sleeves despite the weather, the ink of his armor on full display, arms pimpled with gooseflesh in the autumn chill. You’re staring at the deep burgundy of his band tee, the first color you’ve ever seen him wear. His chest expands with a deep breath, and at the motion, your eyes flit to his almost by instinct.

Eddie’s dark curls frame his pale quartz face like a wild stormcloud. The softness of his nose, the plush pink of his lips, the brown of his eyes— they’re all exactly how you remember. A gust hits him in the back, and as his shoulders scrunch toward his ears, it carries the scent of smoke and apples.

When you look at him, Eddie’s mouth stretches in a twitchy, crooked smile. One booted foot taps out a frenetic pattern against the brick of your front stoop. When you look at him, moth wings twitch, awakening. They stir powdery snow, which falls silently to frozen earth.

And then Eddie speaks, voice like smoke incarnate. “Hi.”

You tip your chin up, and the smoke passes through your parted lips, sinking into the frozen earth at the bottom of you. Four months, and that’s all it takes: one glimpse of light in brown eyes, one caress of smoke against your mouth.

You thaw. You yearn.

You swallow down the surge of feeling inside you to hush a greeting back. “Hi.”

As you stare at each other, Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He seems hesitant, unsteady, shifting his weight as if he’s uncomfortable in his skin. Another gust of wind wracks his lanky form, and his sudden shiver draws you out of your daze. You nearly trip over your words to ask, “Do you wanna come in? Come in—”

You step back, and he ducks inside, long limbs jerky like a newborn colt. You close the door against the wind, pausing in the tiny foyer that connects branching rooms. The paper plate vegetable mounds peek from the hallway in front of you; the kitchen speaker is muted by distance, but you can tell that Before the Fall’s acoustic guitar has subsided into the lonely piano and haunting vocals of Overcome by Skott. It’s exactly as you left it, that room, but when you glance back, the man now inside is suddenly sucking in all the light, standing like a gash of black and white stained red in the foyer of your sister’s condominium.

You don’t know what to do with him.

Your voice is a soft hum, almost sounding hesitant to draw his attention. “Um—” He’d been glancing around inside, but at the sound, Eddie’s brown eyes flick right to yours. “I was just making dinner—”

“Oh,” he says, face creasing ruefully, “shit, did I interrupt you?”

You rush to assure him, melting further as he winces. “No, no, it’s fine….” You edge toward the hallway to the kitchen, and thankfully, Eddie gets the hint without you needing to say more. He follows you, bootsteps heavy as you shuffle on your socks back into the kitchen. He’s behind you, but every sense is honed to his presence— the swish of his clothing as he walks, the hush of his breath. The hair on your arms stands on end as you gingerly pull your kitchen stool out, intending to sit back in your spot before second-guessing it immediately. You’re melting, you’re yearning, but nerves begin to squirm low; your fingers twist as you cast for something to say.

What would Penny do?

You find yourself blurting, “Do you want a drink?” Your brows pinch at the sudden shrillness of your voice overtop the soft vocals from the speaker. ‘Some lights are a different kind, never burning out,’ she sings; your gaze darts to Eddie’s eyes and away again.

“No, I’m okay.” Eddie’s typical confidence seems dampened; his voice is stilted, and his posture is stiff. He hovers somewhere between your fridge and the island. His awkwardness— the thought that he feels just as tense as you— is the only thing that keeps your nerves from becoming overwhelming.

Eddie speaks suddenly, and it nearly startles you. “How’s your car been?”

“...It’s fine,” you say, wondering if that’s why he’s here— to check in on your car, which broke down four months ago. Penny had picked it up for you; when you’d explained what you’d done, tears of shame pricking your eyes as you told your sister why you didn't want to go yourself, she hadn’t hesitated to act in your stead. Mercifully, though you know she hadn’t approved of how you’d betrayed your friend, she’d held her tongue. She could tell that any criticism of your selfishness from her would be nothing compared to your own.

You keep following this precedent of asking questions. "How did you find me?"

Eddie shrugs, a jagged little thing. Grinning now, casual— but his eyes say something different. "Just asked around."

You nod slowly. "So, how are you?" you try, pulling your flannel sleeves over your hands. “How's…?"

Her name sticks in your throat, conjuring imaginings of strawberry-blonde waves and soft smiles. Imaginings of dainty fingers painted red, a diamond glinting from her ring finger, brilliant as it shines in the light. Your eyes scan the rings beneath Eddie’s ruddy knuckles. All are the same, but then again, they would be.

Men don’t wear engagement rings.

There'd been a time you and Chrissy had shared part of life together, and now you haven't talked to her in months. You wonder if she'd been confused about the distance between you, how one day you’d just never spoken to her again. But she'd never reached out to you, either. You assume she must know you’d broken up with Steve by now; it must be old news—

"Y/n."

It stalls your train of thought entirely. The way Eddie says your name— like a tortured sigh, like rain after a drought, like the whisper of eyelashes against your cheek— makes you instantly silent. Your heart skips in your chest as you register the look on his face.

Eddie’s jaw is twitching. The cords of his neck are stretched taut, dark brows knitted over honey-brown eyes. Not angry, but bothered. Maybe anguished. He licks his lips, and despite the moisture, his voice still comes out hoarse. "I've been trying to do what you said. I've tried for the last four months."

Your breath catches, but the smoke sinks right through your flannel and into your chest, settling rich and heady behind your sternum. You’re standing beside the barstool, and you search for it with your fingers without moving your eyes from Eddie’s face. As he continues, your fingertips brush wood; you clutch tight to anchor yourself, each word cracking your ice to shards.

Eddie stares intently into your eyes as if his words don’t communicate enough. “I missed you. Every day, I missed you. And I tried to forget, to bury it, but I can’t….” He sounds so earnest that your brow crumples and your eyes sting. Eddie sees it and steps closer around the island, narrowing the gap between you. Honey brown holds you fast as he rasps, “Y/n, I can’t stop thinking about you. I care about you so much. So fucking much it hurts.”

Eddie looks down into your face, and he’s so close you can almost feel the tickle of his curls against your cheek, the brush of his plush lips against your forehead. You can almost taste the smoke and apples, the spice of his mouth. His hands outstretch, hovering near the softness of your flannel as if he wants to clutch at the curve of your waist. You nearly press forward to feel them, but you can’t. Not until there aren’t any diamonds in your mind’s eye.

Yet you can’t stop your ice from melting. And as it dissolves into water, roots absorb it greedily. Leaves perk, deepening to verdant green. The water surges through them, through stems and along vines, flooding into desiccated fruit. Red flesh plumps, growing sweet again. Waiting to be tended by calloused fingers. It bends, seeking him. And so do you; as if by instinct, you lean towards the light, swaying on your feet until you feel the heat from Eddie’s calloused fingers against your waist, urging him with your body, with your eyes, with your heart to touch you.

But Eddie doesn't touch. Instead, he speaks. “That’s why I…” He swallows thickly, eyes flicking between yours imploringly. “I wanna break up with Chrissy.”

I wanna break up with Chrissy.

The words echo in your head, and you blink. Your confusion is clear; your questions are simple, like a child’s would be, asked in a small voice. “You want to? Why haven’t you, then?”

“I—” Eddie scratches the back of his hair, all frustration and sharp edges. All flashing eyes that dart from yours. “She’s— she’s just got a lot going on right now, with her mom, and… next week is finals for her classes, and I’ve just… I’ve been working overtime—”

Your heart shrinks from every word until it’s cowering behind your ribs. Eddie pulls roughly at the neck of his shirt as if it’s too tight for him, and you see the truth behind the tar of guilt oozing beneath his collar. Eddie does want you, but not enough to forsake five years. Not enough to crush plans made for boy or girl. Not enough to rend his flesh, to wrench the claws from his back by force. Claws that will never retract on their own.

You force a weak smile to cover the wobble of your bottom lip. A smile of understanding. Quietly, you say, “You don’t need to explain, Eddie.” You nod, bobbing your head as if you’re agreeing to something he’d said. “Thanks for coming over to talk.”

Eddie must see the conclusion written all over your face; his contorts with distress, with urgency. He’s pleading with his eyes for you to understand. “No, y/n, I—”

Each word makes you shrink further. You try to force your voice to raise, to be firm, but it comes out wobbly anyway. “You should go, Eddie,” you tell him, eyes darting from that pleading expression. From the light in brown eyes. Because if you look too long, you’re afraid your moths will disregard the danger, flutter up, and chase it forever.

Eddie’s hands are still hovering near your waist, extended as if in entreaty; he dips them, and your breath catches as he boldly grasps your hands, squeezing tight. “Please, I really do.” His voice is a husky whisper, the timbre thick with yearning. “I wanna be with you.”

A flick of wings; a flutter, and then another. You look into Eddie's eyes and tell him the truth, even though your chin wobbles. “You can’t have us both,” you whisper, and he looks even more pained.

“No, I know,” he says, squeezing your hands so tight it’s almost painful. “I know. I don't…” He breaks off, voice trembling. “Can I please just… can I just hold you right now?”

It's so tender, the sound of his voice. It’s so poignant, his request. It’s so hard to resist the promise of Eddie’s warm body against yours, his arms holding you close, his heart thumping against your breast, his plush lips skimming your brow, his hand cradling your head as you dig your nose into his neck, breathing him in. And you could let him hold you; you could pretend, for a moment, that there is no Chrissy Cunningham.

You could pretend, but you don’t. It’s hard to resist Eddie, but you do.

“No, Eddie,” you whisper, pulling your hands from his. He lets you go, but reluctantly; when your hands drop to your sides, and you step back, his fingers outstretch as if by impulse. “I can’t,” you choke. “Not if—” not if I can't have you. But you can’t say that; you would crumble under the weight of those words. “We can’t,” you say instead, entreating him to understand.

You look up into Eddie Munson’s face, and every fiber of your being yearns for him. Your green quivers, reaching. Your wings flutter, seeking. The fruit of your soul is on your tongue.

You want to say, Please, Eddie. Touch me. Hold me.

You want to say, Please, Eddie. Love me.

Love me.

But you don't.

"Go home, Eddie," you say, and you try to be strong, but you can't help it; you never can when it comes to him. All the water within you— in your leaves and stems, in your flowers and fruit— rushes up to flood your eyes. It spills over, and with a tiny whimper, you start to cry.

Eddie’s instant distress is hard to endure. His broken voice begs, “No, no—” He closes the gap you’d widened easily, and you sniffle, inhaling smoke and apples as, in his haste, he misjudges the distance and brushes against you. Calloused fingers reach for you; they wipe your face tenderly, trembling thumbs swiping tears that fall and fall and fall with no reprieve.

And you shouldn’t, but goddamn you, you let him.

“Please don’t cry,” Eddie whispers, sounding utterly distraught.

But you can’t obey because everything inside you is crying out. The smoke is leaking from your pores— you're surprised Eddie can't see it clinging to you. It's condensing into fat drops of charcoal tears, running tracks down your face. Because you want him so desperately, but not like this.

It's not enough— to be with Eddie, but know he isn't yours.

You back away, and Eddie’s hands fall from your face. Three big steps, a gulf of distance between you. Words are hard for you, and there are none you can say right now.

Eddie’s face is creased. Those beautiful brown eyes are big and glassy, and there’s misery in the corners of his lips.

You’ve never seen him like this, but then again, he’s never seen you like this, either. He's never sounded like this— smoke voice thick and tight as if he’s barely keeping himself at bay. “Don’t cry, sweet girl.”

The sound of Eddie’s name for you fractures you further. You shake your head as if trying to shake the name free from your ears. Your tears still flow silently; your body trembles as you try to keep from losing control. You feel it pushing up your throat— a desperate cry. Despair. Not a hound, but a snarling wolf, growing fat off the verdancy of your green, now reawakened in the presence of beloved light.

As you shake, breath hitching, tears dripping from your chin, Eddie must finally realize the futility of it all. Abruptly, he fists his fingers in his hair. “Fuck,” he yelps, frustrated, helpless. Afraid.

He stalks away and back again, pacing restlessly as you hug yourself, trying to press the despair back in. No words to say. Just thick drops of charcoal tears.

And then, you hear a tortured sigh, like the way he’d said your name. You glance up, and Eddie’s smoke voice whisps from his plush lips, tight and thick and high, lingering in the gulf between you. “Fuck, I’m— y/n, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your face screws up, breath hitching and catching. Words finally come; you push them out. Firm, loud, and clear. “Just leave, Eddie. I can’t see you anymore. Just go—!”

As soon as you say the words, you feel it. The growl, the gnashing of teeth. You grit your jaw against it, nostrils flaring as you avert your eyes to your socks. You listen, and you wait.

Slowly, so slowly, Eddie’s heavy, slumping footsteps retreat down the hall. You’re fighting, nearly whimpering with your effort. The doorknob jiggles, and you suck in a desperate breath. The door creaks, and then softly, so softly, it closes.

Finally, you're alone, and finally, you release it. The wolf howls; its cry explodes from you in a ragged sob. And once you start, you can’t stop. Not until Penny tries the door handle and finds it unlocked, eyes widening as she hears the anguished sounds echoing down the hall. She finds the vase of flowers, the plates of carrots and bell peppers and onions, the mound of broccoli, and the sharp knife. She finds you collapsed on the kitchen floor, red-faced and howling in a puddle of your charcoal tears.

Eddie’s visit was cruel, but it was cruelty unintended. Eddie could never be cruel to you, and you know that. And you know something else. Something you didn't want to acknowledge, something you'd been trying desperately to numb in the cold of twilight, though seeing him tonight confirms it.

Eddie Munson planted the seed in that dark place at the bottom of you, the one you didn’t know existed. He tended it with his gentle touches and his quiet words. And now, your growth is firmly rooted. It has grown tall, weaving around your sternum, vining through your ribs, sprouting through your center. And it’s not just at the center of you. It is the center of you. The fruit of your soul, budded and ready to thrive; the source of your love, one and the same. Under the full moon, it had gone dormant, but it could not be uprooted.

And perhaps, in time, your green will cleave from the one who’d cared for it. But it’s clear to you now.

It will take much longer than four months for your love for Eddie Munson to wither.

#blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic

507 notes · View notes

creedslove · 10 months

Text

HEARTLESS 💔 - PART TEN

Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels) x f!reader

Summary: having a date next to your ex is quite embarrassing, even more so when he happens to leave with his own date for the night, which makes you mortified to realize you were actually jealous of Jack

(This is the tenth chapter of the HEARTLESS 💔 series)

Warnings: angst, hurt, fluff, jealousy, mom!reader, sad!jack, incorrect kingsman plot (actually I fixed it)

A/N: Well besties, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I know I did while writing it and hopefully you will like it too!!! Remember that no matter what side you are on, I can't please everybody and for my Frankie girls remember this isn't a reader x Frankie story, so don't be too disappointed ❤️

3.9k words

You stared into Frankie's eyes as he told you the story of how he joined the military. It was probably very interesting and it would help you get to know more about the man you've been seeing for the past few weeks, though you'd been on a few dates and you had already… Well, had sex a couple of times, it felt like you didn't know an awful lot about each other. You knew he used to be in the military but he was currently on a leave after a few personal problems - mental health issues related to the job, you quickly assumed -, you knew he had a daughter, she was nearly a year older than Wyatt, and Frankie had splitted you from his wife a year before. What you knew about him was that he was a really nice person, he was a sweet guy and he always did everything in his power to treat you like a princess. And what did he know about you? Well, Frankie knew you had a son, a bit younger than his baby girl, that your ex and father of your kid wasn't in the picture, never been actually, and the two of you weren't on speaking terms. He didn't know exactly what had happened between the two of you, but he could tell it was bad.

He also knew other trivial things, such as information on your education and what you did for a living, and that was more than enough for the level of intimacy you two had: things were evolving, he was enjoying it a lot, of course, but they were still too recent, so Frankie thought it was safe to leave some things unspoken. You certainly had your little secrets and well, he had his own.

The lasagna you were chewing on was delicious and the wine was definitely worth paying that much for one bottle. The man you had a date with was handsome and though some of your friends told you he looked a lot like Jack, you just couldn't see it. Okay, maybe, just maybe, the brown eyes; the two of them had such expressive brown eyes, they reminded you of a child's eyes - your own son's for instance - because they had that glow that could go from innocent to sweet and also sad, making you often oblige to their desire by melting your heart. However, when it came to the rest, Frankie was so not Jack, you could probably write a book about it. Jack was a well-groomed man, he always dressed in fancy - cowboy - clothes, his hair was always combed to the side, and he would never let it grow enough to show his curls, and you didn't even need to get started on his mustache. Frankie on the other hand, was scruffy… but in a way you really liked it. It wasn't like he wasted too much of his time getting ready, he wore simple, practical clothes, always throwing a cap over his head which added a boyish tone to his overall look and you'd be lying if you didn't think that was cute and made him more handsome. The two of them had their similarities but they were so different and they each got to your heart in a diverse way; Frankie was cool and knew how to talk to a woman, charm them and make her giggle - because that's what he did to you.

Jack was… himself. He had his cheesy pickup lines which were both amusing and pathetic but the way he smiled at a girl was enough to melt her heart. How his southern manners and accent could make you flustered and the moment he called you sugar for the first time, he had you on a silver platter. You blushed at your own memories lightly and shook your head, staring at Frankie and trying to pay attention to what he was saying, it was already a hard enough task to completely ignore Jack and his date so close to you; you didn't care about him one bit, but you were so curious about what was going on, what they were talking about. You had already heard Jack used the same pickup line he did on you when you first met, it was ridiculous you knew it, but some people just fell for it, you mostly but apparently also that Taylor girl.

You saw how she giggled and smiled each time he said something and felt the slightest annoyance. He was probably feeling good about himself, getting the attention from a hot young girl, especially because you didn't let him get closer anymore. It wasn't your fault though, it was his fault, he was the one who barged into your life treating you like absolute shit for no reason. If anything, you were the one who had all the right to be cruel to the man who broke your heart, who kicked you out of your house with a baby inside. If Jack had been a decent man when he returned, if he had been honest like he did when he finally confessed what was happening to him, maybe you could have been on this date together.

What? No! You couldn't believe yourself for even thinking that! You and senior Agent Whiskey would never go on a date together! He had blew his chances, all of those and you would never be around him again, if it weren't for co-parenting your son and perhaps being friends if he behaved like a man, not a dick towards you, and that seemed to be like a long stretch, because you didn't trust him at all.

You sighed and smiled at Frankie again, having no idea what he was talking about, something to do with killing a mule during a mission? You didn't know, and you felt bad you were having dinner with such a handsome and amazing man and yet, all you could think of was your ex. It hurt you, you felt so awful and disappointed in yourself to see you still had feelings for a man who did nothing but hurt you, and no matter how hard you tried to fight it, it was still there.

Jack, on the other hand, was probably experiencing the weirdest date of his life. He's had plenty of these, when he first started asking girls out. Then, he asked his high school sweetheart and he thought he would never need to go on a date again, he'd found the love of his life and he intended to spend the rest of his life with her, she would be the only one he'd take out on cute dates. But destiny happened and after he was brutally taken away from the life he dreamed of, several years later you came along. He didn't plan on falling for you, of course you'd caught his attention immediately, he hadn't seen someone as gorgeous as you in so long, but still, he had to pretend you weren't in the room, as against all odds Whiskey happened to find the second love of his life in the middle of a mission.

Too bad it took him too long to realize his first wife had become a beautiful, loving memory, he loved the time they spent together, he would always cherish those moments, but he managed to let her go but not before making a promise to his late wife he would try his best to be happy again, because that's what she would've wanted. Jack knew you were the love of his life, the one who was meant to give you a family, but he had lost you and he didn't know if he would ever get you back.

At first, he was pretty excited about the cute thing that arrived kissing his lips and seemed just so eager to be around him, but as the thrill subdued, he began wondering what the heck that girl was doing. And that cowboy got suspicious soon. He was a spy after all and knew damn well how to recognize the moment to be wary. So he kept his southern charm but deflected any personal question Taylor asked him. He just smiled, winked and flattered her, but kept his emotional distance, wanting to know what was up with her.

"So, Tay, darling… tell me again why you decided to make this old man's night by having dinner with me?" His voice wasn't much more than a purr as she giggled and shrugged

"Well, as I told you, I had never seen a cowboy in real life before, and the minute you walked in my eyes were on you, Jack…I mean it… there's something about a cowboy, something primal, raw that I just couldn't look away and then you waited, waited and waited some more for your date and when it was clear you'd been stood up, I decided to introduce myself but then that bitch showed up with that guy and I could see you were uncomfortable an-"

"Take that back" Jack interrupted her immediately through his gritted teeth as his eyes suddenly went dark, anger pooling in his body "you fucking take that back right now, she ain't no bitch" he stared daggers at Taylor "if there's a bitch here, that's definitely you, sugar, and not only that, you're a bitch and a lousy one at your job" he smirked, taking Taylor's hands in his and analyzing her ring. The symbol of the Kingsman made it clear why she was so interested in Jack all of the sudden. She was just another trick pulled by the fucking butterfly guy. Jack let out a dry laugh "I'll pay for fucking dinner and you will walk out this restaurant with me with a fucking big smile on your face as if I had just proposed to you, got it? Either that or I'll slice your pretty legs off with my lasso, and don't you fuck dare look towards that table" he instructed Taylor who gladly obeyed, being caught red handed by Jack.

You smiled at Frankie, he was so sweet and handsome, throwing charms at you which always made you blush and giggle.

"I think we should get ourselves another bottle, what do you say?" The man asked, winking softly at you as he killed his own. He'd been discreet about your awkward encounter with Jack and didn't ask you anything other than if you were okay.

You'd agreed and moved on with your dinner date - that's what Frankie thought, at least, to him you were acting just a tiny bit off, but he was understanding, if he had had a date next to his ex-wife he would also be tense and embarrassed. You agreed to his idea of asking for another bottle of wine and turned around ever so slightly just to get the waiter's attention but instead, you caught the moment Jack held Taylor's hand and your guts churned. They were both very close and speaking in a low tone, but you could tell Jack was smirking.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore that feeling as much as you could, but it felt almost impossible, especially when you saw Jack handing the waiter his credit card and walking out the restaurant with Taylor in his arms. Only when the waiter stood in front of you, you were able to take your eyes away from the cowboy, he hadn't said goodbye. Of course he wouldn't, you reminded yourself; he was going to get laid with another chick, he wouldn't take his time to say goodbye and make things even more awkward for all of you.

•••

Taylor winced in pain as Jack's grip was strong on her arm, dragging her to the alley behind the restaurant "where's he? He's here, isn't he?" He asked her who just nodded and groaned. Yes, she was a new agent and she'd been assured it would be an easy mission, they'd told us Jack Daniels was a clueless man, a smart and experienced agent, but his ego really got the best of him, hence what happened in the last mission, things got even easier when the Kingsman intelligence found Jack's profile on Tinder, it was like the guy was trying to be fooled, so they selected the hottest new agent they could get and flew her to the cowboy, then, she had a simple mission: investigate him.

"Let her go, Jack" Eggsy's heavy accent cut the tension as he stepped out of the shadows and walked calmly to the couple "there's no reason to hurt her" he added which made Jack's blood boil even more. He wouldn't just hurt a girl, even if she was an annoying little bitch like her, but Jack did want his answers.

"What the fuck Eggsy?! Don't you have more important things to do? Why the fuck is she trying to pull a spy card on me? Is my family in danger?" He raised his voice without even noticing, but just the thought of Wyatt and his sugar being in danger were enough to drive him mad.

"No man… don't worry about your family, I can explain everything to you, just let her go" Jack licked his bottom lip and finally loosened his grip on the grip, as she rushed to Eggsy and stared at the Cowboy with anger. Jack placed his hand on his hips and waited for Eggsy to explain.

"Listen Jack… I didn't mean to cause you trouble, but according to Kingsman's rules I had to investigate you. You see, after the last mission, we learned you were also suspended from Statesma-"

"It's temporary, Eggsy, I'm returning it as soon as my therapi-" he interrupted himself feeling embarrassed though they probably knew all that already "-none of your business… but I'll be back soon" he folded his arms "you still haven't explained why she was all over me"

"It's just a standard procedure Jack… we wanted to make sure you weren't planning on taking revenge on us" he sighed "it was supposed to be an investigation mission, but we came across your profile and the intelligence came up with the plan, but you're clear, man, don't worry. You and your family are safe" he cleared his throat.

Jack felt a blush spreading through his cheeks, the thought of a whole agency laughing at him was too much, he felt small, stupid, ridiculous.

"So… Clara? Was she even real or…?"

Taylor laughed out loud "oh no honey, Clara was me… and trust me, I had every bit of fun catfishing you, I'm sorry Mr.Senior Agent Whiskey but you are painfully embarrassing… It was so easy to just get your attention and then I got to the restaurant and saw you… God!!! I cringed so hard!"

Jack frowned, shaking his head and looking at the younger woman "why are you doing this?"

"Please Jack, you're a grown man pushing middle age and you dress up like a cowboy! And then that woman walked in and she seemed bothered you had a date so I thought it would be funny to mess with the two of you… but please, it was just a mission, and thank God I was caught before I had to actually force myself into sleeping with you because honestly, I-"

"Enough, Agent!" Eggsy yelled at Taylor, being so annoyed at her, she was a real bad agent and she couldn't get any of the Kingsman's rules right.

"I'm sorry about all that Jack, I really am… listen, I didn't want the mission to go like that, I like you, I know we've had our differences but I think you're a good man, if you weren't, I wouldn't have pulled out of the meat grinder…Just take your time, go back to your family and be happy, man."

•••

When Frankie's phone rang and he informed he had an emergency with his ex, you could've been angry. Maybe you should have been angry with him for ending your date and going to her rescue, but in reality, all you felt was relief. At least you'd have some time alone to process what you were feeling, because you tried looking for answers to that irrational jealousy that took over your body, running through your veins and making your heart pound so hard. If you felt jealous when Jack started his date, by the time you saw him leave with that woman you were burning with jealousy, but then, eventually, you noticed that feeling was replaced by sadness. You felt utterly upset, as if someone had taken your heart in their hands and clenched it until there was nothing left. Perhaps that was a sign that going out with guys here and there wasn't as effective to make you forget about Jack as you thought it would.

As Frankie said goodbye, you pecked his lips and assured him you'd drive home, but instead you got the bottle the waiter had just brought in and drove somewhere else, a place that reminded you of Jack, maybe facing your old memories would help you heal somehow.

Jack was at the bar, downing his third scotch - from the ones he'd ordered there, because if he added the ones he had at the restaurant he wouldn't be able to tell how many he'd had - and sighed. He looked around and smiled sadly at the memories. That was the bar he'd take you for drinks, before registering at the hotel and spend the night with you, whenever you two went out for dates or just felt like doing something fancy. He sighed again, he used to be so happy and he wasn't even aware of it, it pained him how he had taken everything for granted and now, he spent his evening alone, after being catfished by a girl for days with no end. He was there, drinking, sulking and seeing how incapable of being loved he was because the woman who loved him, which happened to also be the woman he loved dearly, had moved on, and of course she was probably in the arms of another man.

"Jack?!" You asked in shock, not expecting to see him there. You figured that maybe he would be at the hotel, if he were going to spend the night with that… Skank, he would definitely take her there, but you didn't think he would be drinking alone.

He frowned at first, taking him a split second to acknowledge you were really yourself, thinking that maybe it was just a delusion that was haunting him. He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony, that was definitely the one thing he didn't need: running into you and your new man again.

"Sugar? What are you doing here? Where's your guy?" He asked and offered you the next stool, as you just shrugged.

And for the next half and hour you and Jack went from lovers to enemies, and now to drinking buddies, as he told you about his disastrous date with Taylor and how she turned out to be just a Kingsman agent and you told him about how Frankie was a nice guy but you weren't there yet, not without Jack being the papa bear he was quickly turning into and seeming worried about Wyatt's whereabouts, and you explained him he was having a sleepover at his grandma's.

You didn't actually understand why the Kingsman went after Jack in the first place, so he patiently told you about the mission he was shot at, detail by detail, and how after the incident, he just took off in his jet to seek revenge and nearly ended up inside of a meat grinder. Though you two were laughing as Jack was giving you the account, you felt shivers down your spine at the mere thought of him suffering a painful, horrible death like that. Of course there were days you wanted to kill him, you wanted to hurt him, to make him feel at least a small percentage of what he made you feel, but you never, never, wanted to him to die like that, you weren't ready to lose him.

"Jack… please, don't be offended, but you're saying that you were shot and you nearly got inside a meat grinder on the same mission… it seems to me you were getting a little reckless"

He saw the worry and the sadness in your eye and couldn't help but feel a warmth inside his heart. After the horrible night he had, it comforted him to see you cared about him, though you and him were being nothing but honest with each other and even if it was just the alcohol talking, he felt he owned you his true, raw thoughts

"Yes, I was reckless actually… I think I might've been on purpose though, not consciously of course but still… I was watching you and Wyatt from afar very often back then, and I was just feeling worse and worse facing the real piece of shit of a man I was. Well, I still am, but I swear I'm trying to improve; anyway, at that time I also began having nightmares, sometimes it was about my first wife and sometimes it was about you, but it always ended the same way: either of you would ask me for help but I couldn't help and I'd lose you" he sighed and stared into your eyes "I couldn't sleep, I couldn't think straight, I didn't feel like eating or doing anything at all, so I kinda went on that mission with nothing to lose you know? I had nothing to live for, so I just called my lawyer, made a will in which I left you and Wyatt everything and figured if I'd died at least something good would come out of it, you and our son wouldn't be out in the open" he shrugged and faced his empty glass, too ashamed to look at you, as you could barely register the words he'd told you, feeling a lump in your throat, you couldn't believe that. You knew Jack felt regret for what he did to you and Wyatt and he was also never able to properly handle his grief, but knowing for a fact he just dwelled onto those dark feelings broke your heart. That's not how you wanted things to end for him, you wanted him to be happy, to be there for your son, having a father was much more precious than any amount of money he could leave Wyatt, and you wanted him to see that. Though now Jack had his son to fight for, you never wanted him to even think of something like that again.

You gently took your hand to his cheek, moving his head so you could see where the bullet had hit him, right next to his eye and you caressed it gently, feeling the small scar under your fingertip. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and enjoying the sweet moment of affection, knowing it wouldn't last very long and unsure of when or if he would ever receive such lovely act from you.

"Jack?" You called him with and saw as he opened his eyes, looking at you and leaning towards you even more, your faces just inches from each other's "I'm definitely happy you're not dead, please, keep yourself alive for Wyatt and for me" you asked him and leaned forward too, your lips so close to his, it would only take you a small movement to finally kiss each other.

And that's what would happen if your phone hadn't rang.

"Shit, it's my mom" you told him before picking it up. His heart was still racing at the moment you just had when you hung up "Wyatt had a bad dream and can't calm down, come on, Jack… let's pick up our son"

_____

A/N: so yeah, I hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you think ❤️ I love Jack so much (and also, no gifs because there's a fucking cyclone in my city and that caused a power outage and my date is not working properly lmao fml)

320 notes · View notes

cherrsnut · 3 months

Text

Hostage - Chapter 3

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 6k

Previous // Next

Chapter 3

The shimmering light of the moon reflected the pine trees of a never-ending forest. It had been a while since you’d left the sight of the sea, and with that so did the comfort of your homeland.

You weren’t sure just how deep into the night you were, the only indicator was the high position of the crescent moon, and you guessed it was late.

You were at the salon, or at least the replica of a salon inside the car of a traveling train. It was as quiet as the night offered. You tried to mimic the silent stillness from the moon, all because it wasn’t in your best interest in waking up the rest.

The lights had turned on automatically, probably with some sort of motion sensor that detected your sneaky movements. It startled you, it was one of those things you got easily used throught the sunny day, not so much during the night.

You thought of turning around, worried that someone took notice of your presence, but your stubbornly nature breathed in your ear to keep going, and it embarrassed you the idea of returning back to your room, after all the self convincing through the pillow, so you were committed on what you had set out to do.

The living area was big. It connected all three rooms, the kitchen, that adopted a smaller size than in a regular home; next to it was the dining room, which consisted of a large wooden table accompanied by the chairs of the same material and colour; and then a normal salon, with its shelves and books, comfortable couches and armchairs, with the TV, the one you had been seeing earlier that day. You could only but respect the creator for its clever interior design.

Your eyes scanned the room you just walked in. You had seen the alcoholic beverage when you all were tracing a plan, or better said, attempted to trace a plan.

You had taken notice of its presence, the delightful idea you’d drink it later tied a noose around your mind, and you were content to announce the time has come for its consumption.

With the distinct shape and light glass color, you knew it was white wine. The name of the brand was unfamiliar to you; but with its inky and sophisticated handwriting, one that could only belong to the signature of a fancy family. As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you knew the wine would live up to it exquisite taste you were forming in your mouth.

That's why you wanted to try it in the first place. Just like the many delicious pastries you had tried merely hours ago. Once the succulent sweet taste bombarded your tongue, you knew the cook’s trained fingers had been blessed by the sin of gluttony itself. The strawberries at the very top was enough to make you believe it to be an addicting forbidden fruit, one you were glad

you had been honored to try out.

Your mouth watered at the idea of what a good wine would be considered between the rich society. Would it be more bitter? more sweet? more refreshing? would it be thicker?

There was only one way to find out.

You looked at the kitchenette, roaming your eyes all over surfaces of it. Silver colors shone throughout the metallic counters, filled with dusty spices, all collected from the unique lands of the Districts throughout Panem. They sat quietly on the kitchen counters, ready to be used at any given moment.

You walked over there. You realized the light bulbs couldn’t cover the whole salon, and it was especially dark over the kitchen area. With the many corners and countertops, it casted many shadows to whatever hidden treasure lay there, and you hoped to find your drink beneath those lurking shadows.

And you did. Just like what you had thought, the sharp shadows camouflaged your drink. This piece of concealed alcohol though, was not on its own. It had been placed along other alcoholic beverages, from rose wines, to different versions of rums. All in carefully and delicately crystal bottled designs, with odd edges and shapes, but it still screamed for its exclusive taste.

You went to grab onto your preferred wine choice, the white wine your mind lingered ever so slightly for the past hours, and grabbed a glass, which consisted of rummaging through the kitchen metallic cabinets.

And ice cubes, you nearly forgot about them. You thanked the Heaven’s when you found them, it was a definitely easier find, all silently still in the freezer.

You walked out with your self-proclaimed possessions, and plopped them down on a rather small table by a funny looking mustard couch. You had to start getting used to the colour explosion the people of the Capitol seemed to be overjoyed with.

You went to grab the foggy beige bottle, a good indicator of the type of whine that laid inside. You went to fully seat of the couch, more like you willingly fell on top of it. Fingers quickly snacthed the bottle. And as you handled its throat, you heard something similar to light growls coming through the wall. All your connected joints stopped, in an attempt to make out what exactly what exactly were the noises. The tone was very much low, and all the words were scattered around into incomprehensible words. You pressed your ear further into the only thing separating the two of you.

By that point, you had realized the low sounds was a conversation that was happening on the other side, making the wall the only barrier between the two of you. A frustrating sound came out of your lips, you hated how the wall was thick enough to block out the anything coherent, and your nosy ears were left unsatisfied.

Two people talking, you were sure of that, and you also knew that they were slowly and creepingly getting closer to you.

But before you thought of your escape plan, an electrical-like sound resounded across the room just softly. It would have been very much unnoticed during the lively day, especially considering Scarlett’s exhausting hyper energy. But in the complete silence of the night, one that even the noise of the rattling rails were enhanced. It was the sound you could recognize now, a you knew you had just been exposed. The automatic doors just opened.

“Should we really wake them up?” spoke the large male, specks of the bronze you earlier described hidden under the artificial light, which made his hair take upon a more goldish colour.

He looked on his back, waiting for his companion to respond to him. Scarlett joined him in the room, her long and white hair, so well taken care of that anyone could’ve confused it with a spider’s silk.

“We don’t have much time to spare, we need to go over the schedule” Scarlett spoke. A stunned look came across your face when you noticed she still had the beautiful face paint across her sharp and witty features, even in the early hours of the night.

“I understand that-“ Finnick crossed his eyes to follow Scarlett’s figure, but in doing so, a black shifting figure appeared in the corner of his eyes, and its presence asked for his attention. So when he looked over there, he found you on the couch, the bottle of wine still in your arms.

He made an expression, and it that moment you knew exactly what the elders meant by the saying ‘Dear in Headlights’. His sea green eyes, a sea that upon stepping into the water you’d be welcomed by the underwater green nature, had gotten noticeably bigger. It was the initial shock for him had that him planted by the entrace, you knew he wasn’t expecting you. Even more less, you gripping onto dear life to the wine.

Scarlett noticed the absence of Finnick’s sentence, so she looked back at him with a pointed stare wanting to know why he had stopped talking. His face suggested for her to look in the direction of what he was facing, and so she did. A big noticeable grin appeared on her radiant white teeth after encountering your very awaken form.

“Wonderful, you’re awake!” she exclaimed, clapping twice in approval. You just stayed there, paralyzed. You had come out to drink the refinery of the Capitol, all sneakily as had you assumed it would be the same as in District 4. The usual, ‘you’re a minor’ kind of talk. It had been harder to digest the fiery feeling coursing through your bloodstream, to your knowledge, only alcohol could provide you.

You weren’t the type to break the rules, always following what the law preached. But when it came down on taking more priority on curious adolescents wanting to try out a new feeling, over questioning the literal slaughter of said adolescents, you could admit confidently, the system was equivalent to a singular bullcrap.

Mags was the last to come out, her very small and frail body coming out from behind Finnick,

who still looked at you funnily. He didn’t utter a word, still in his trance. The bottle was still in your hands, and you knew deep within your very core existence, it was going to take up a real fight for them to take it away from you.

Mags on the other hand chuckled sofly at his side, which in turn took Finnick back to reality, something you were thankful for Mags. You were sure if he kept staring you like that you’d just run back to your room from the utter humiliation. The whole situation felt silly in your hands, especially considering your fingers still gripping onto the bottle.

“I’ll go and get Vito” offered Finnick as he walked past the tall slender figure of Scarlett, and made his way to get your District partner.

Scarlett went to sit beside you, almost like she felt close to you on a personal level, all connected by the power of the wine. She held her glass of wine to you, a hungry smile as she waited for your hands to pour down the liquid into her transparent glass.

Mags sat in front of you, onto the armchair from the same yellowish colour as the couch you were currently leaning agaisnt. She was grinning at you. A mischievous color swam through her grey irises that were were pointing at you. There was something sweet about you only Mags seem to notice, and she seemed amused by your particular behaviour.

“Have you tried it? It's delicious” Scarlett recommended you, a tone lower from the close proximity she had closed, and it seemed to her that there was a new level of vulnerability between the three of you. The flowing liquid brushed past her coloured lips, and where it not for the bubble that formed from inside her throat, one that it quickly disappeared to her content belly, you wouldn't have realized she had already gulped down the drink. It was sophisticated one, one done with the sole intention to savour the unique taste, more so for one’s survival.

You moved your head no, a little shy after being caught during the act. But were you? Exactly what were you doing that was so wrong? Everyone present seemed so nonchalant about it, so used to it, you coudn’t help but bury yourself deeper into the depths of your own embarrassment. You coudn’t help but ask yourself why you hadn’t asked them earlier if you could take a sip

And with that, you were sure you were going to do a little session by the great name of self-ridiculization when you were alone, which meant screaming off to your pillow.

You took a pity sip. Just like what you had predicted, it was everything but disappointing. The way the beverage was made was very much different from all the drinks you shared with Edna. This one, was lower on the bitterness, and whoever wrote the recipe made the correct decision to add the sweet fruity taste to it. That was the secret ingredient, the sweetness almost overpowered the cringing taste of the alcohol, and a bubble of sparkling water tickled your throat when you gulped down. Truly delicious.

Scarlett winked at you, a bigger grin appeared on her face. You looked over to her, and for once her very presence didn’t feel excriciatingly annoying. Her hyper overjoy she always seemed to wear on her cheek easily exhausted anyone present, especially when she seemed so eager to talk about the Hunger Games.

You had taken notice of Mags scanning eyes over your essence from the very moment she sat just in front of you. So you gave a pointed look, a one questioning over her roaming pupils on you. Mags responded with another smile, a gentle and mature one, from a woman with decades of experience ready to reveal the secrets of a human’s purpose in life. The way her eyes closed when she bore her teeth out, gave you the understanding she didn’t have the slightest intention to spill out whatever was going on through her mind.

You sighed along with the welcoming steps from both Finnick and Vito. A second barely passed when the two appeared through the door. Finnick was in his still living sculpture form, created by an artist filled with the purest form of infatuation, his passion for the beautiful creatures that lurked on the breathing planet, and definitely taking upon the inspiration of the gods of beauty and hypnotic perfection, and thus he was born.

Vito was close behind him, a look that gave away his tumultuous mind. His eyes shoned the void of his black irises, that seemed to have merged with its pupils. His rustled hairs hung in messy strands, evident of his attempt in walking into a deep slumber. A pair of silky beige trousers attached to his hips. His button-up shirt he was using as nightly gear, had been hanging around him loosely, and your working quick eyes noticed just how he was interlocking each button for its respective hole just as he got in the salon, suggesting he’d just worn it for the courtesy of joining your reunion.

You couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought from drilling your mind ‘How kind of the them to provide its Tribute’s with pleasantries' regarding with existence of the clothing provided by the Capital. But it wasn’t just that, it was as well the rich dishes and product designs. You very much enjoyed them, but you coudn’t help feeling it was a direct jab at you former way of life, a much poorer lifestyle than theirs.

Everything was great, you had been the first to enjoy them, but it still felt icky to your senses. It is as if the Capitol was trying to ridicule you in some way or another.

Vito followed your pointing eyes, a tired greeting. He probably stayed in bed, waiting to be taken by the realm of dreams, hoping when he woke up everything was just but a terrible nightmare. And that feeling sunken within your heavy chest.

Both men sat down beside us, and Vito couldn’t help but travel his gave along the table, finishing to see past your fingers to Scarlett’s. He’d taken notice of the bottle you both were sharing, and a hollow feeling sat on top of his heart. He barely mumbled something audible.

“Is that wine?” Vito’s voice was weak when he let the words escape. His funny look, essentially identical to Finnick’s, mimicked the way his tune sounded, confused and perplexed.

Something about Vito you had realized was the way his face was exactly that of a transparent mineral. Everything he built himself with, every opinion and moment of decision, was all said through his eyes before he could even speak them.

“Why are you drinking wine?” he questioned your actions, with the ingredients of a slight judgemental tone, and an astonished murmur. He specifically looked at you, trying to find the broken wires inside your brain, the ones that made you make circuit-breaker decisions.

“Why not?” you asked back. The difference in tone was surprisingly abundant. His was more weak and slow, begging for an outer force to comfort him; and yours was simply more cutthroat and defensive.

He didn’t say anything else after that, bewilderment spoke his eyes. His lips fell apart, trying to find the words he wanted to say. But he couldn’t, not when he was so stunned at your answer. An he supposed the problem didn’t come from a circuit breaker, rather you were suffering from unmatching wires that had been wrongly connected.

“Edna always told me. ‘If I’m able to stitch back a four-inch infected laceration without the need of any painkiller, I was old enough to drink alcohol’ ” You repeted those wise words your teacher and, later considered grandmother spoke. The words and phases that echoed through each rib, in a never-ending cycle of teachings that clung to you like a piercing fishhook through warm flesh.

Vito kept his stare on you, unable to comprehend you. The dark circles that were slowly creeping up under his eyes came from the instilled distress that overpowered his body. He appreciated what you had done earlier, he’d be lying if he told you he didn’t need it, that he was alright. The sickening idea that both of you were going to be placed in a mortal arena fed his sleepless anxiety. The screening scenes from previous Hunger Games editions pierced his soul, like an arrow to his heart.

He found himself taking back his initial thoughts though. He previously found himself relieved when his partner was someone unknown to him, someone he only knew in passing, that he never had a heartfelt conversation with you. The guilt of those primal thoughts runs his blood cold because after what you had done to him, a complete stranger, the comfort he needed for the simple reasoning that you were concerned about him.

You were a good person at heart, and you didn’t deserve to die in such a cruel fate. In the middle of nowhere, where even nature itself is out there designed to kill you. With the background of the meaning of the Hunger Games, many Tributes grew desperate to try and change their hopeless destiny. Their minds break inside that Hell, and with fear running their imprudent’s choices, they kill whoever is set in their way. In this game, you had to let go of one’s nature and belief with the off chance to see another day.

So when he saw you with a glass of wine in hand, he couldn’t help but be resentful over your shown obliviousness to the whole situation, or maybe you just weren’t as concerned as he dictated you should be. He appreciated what you had done back then, reassuring him everything would be alright. But deep down he knew those words were empty in the ears of fate, and you couldn’t guarantee the outcome even if you wanted to.

Your lips took another gulp of the wine, he felt as though the earth would bury him alive. Just then a crumbling thought avalanched his mind. His soul felt heavy, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt personally victimized, wishing you had never been picked in the Reaping, and all thoughts of earlier gratitude subsided and felt personally betrayed by your words.

You tasted the addicting wine once again. Your head moved to Scarlett’s, praising the wine choice whoever picked for this journey.

“This will be the death of me. It's like a delicious poison running through my veins” you told her delighted. There was something so pure about the way a refreshing wine glass traveled through your entire body, that felt like swimming under the humidity of the summer’s heat.

“Oh ho ho” Scarlett chuckled at your comment. She was good drinking company, you had to give her that. She unknowingly distracted you from your oceanic torment, taking away the pleas of your mind to give in and open your eyes to what you were truly feeling.

“I know someone who you’d get along with” She spoke again, a giggly voice present.

“Haymitch, right?” Now it was Finnick who joined in. Another small grin appeared on his face, however small though, it lit up the room just as if he bore his sparkling teeth out. And, god, you had to stop yourself from forming a curse after seeing his beautiful dimples.

“I could see you two becoming close friends” he added. Green eyes attempting to read behind your pupils.

Haymitch. He sounded familiar to your ears, but you couldn’t quite picture him in your mind. And just as you went to ask for who they were referring to, Vito's voice became clearer.

“Are we going to form a plan or not?” he sounded strained, stress had been building up his senses, and you felt once again guilty. “Look, I just want, even a half a chance to win this” he added. His voice hinted that he was mad, and it wasn’t his fault you had already given up.

“Please,” his eyes maneuvered to Scarlett. “Tell us what to do. How do we gain sponsors” You heard just how he tried to bite back a crack. “or how to not die out there” The intensity of his stare made the air tense. Even Scarlett, the queen of making everything as lighthearted as possible, didn’t say anything back. She just stared at him, her words stuck to the back of her throat, and his low tone disorienting her brain.

You placed your wine glass down. Your eyes stole his glance, before speaking out your thoughts.

“Vito” you called out to him. And just like his voice, you saw how even his obsidian eyes cracked with each passing minute.

“I’m close to incapable of even protecting myself,” you confessed, and that hard acceptance soaked your mind. There was nothing for you to do.

His hard stare begged you to continue, because for him, at this point he’d listen to anyone, even the defeated conclusions of a self-proclaimed goner like yourself.

“But I know how to heal you. I know how to wrap up an open wound. I know how to slow down an infection. And I know for sure, I’ll do my best to stop any type of poison spread over your body” you told him. You understood him, understood how he was feeling, and how desperation ran miles over his head.

“I’ll be out there to take care of you. But I need you to promise me one thing.” his stare was pointed at you, and no matter how distracting his surroundings may be, he listened carefully to your words.

“I need you to stay by my side. I need you to protect me when I need it. And I promise you, I’ll be there to look out for you” The light bulbs shone in the sclera of your eyes, just as hard as the tone of your voice.

He nodded, agreeing to that verbal contract, and he was ready to carry out the duty you just placed on his shoulders.

“I’ll be there by your side until you proclaim yourself as Victor.” you gave him a sad smile. It seemed that’s the only thing you do these days. A smile in the face of a terrible tragedy.

He looked away from you, into the crown of the passing trees through the window. He seemed more relaxed, more confident. And in the lingering silence, no one dared to interrupt the meaning behind your despairing words.

The victors of the previous games looked at you. You felt isolated behind their gaze, and you couldn’t even return their pitiful glance towards you. The irises on your eyes traveled outside the train car, through every single tree, and it felt like you moved as fast as the speed of light. An open gap between your tight chest, that’s what it felt like knowing every passing tree meant getting closer to your imminent death. It felt philosophical in a sense, just how the leaves your eyes landed on, quickly swifted into the next one, like a prophecy that your end was happening soon. And the usual childish thought that the trees were waving you farewell with every wind brush, fell too real for you.

Vito grunted some words, but you were unable to hear them, too focused on the melancholic song your body sang. Aside from you, the rest looked at him, and his gaze returned to each one of them. An internal conflict stood beside him as he thought out his mind. Finnick looked to Mags, and she returned it with another, understanding just what lay in those ghostly words of yours. They knew what you were implying, you didn’t need to say it, the meaning of grief stayed prevalent in the air you all shared.

“What about you?” he muttered just above a whisper, but you still understood the meaning of his words. He was going to force you to say it even when you didn’t want to. The words you kept hidden, for your own mental protection, so you woudn’t crumble in that very instant.

“What about me?” you asked back with a sneer. A tone anyone understanding the implication of the conversation would realize to be in self-mockery. Vito lost his voice again, hanging his lips apart to dry his tongue. A piercing pain hurt his heart like a freezing icicle to his soul.

“In the end, it's better you come out as the sole victor.” Those two words, they were the final blows of the crack in your soul. Just like someone smashed a mirror after seeing their body reflected. And it was even harder having to act stronger than what you actually were, because deep between the layers of deception and half-truths, a house that only hopelessness and hurt habited. But there was nothing you could do about it, it was better to accept it now, so when you’d be faced with your impending moment, you might as well feel at peace for the life Edna had the chance to give you.

“I’m making my peace with death.” you smiled with nothing other than the wrinkled lines of mournful acceptance. Everyone looked at you, and Vito gave you a displeased glare, one you knew he was about to try and pick up a fight at your words.

“Look, I've been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine with it. I’ll die just how I lived, alone,” you spoke before he could even refute back your stubborn thoughts. But he couldn’t accept it, and it hurt his soul just looking at your pitiful face.

“We need you alive” a loud husky metamorphosed his vocal chords, with a more aggressive tone than you had gotten used to in the little hours you had been with him. A venomous stinger struck you unannounced. You knew what he meant, the fishermen you had brought up earlier.

“The Peacemakers are being a pain in the ass lately, the Herbal Shop will close sooner or later anyway” you tried to debate, any inkling of gentle softness leaving after what felt an attack at his hostile tone.

“You’re absolutely right. Your victory would shut them up” sarcasm placed on his mouth into a grin, a scoff vibrating the back of his salivary tongue in his in disbelief. His crease wrinkled at the middle of both his eyebrows. But what you could not fathom, why was his hard look directed at you.

“That’ll stop them raking your name through the mud” he added in venomous grace directed at the people who were supposed to ‘maintain peace’. And yet, it didn’t feel the least be sympathetic.

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it” you talked back. You had to bite your burning tongue so it wouldn’t mention anything about his unexpected and detestable attitude.

“Well I don’t have your knowledge or skills. I’m easily replaceable” It seemed he always had something back to say to you, but it never convinced you, not with your stubborn nature. And yet, you were left speechless. You weren’t sure as to why he’d become so aggravateted all of a sudden.

The confusion that sparked in your inner central core only left you empty. You weren’t sure as to why he’d gotten so hostile. Vito just scanned your face finding any clue of your swirling hidden thoughts inside of your head. He just wanted to swim across from your sea current, he wanted to break apart your mind, so you’d understand his point. He found himself close to finding the secrets you wanted to keep hidden under a rusty lock.

Your lips parted, and the way your pupils shoke in trying to find a reason as to why he was perked up, only made his shimmering eyes spark in his further determination.

Now it was you who stayed quiet, still in a messy stupefaction running your mind. You wanted to say something back, bite at his words and make him understand that if it came to sacrificing, it was a better option for your to take that blow instead of him.

In the absence of your voice, Vito continued on.

“As soon as the Hunger Games start, run far away from the Cornucopia. I’ll get everything and come back to you” his voice was much lower, the excruciating energy he managed to surface was gone. At least not in an explosive way, but the way his tune forced out intimidation for you to listen to him. You blinked at his words, and a little not right stepped on your face upon his pathetic excuse of a plan. You licked your dry lips.

“What? No!” you started. Just as this conversation continued on you coudn’t help but feel like someone slammed against your body, from each word he tried to reason with. You sighed internally, deeply exhaling the breath as a means to get you to calm down. “You’ll just die there” you replicated to him. You surprised yourself when the implications of your words sunk your heart deep. Vito could die.

“And we need you alive” You elevated your voice, as you defended your reasoning against his immediate thought process. Like the calamity of a sea storm clashing against the sharp stones of a cliff, fighting against the aggressive nature of the submerged waves.

“You’re more necessary back home. I’m more than willing to die-” his frsutration could only but become increasingly bigger when you cut him off. It was far past him, the realization that two clashing thoughts could never end with one winning victor.

“Your sisters need you alive. Your family needs you alive” you raised your voice, not enough to be considered that of a yell, but loud enough that the energy that escaped through your pores left burning marks on the people around you.

And it was loud enough that you long forgotten, and didn’t care, about anyone else who’d still be asleep in the train ride.

“Just listen to me!” Vito screamed. He wanted to shut you up, and he reasoned that by leaving you as astonished as you were, he could explain as to why he felt like it was better for him to be buried against the hard bloody floor of the arena.

And you were dismayed. All words you wanted to speak run back down your throat at the sheer audacity you felt. So you looked at him, nothing but critical in your glare. You couldn’t leave his eyes, threatning pupils cheering him to challenge your very being again.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Your repeated thoughts were as fast as the bullet train you were on. You knew the moment you lost your self control, you’d say something you’d later regret. So you looked at him, a fiery rage in your gaze, but still controlling your silence.

Vito then realized he regretted shouting at you in such a manner. The hating look your irises burned and churned within, took him back. He didn’t expect you’d react that way, and he regretted not taking another second to think what the outcome may be from his screaming. So he stilled under your gaze, every sheer of irate emotions slowly dissipating.

He opened his mouth, wanting so say something, to immediately apologize for what he’s just done. Regret flowed through his senses, so much it made him almost blind to everything else that was occurring. And with regret, came the emotions of shame and embarrassment. He was vulnerable under you heavy stare.

Seconds passed like this. You were looking into his eyes, but you weren’t saying inthing behind them. The source didn’t come to try and intimidate him, it had nothing to do with you feeling more powerful than him. But as your gazes interlocked, you had to physically bite your bottom lip so you wouldn't spill all the bitter words that sat ready above your tongue. Don’t say it. Every second, your head provoked you to take one step further and finish this into a screaming match. The type of fight that, when the both of you left to your rooms, you two had equal resentment for each other. Don’t say it.

With another deep breath exhaling from your nose, you stood up. Just then, you realized the rest of the audience present in your discussion, by which all of them looked rather uncomfortable, and you coudn’t blame them. You passed Scarlett and Finnick, in which he stalkendly followed you figure. He didn’t know what to say to remedy the situation, was there even a way to make this better? Or maybe the best thing he could do was to just stay silent and let the breeze carry both of the Tribute’s emotions.

Your body froze at the realization you had forgotten something crucial. You looked at the Scarlett, which she returned a timid gaze. Vito seemed on wanting to say something, especially now that you had stopped in your tracks. It was obvious you wanted to leave, and he coudn’t blame you. But before he could apologize for his outburst, your voice fied out. Much more calm, and without a hint of an explosive counter reaction.

“I’ll be taking this” you leaned forward into the table, grabbing the inquisitive wine, ready to use it as soon as your bedroom door closed behind you.

“I’ll be drowning myself in this tonight” you murmured. You were proud at the way you didn’t give in to you head’s whispering thoughts to aggravate the situation further. And before you knew it, you blood run much slower, and your energy subsided, leaving you with the hoarse of your mutter.

You looked back at everyone, and a small grin formed in the base of your lips, and they understood you were telling them your goodnight before your body went to the door.

But you stopped. With the wine in you hand heavely hanging, you went back to see your partner.

“Get back home, Vito” you exasperated. He went to gaze at you once his name was mentioned. And though you noticed his soury internal conflict, his original thoughts still induced him.

He went to say you name, a much softer trembling mutter. But you cut him off. You didn’t want to argue any further, and you weren't going to stay for whatever he had to say.

“Go home” your voice sounded more stable, more confident in your argument. And with this, you finished the dispute between the two of you. With an order for him to return back to District 4, and get back to his family.

Previous // Next

TagList: @marvelescvpe

#finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg #thg x you #thg fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader

92 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 6 months

Text

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 9

Chapter 8 Chapter 10

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. FILTH. Angst. Oral (male and fem receiving), PIV, dirty talk, slight degrading talk, use of magic, and heavy mentions of survivor's guilt, negative self-talk, violence.

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. This dance between you and Loki has gone on long enough. You head to his place with a mission.

Word Count: 5,858k

Masterlist

A/N: WHEW! Welcome back, welcome back! Hope you enjoy because I definitely did. Loki season 2 has me FERAL. I love that he's using his magic more and that one scene?? WOOOOF! Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @soft-persephone @mybonafidefeelings

Your hand hovered on the door in front of you. Nerves bubbled in your gut and twisted. You lowered your hand and bit your lip. This was insane.

But the club had been running itself ragged trying to clean up the mess the saboteur made. Loki managed to switch the rooms back around. He was forced to close the club for a few days as he did so. The employees were not happy. No work, no pay.

You worked from sun up to sun down trying to help decipher the problem. You had magic but it wasn’t on Loki’s scale. Nor the saboteurs. You were a glorified tool belt, able to conjure tools and weapons at whim. You had stared at both of the cards left behind and the only thing you were able to gleam was that they were created magically. Duh.

So after a week or two cleaning up the mess, everyone was exhausted. Loki didn’t have enough energy to tease you normally. The club was due to reopen again tomorrow. Loki was determined to not let the saboteur get to you both. But you hadn’t been much help, always going off about the things you would do to them once you found them.

You wrung your hands and stared at his door, willing him to sense you and take the decision out of your hands. But no. This was your decision. You drove over here, you climbed the steps to the apartment above the club, and you were going to knock on this damn door.

You knocked before you could think twice about it. A moment later, Loki opened the door and smiled tiredly at you. “Darling…a pleasure as always,” he said. He swept to the side and opened the door wider, inviting you in.

The feeling was not unlike entering the chamber of a famous monster. In you went. Your heels sunk into plush carpet and you were taken aback by how open and inviting his space was. It was painted in earth tones, rich greens and browns and dark blues. His couches complimented the paint colors well, soft velvet fabric stretched over comfortable looking cushions.

There was a half wall separating the kitchen from the living room, but everything was mostly open plan. Paintings took up space on the walls, of various scenes of bodies pressed together. The images were evocative and vaguely erotic. Of course they were. Loki closed the door and you turned to face him.

He stood with his legs crossed and leaned against the wall next to the door. You watched as he locked it. He was all angles and lines and delicious as hell. He wore soft pants and a plain T-shirt. For some reason, you always imagined that he walked around naked in his home. It was wishful thinking, maybe, but still. He seemed the type to not want to be obstructed in any way. Free.

That freedom drew you to him. He was completely in control of who he was. He owned everything. His warts and all. And still he walked around proudly. Like he owned the world and they just didn’t know it yet.

“We’ve been working hard the past few weeks,” you said. You hadn’t exactly prepared a speech, but how did one exactly launch into begging to be fucked?

“We have,” he said. A smirk played on his lips and you hated him. You craved him but you hated that you would never get the chance to unravel him. To twist him to pieces like he did to you. You doubted that he stayed up all night, rock hard, unable to get relief because he wasn’t buried inside of you.

Your clit throbbed and you shook your head. Focus.

“And we know that rest is important. It was practically a requirement on Asgard,” you said. You missed the feasts and jovial mood that clung to Asgard. You partied for birthdays, weddings, funerals, and any occasion under the sun. There was a full moon? Feast. A rare comet? Feast.

“True,” Loki said.

The bastard wasn’t going to make this easy. Fine. You came prepared. You untied the belt of your jacket and let it fall to the floor. Underneath, you wore an emerald bra and panties set. The bra pushed your tits together to give you a pretty cleavage and the panties spanned the expanse of your sexy ass.

In taking care of your siblings and pretending that everything was fine, you lost yourself. The person you were on Asgard. Asgardians had to be a resilient people. Your home was on the edge of a universe, a veritable rock hurtling through space. You survived the destruction of your world, the ship, half of the universe gone. But the gods conspired to put you and Loki here and now.

It was high time you took the gift the gods offered. Loki’s eyes darkened as he took in your body. He took a deep breath as his eyes roamed up and down.

“I’ve no mood for games, Darling,” he said. His voice sent shivers down your spine. It was so deep and soothing.

You crossed the short distance to him. Your heels still didn’t touch how tall he was. You pressed your chest against his. Your palms traveled from his chest, up and around his neck. You pulled him to you and kissed him.

He reacted instantly, his hands coming around your waist and pulling you closer. Your core rubbed against his thickening erection and you hummed. His lips were divine as they moved with yours, suckling your bottom lip.

“No games, Loki. I just want you,” you whispered against his lips.

He drew away from you and looked down into your eyes. “Who are you?” He asked. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You giggled. “I’m your Darling,” you said. You began to slide down his body, keeping eye contact. You sank to your knees. The carpet really was soft and your knees felt fine kneeling like this.

“You wanted to hear me beg and burn for you. To give me what I want. Well, I’m taking it. We both deserve it,” you said. You watched his expression turn from suspicion to anticipation as he watched your hands.

You tugged on the sides of his pants until they slipped over his slim hips. He wore no underwear. His dick sprang free and bobbed stiffly. You rubbed your nose across the head of his dick and he hissed.

“I can’t keep fighting you, Loki,” you said. After the entire breakdown in his office, you had to come to the realization that you were hurting yourself. Punishing yourself beyond what was normal. You had a life before. Filled with laughter and a carefree attitude. You were somebody before. And you wanted to be someone again.

You wanted to feel alive again. You wanted to take pleasure where you wanted. You were tired of the feverish dreams. You were tired of the pining. There were a few times that you watched Loki work and you got so hot and bothered, you had to fan your sweaty thighs.

You gave yourself permission to want him. And that unlocked some part of you. All the aspects of your personality that you repressed came flooding to the surface.

You ran your tongue down one side of his dick and up the other. Loki groaned and threw his head back against the wall. “Be very sure, Darling,” he said.

You smirked. You stroked his dick with your hands, using beads of his precum to wet the head. He licked his lips as he focused on you.

“I need you, Loki,” you said. You blinked at him as you took him into your mouth.

“Gods,” he moaned and his eyes crossed.

“I know I’ve been difficult. Those were my issues to get over. But you helped me. And now I want to return the favor,” you said.

You suckled the head of his dick, taking sick pleasure in the way he writhed and moaned against the wall. It was sheer willpower keeping him standing as you bobbed your head. His hands caressed your cheeks. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail so there was nothing to move out of his way. He didn’t need to worry about anything but pleasure. Nothing but your mouth on him.

“You’re the furthest thing from difficult, Darling,” he croaked.

The praise only made you work harder. You let him go with a wet pop and fisted his dick. You stroked him, switching pressure and twisting as you went. His hips jerked towards you. You took him back into your mouth with a needy moan. You loved the saltiness of him. He smelled like him, like sin made flesh. You hummed as you pleased him and his mouth worked but no sound came out.

He chuckled as you continued, going faster and faster, bobbing your head and suckling. A mix of saliva drooled down the side of your face. He wiped it away and let you see the unbridled lust in his eyes. It made your pussy ache. To plead with no words that it needed him inside of you.

“I need you, Loki. I need you inside of me,” you told him. After each word, your mouth dipped to his dick. Your filthy slobbering echoed in his living room. He was not selfish with his moans. He gave excellent feedback, letting you know that you were pleasuring him how he liked.

You knew by now how to make him really go crazy. You increased your speed, going faster than you would have dared. Your hands stroked his thighs and his ass. His moans turned desperate, his grip on your cheeks sloppy.

“Oh gods,” he moaned before busting inside of your mouth. His pulsing cum splashed down your throat and you sucked up everything he gave you. You licked the side of your mouth where some escaped.

Loki went slack against the wall and he wiped his wet hair away from his temple. He panted as if he ran a marathon and grabbed your face. He kissed you, licking the inside of your mouth. Anything his tongue could reach.

“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me for all these years? This little vixen?” He asked. He returned to kissing you, preventing you from answering. He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jawline, and your neck. Tingles of pleasure ran through you. But you weren’t done begging.

You stood up from your knees, Loki helping you the rest of the way. He was so strong. In so many ways.

You pushed his pants further down and made him step out of it. Then you yanked his shirt completely off, leaving him bare. Your hungry eyes raked over him. Taking in every delicious inch of him. His broad chest, his abs, his powerful thighs.

You took his hand and led him to the couch. You pushed him down and straddled his lap. His hands ran greedily over your ass and you moaned. You cupped his neck and played with his hair while you settled onto his lap.

You leaned forward and kissed him softly. “I want you,” you said. You kissed him again and licked his lips.

He hummed low in the back of his throat. His hands moved up your back and then back to squeeze your ass. “I do love hearing you say that,” he said. “Your mouth could order my destruction and I’d find a way to make it happen.”

“Never. You get on my fucking nerves, Loki. But it’s only because I wanted to deny how much I craved you. Have always craved you. On Asgard, you would have never looked twice at me. Here, it’s only because I work so closely with you.”

Loki’s hand came up to grab your neck and he squeezed. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he said. His eyes were like twin flames of sapphire. “I would be drawn to you anywhere. Though you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, you’re so much more than your beauty. Your strength, your protectiveness, and that mouth. Hmm,” he hummed and turned your head to the side. He licked your neck and you shuddered. “The dreams I’ve had about that mouth.”

You were still Loki’s plaything. You were on top of him. You just gave him an incredible orgasm. And yet with one move, you were back at his mercy. It only made you smile. You were the furthest thing from healed that you could possibly get. You had leagues to go before you understood all of your issues.

However, the thought of him being in control didn’t scare you half as much as it did a few weeks ago. Once you gave yourself permission to feel, everything came flooding in. And the loudest thought among them was that you wanted him so badly, you thought you were going to combust.

You tugged on his hair and he drew his head back with a moan. “Fine. I want you. I’ve been wanting you. I want your dick inside of me. I want you to please me. I want you to claim me. Destroy me. Ruin me for any other man,” you said. You kissed a hot trail of fire up his neck, licking in strategic places, making him hiss with pleasure.

Loki chuckled darkly. His thumb stroked over your pulse point. He could squeeze the life out of you right now and there wouldn’t be a thing you could do to stop him. Almost as if he could read your thoughts, he pressed a little harder and you gasped.

He brought his hands back to your ass and squeezed your flesh under your panties. He kneaded and massaged your ass and you squirmed on top of him. Your pussy was dripping wet already and he hasn’t really touched you where you needed him.

He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. It fanned over your chest. “Would that I had the power to stop time, we would never leave. My idea of ruin would leave you a pathetic, useless mess as I fucked you any way i saw fit,” he said.

You moaned at his filthy words. At the dark promise of seduction in the cadence of his voice.

He hummed as he moved one of his hands to the front, pushing your panties aside and feeling how wet you were. He groaned in satisfaction. “Ah, my little Darling likes that, don’t you? You want to be used like a filthy whore?” He asked.

Your thighs tingled. You bit your lip and moaned. Words were too complicated for you. But you forced yourself to look at him. To show him how needy you were. His fingers traced the outline of your pussy lips and entrance and you whined.

“Please,” you whispered. It’d been too fucking long. Too fucking long that you allowed yourself the touch of someone else. You were glad you waited. You were glad that Loki saw right through you. You were glad that Loki was there to rediscover this side of you.

“I think you can beg better than that, Darling,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled back to watch your face.

You huffed a laugh, too wound up to make a scathing remark. You still had some dignity. It was nothing in comparison to his thumb tracing just outside where you needed him.

“Please, Loki. Please. I can’t fuckin’ stand it. Not having your hands on me. Your lips on mine,” you said. You twisted your hips, grinding into him. Trying to take what he didn’t want to readily give.

He tsked at you. “Impatient. You want it that badly?” He asked. His face was a cruel mix of mockery and interest. He could throw you off of him right now and he’d enjoy it either way. You were grateful that he just wanted to play with you.

You stared into his eyes and nodded desperately. “Please, I want it so badly. So badly,” you said. You kept grinding on his hand, running his hand back and forth while he kept it still. His free hand gripped your thigh, a solid weight.

“How badly?” He asked. His eyes darkened once more, the God of Mischief making his full debut.

“I’ll do anything,” you said.

He grinned, bordering on mania. “Anything?” He asked. His thumb pressed between your pussy lips, skimming the surface of your clit. Your hips jerked and you cried out at the sensation. You were so fucking close. You thought he might play with you a little, for taking so long to come around, but this was near torture.

“Anything. Fuck, Loki, please, I can’t anymore,” you cried. You sounded weary to your own ears.

Loki ground his hips into you, making his thumb finally touch your clit. “No more fighting me, Darling. Wherever, whenever I want you. At the club, at your place, in the middle of a store, anywhere I want to bury myself inside you. Clear?” He asked.

You weren’t sure if he was joking or not. You couldn’t concentrate as his thumb circled your clit in wide circles, driving your pleasure to new heights. However, you were coherent enough to catch the gist of his words. He wanted to use you whenever he wanted. The thought alone made you cry out and nod.

“Fuck, yes! I’ll do it, please,” you begged. You buried your head into his chest, unable to keep your head up. Loki chuckled darkly as he finally gave in. He increased the pressure on your clit and you moaned and whined and shook on top of him. In no time, you shivered as you came, your body turning limp and pliant.

“Gods,” you moaned as the pleasure finally eased. You felt more relaxed than you had in five long years. You huffed against him as he held you close to him. He hummed as he licked your juices from his fingers.

“You’re quite welcome,” he said. You laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Shut up,” you said.

He peppered you with kisses as your body slowly recovered from the orgasm. That was nothing like what you were able to wring from yourself. The very act of Loki touching you made everything more heightened, more sensitive. It was insane how your body reacted to him.

His lips found yours and you sat there contendly, kissing him slowly. “Not that I'm not grateful, but what inspired this?”

You smiled. “As if you haven’t been driving me crazy since you first kissed me,” you said.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I was prepared for your stubbornness to outlast my patience,” he said.

You played with his silky hair. Your head was on his shoulder and it hit you, that you didn’t want to be anywhere else. It used to frighten you. But you couldn’t keep the world out forever and then cry about not being seen. Heard. It scared you more that you would leave this new existence never having been a part of it.

“It was exhausting,” you said. You were glad that he couldn’t see your face at the moment. You weren’t quite brave enough to look him in the eye and say this.

“I turned myself into a shell of who I used to be in order to make amends for living where my family couldn’t. For not grabbing my best friend and moving her next to me, to survive. It wasn’t my fault, I always knew that. But I still survived. I’m still here and they’re not. But then, that’s just wasting the chance I was given. I’m still here and it sucks, but it doesn’t have to be as painful as I’ve been making it.”

You picked your head up and looked at him. This you could say to his face. “And when I look at you, when I’m near you, I feel good. Like myself. I want to keep feeling that way. I love the way I feel when you look at me. Even when you tease me,” you said. You leaned down and kissed him.

He swept his tongue across your lips and you gasped. He grabbed your hand and kissed it. Then he moved it to his hardening dick. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked.

You nodded. He stroked your hand up and down his dick. The velvet thickness of him made your pussy contract. Your mouth watered, wanting to taste him again.

“The only thing I’ve done is make sure that you don’t give up on yourself. I’ve wanted you then, I want you now. All of you. Anyway, I can have you.”

You kissed him as you stroked him. His words were too much. Tears stung your eyes but you refused to let them fall. You were finally getting what you wanted. There would be time for talking later. You loved that you were so familiar with each other, that you could have these quiet moments. But you came here for dick.

You kissed up his neck, along his strong jaw, up to his ear. You teased the lobe between your teeth and felt his dick twitch in your hand. “Use me, Loki,” you whispered.

A full body shiver passed through Loki. He grinned slowly and you had a fleeting moment of fear. Your words were the key to something. Because he stood up with you in his arms and you yelped. You clung to him, not used to being off of the ground so high. His malicious chuckle sent tingles up your thighs as he walked you to his bedroom.

Here, the room was surprisingly bright. You thought he’d have black sheets and dark walls. But his walls were a lighter shade of blue and his sheets a deep, royal green. His furniture wasn’t as dark as you pictured either. His windows were open, letting in a soft breeze from outside.

Loki laid you on the bed, lifting your hands above your head, and remained standing. He stood there in naked glory and studied your body. Your body felt electric under his gaze. Like you hovered in front of an electric fence. Loki kept a dark, manic gleam in his eye. You watched as his eyes glowed green and vines wrapped around your wrists.

You looked up and your hands were bound together and pulled against his headboard. “Loki?” You asked.

“You asked me to use you, Darling,” he said. He waved his hand and a blindfold slid over your eyes. You jerked and tried to sit up.

“Loki?” An edge of panic crept into your voice.

Loki shushed you. The bed dipped as he leaned over you and kissed you. The feel of his lips on yours slowly relaxed you. “Trust me, Darling.” He kissed your ear and didn’t move. Leaving the decision up to you.

You came here to be ruined and by the gods, by the literal god above you, you were going to enjoy yourself. So you nodded and relaxed against the bed. Loki released a breath as if he was prepared for you to tell him stop. He kissed along your body, his hands trailing behind where he just kissed.

He rested his head against your chest and hummed. “You knew what you were doing when you wore this, didn’t you?” He asked.

You couldn’t see a thing past the blindfold he conjured. You could only rely on feeling, hearing, and smell. It turned you on that you were at his mercy. “Yes,” you said.

He chuckled. His teeth grabbed the piece of fabric in between your breasts and he tugged, releasing it with a snap. The tiny sting made you hiss. You squeezed your thighs together, needing more. You were desperate for him to get inside you.

“Please, Loki. No teasing,” you said. You will have plenty of chances in the future for teasing. For learning each other's bodies. You wanted to get fucked.

Loki only chuckled. “I finally get to fuck you and you want me to rush?” He asked.

“Yes, please,” you said. He licked your chest, right beneath your bra. Your breath stuttered in your chest.

“I will do whatever the hell I want with you. Including, taking my time to savor this offering,” he said.

His hands gripped your knees and pried your legs apart. You gasped at the dichotomy of his soft, commanding voice and the way he gripped you. He kissed a wet trail down your tummy, nibbling in certain places, before descending between your legs.

He pressed his nose there and inhaled deeply, moaning. “You smell delicious,” he said. He licked the outside of your panties and your hips jerked off of the bed.

Mistakes may have been made. You were prepared for a cruel, hard fucking. The type of deep, satisfied fucking that left you walking funny the next morning. Not this torture. Not the glee he took in holding himself back.

He hummed again. He licked the sensitive area between your thigh and your pussy and you moaned. “Fuck,” you said.

He chuckled and did it again and again, making you squirm. “You’re so responsive, Darling. I’m only sad it took us so long to get here. Guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time, hm?”

He licked the spot again and your leg jerked. This so wasn’t fair. “Please, Loki,” your voice was a ragged mess.

“I’ll never tire of the way you beg,” he said. “Lucky for you, I’ve been dreaming of tasting you. Licking this sweet pussy of yours.” He kissed your thigh, gripped it in his large hands and squeezed. He bit your other thigh and you cried out.

He hooked your legs around his arms and spread them further. He moved your panties to the side and blew a breath across your pussy. You squirmed and made a little mewling sound.

He hummed and ran his tongue down the seam of your pussy lips. You panted and huffed, unable to handle this type of teasing. His thumbs spread you open to him and he sighed. “Even prettier than I imagined,” he whispered.

Surely he saw how painfully you clenched. How wet he made you. You could feel yourself leaking already.

He wiggled his tongue against your clit, and you jerked away from him. He pulled down his arms, pulling you flush against him. He continued to wiggle and wrangle his tongue around your clit, drawing out undignified sounds from you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned. You squirmed but there was nowhere to go. No choice but to accept what he did. The way he made slow, concentrated circles on your clit. He hummed and moaned as your arousal continued to leak out of you.

Your moans echoed off of his walls. His hums of pleasure vibrated on your clit. The rumble in his chest tickled the back of your thighs. Your hands pulled against the restraints. You wanted to touch him. Feel him. His hair draped across your belly and thighs. You wanted to feel it wrapped around your fingers.

“Taste so fucking good. Cum for me, my Darling,” he said. He kept up the pressure, kept circling, and suckling. Your body twitched and jerked until you finally came with a loud, obnoxious moan.

Your thighs squeezed his head as heat and pleasure suffused you. Sounds escaped you, but none of them were words. You were tense with explosive pleasure. You flopped onto the bed when you were done and Loki licked up everything you gushed out. He hummed as you jerked from the intense pleasure.

Loki kissed your thighs, leaving sloppy wet kisses everywhere. “I wish you could see the sight of you right now,” he murmured. “Spread open for me. Letting me see this pussy. Tied up.”

Each of his words were like a stab of pleasure into your belly. Your stomach twisted with desire, even after the orgasm you just had.

“Please, please,” you chanted. Your wrists were getting rubbed raw from pulling against the restraints. “Let me feel you. Let me see you,” you begged.

“No.” Loki yanked at your panties, ripping them from your body.

“Hey!”

Loki chuckled. “I’ll buy you more,” he said.

“That’s not the point. I liked those,” you complained.

Loki chuckled as he climbed up your body, kissing as he went along. “Get used to it. I’ll rip every single pair of panties you own. They’re in my way,” he said. He settled his hips in between your legs and you moaned. His thick dick rubbed against your sensitive clit.

“I can take them off.” Your voice was breathy. Finally, finally. Instead of entering you, Loki ripped your bra off.

“Aw, come on. Those are expensive!”

Insults sprang to your lips but his lips around your exposed nipple made you cry out instead. “Shit,” you said and jerked. The suctioning pressure sent ripples of pleasure through your body, making your clit throb in time with your pulse.

He bit in between your breasts and then focused his attention on your other nipple. “I’ll buy you anything you require, Darling. Anything. Ask me for the moon and I’ll steal it for you,” he said.

You tried to chuckle, but moans were dragged from you whether you wanted it or not. There was no way to be entirely sexy while at someone’s mercy. You heard your desperate moans. Your keening whines.

“There’s nothing I would deny you,” he said. He groaned as swirled his tongue over your nipple. He entered you, on one fell swoop, and your back left the bed as you bucked.

It was glorious. It transcended words. He slipped in easily, but he was still wide. He still stretched you. Your legs were plastered to the bed as he pounded into you. There was no gentleness here. There was no teasing, no grinding. This was fucking. He fucked you, used you like a personal pleasure toy. His groans were louder than yours.

“Gods, the way you feel,” he said and chuckled. “There was no way to imagine this.” You knew he was talking to you, but it also felt like he was talking more to himself. He slammed into you, your body rocking into the bed with each brutal thrust.

His usual calm demeanor slipped from him. His hips jerked, his hands searched everywhere. He didn’t know if he wanted to grab your thighs, your breasts, your hips. His hands roamed everywhere as he kept up his punishing rhythm.

“Loki, Loki, Loki,” you chanted. Your orgasm crested new heights, building and building, yearning for the precipice. “Cum, Darling, cum,” he commanded.

You detonated beneath him. He drove his hips in further, hitting your G-spot and you cried and bucked off of the bed. You squeezed the hell out of his dick and he cried out one more time, before joining you. His hips stuttered as he unloaded inside of you, shooting his cum into your warm, wet pussy.

Your body writhed as you came, out of your control, and not the least bit scary. Tears sprang to your eyes again, the immense intensity robbed you of all thought. “Oh Darling,” Loki moaned as the tears slipped past your blindfold.

His dick twitched inside your entrance and you filed that information away for later. Your mouth turned dry. You should have known better than to play with a god. He was insane. Built for pleasure. He had hundreds of years to perfect this. To build up the skills necessary to make you cum with just a crook of his fingers. Gods, how you loved it.

He slipped out slowly, he was still partially hard. He ripped the blindfold off of you. The low light was enough to burn your eyes. Loki wiped away the tears on your face and smiled at you.

You smiled back and he kissed you. He licked your nose and then your lips. “I want another one,” he said.

“What?”

He leaned back and picked you up like you were nothing. He flipped you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and pulling your ass into the air. You groaned as he spread you open. “I don’t have another one,” you complained.

He chuckled as he slapped your ass, watching it jiggle. He groaned. “Find one,” he said.

Then, he slammed his hips back into you, his dick spearing into you. He was on a mission. Fucking you, pounding you. You twisted your head to look at him a bit. His head was thrown back, his hair a twisted mess about his shoulders. He looked like he was in another realm of pleasure, that there was only you and him and the unadulterated bliss bouncing between you.

He slapped your ass again and you used your elbows for leverage, to throw your ass back on him. To match his long strokes. He angled his hips and hit your G-spot. He wrapped your ponytail around his hand, down to the scrunchie and pulled. You began to ramble, cry, and moan as he kept hitting that spot. He used it for target practice, hitting it and enjoying the sounds you made.

“That’s it, Darling. Bounce on this cock. Crave it. I’ll give it to you anytime you need. When you can’t think straight. When you’re so blind with pleasure that you’ll let me take you whenever I want. I will remake you how I want,” he said.

Your body wound too tight. Like a rubber band snapping, you came once more. Dark spots winked in and out of your vision. You moaned into the sheets, flooding his dick with your arousal. He talked you through it.

“You beautiful fucking creature,” he moaned. Each word was a deeper stroke. On the last word, he came and stuffed you full of cum again. The hot, bursting cum leaked out of you and down your thighs.

You groaned and shivered as the last dregs of the orgasm wore you out. You sniffled as you collapsed onto the bed. Loki’s huffs fanned across your back as he gripped you and held you still.

His dick stopped twitching and he left you on a slow glide. He collapsed next to you. You barely kept your eyes open.

“Loki,” you whimpered. You felt like a used mess. When a god delivered, he really delivered.

“Come here, Darling,” he said. He maneuvered you until you were tucked against him. He conjured a warm washcloth and cleaned you up. You groaned at the feeling. You couldn’t take anymore. He shushed you and kissed your cheeks. He cleaned you off and then tossed the cloth to the floor.

He pulled you against him and snuggled his face into your neck. “Rest well, Darling. There’s lots more to come.”

You relaxed against him instantly. As if he commanded that too. Perhaps he did. You didn’t care. You snuggled into the furnace of his body. His heat enveloped you. He raised a blanket over the two of you and you were out like a light.

Masterlist | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Loki Files #Loki x Black!reader #Loki x Black reader #Loki x Fem!reader #Loki x Fem reader #Loki x reader #x reader #x Black reader #Loki x you #Loki imagine #Loki fanfic #Loki fan fic #Loki fanfiction #Loki fan fiction #Loki smut #Marvel smut

104 notes · View notes

redrose10 · 4 months

Text

I’ve had this idea for a story in my head for a while and I just need somewhere to put it out there. This is a little teaser of one of the chapters. So far I have four chapters written with plans for several more. The first chapter should be posted in a couple days. I’ve never written a multi chapter fan fiction so I’m excited to do this. Hope someone out there likes it!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Warnings (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Teaser Below

On the last night you decided to treat yourself to a nice dinner out. Yoongi had been gone all day and you knew he wasn’t going to spend the evening with you anyways. The food was incredibly delicious and you had a really nice time with the waiter, Hoseok. He was like a big ray of sunshine and for that one dinner you were able to forget everything that had been happening. The two of you exchanged numbers so you could get together for lunch next time he visited his parents in Korea. As you were walking back to your room you came across two people all over each other in the hallway. The man’s hands were slowly going farther up the shirt of the brunette he was with. Soft moans could be heard between the two of them. Normally you’d be pretty off put that two people would be so open in public but you were happy that someone was getting intimacy. You were craving any sort of touch and these two just made you want it more.

That is until the woman accidentally dropped her purse and bent down to retrieve it revealing the man that she was with. Yoongi looked at you with his classic unreadable expression. The woman standing back up realized you were now present. She was understandably confused as to why you were waiting right there.

“Oh I’m sorry. Is this your room?”, she asked looking back at Yoongi for an explanation.

Deep down you had thought he’d tell the truth. Let her know that you were his wife. That she needed to leave. That this was your honeymoon. That he wouldn’t bring another women into your hotel room while you were there with them. Instead he just sighed,

“Yeah this is my sister Y/N. She’s sharing a room with me unfortunately.”

You felt your heart crack. The woman looked a little shocked pulling away, “Oh I’m so sorry. Maybe we should continue this elsewhere.”

You watched the smirk spread across Yoongi’s face, “Nah she won’t mind. Right Y/N?” In your head you screamed, “Yeah of course I mind. You’re my husband and you expect me to just sit there while you fuck some other woman.” But instead you gently shook your head and watched as Yoongi pulled the woman back into the room with him kissing her as he went.

You stood there and watched the door slam shut. The faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla the only thing remaining in the hall with you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in that room with them. So instead you made your way down to the lobby. At this time of night all the restaurants were closing up and you weren’t much for the bar scene so you grabbed a water bottle from a vending machine and walked out to the beach to wait it out. Once you felt you had a safe spot chosen you took a seat down in the sand. As you stared up at the sky you felt the exhaustion taking over your body. Slowly you laid back allowing the warm sand and the sound of the ocean waves to lull you off to sleep. The smell of the salty air a welcoming change to the cinnamon and vanilla that was slowly driving you crazy.

#yoongi x reader #bts #bts yoongi #yoongi #yoongi angst #min yoongi #yoongi au #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga #agust d #ceo au #arranged marriage au #yoongi x y/n

73 notes · View notes

starcrossedxwriter · 10 months

Text

Built for Love Part 8 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Ummm this chapter has a little bit of everything... Family, fluff, a bit of smut, slight angst. It also has a time jump because we gotta keep shit movingggg. And I could write 100 chapters of fluff with these two butttt we're here for the drama! lol Also another gif that has nothing to do with anything LOL But I imagine this is what our girl wakes up to every day and I love that for her

Warnings: brief mentions of DV

“So Charlie, are you excited to be back on the stage?” Michael’s mom asked as they settled around Michael’s dining room table for dinner.

Though it was a small affair, the table was weighed down by Donna’s decadent and delicious cooking, his mom cooking both he and Charlotte’s favorites for their goodbye dinner. Once his father had said grace, initial conversations had given way to the sounds of forks and spoons clinking against china as everyone passed dishes and savored Donna’s cooking. Though Michael’s family was used to it, Charlotte’s were too busy stuffing their faces to be much conversationalists.

Her face had been drawn up in a bright smile since her brother, Lauren, and Jazz arrived. The tone around the table was a bittersweet one, joy for Charlotte and this opportunity everyone knew she deserved and needed, but melancholy at having two staples of their respective communities gone, even if it was only a temporary absence.

Between the press tour and preparing to leave, the time had flown by and the move that once seemed so far away was hurtling toward them like a high speed train. Charlotte still found herself shocked that Michael was willing to move with her. As the date inched closer and closer, she half expected him to find an excuse not to accompany her. But that never materialized. Instead, he took it upon himself to do all of the planning. Time to find an apartment? Already done and vetted by Michael. Furnish the place? Interior decorator was already on it with images of both of their homes to capture their respective styles. All day, every day, he sent her restaurants and places he wanted to try, some Charlotte had been to and some she hadn’t, or asked her about her favorite spots to add to the list. His excitement was contagious, which counteracted the stress, dread, and anxiety Charlotte felt. For him, this was just the first of many adventures with the woman he loved. For her, it was returning home after running away. And that was never easy.

“Yea I really am. It’ll be an adjustment for sure. Next two months’ll be crazy. But I… really missed it. I’m coming in a few weeks behind in rehearsals but it’ll be good to be back.”

Michael’s hand, which had rested on her thigh since they sat down, squeezed gently to reassure her, soothing her anxiety.

“Only on the choreo. This girl could perform the show and songs forward and backwards right now if she wanted.”

Charlotte smiled. “He might be right about that. But the choreo is the harder part for me anyway.”

“Yea the girl was born with every talent but rhythm,” Jackson called down the table causing everyone to laugh, Charlotte leaning behind Michael’s chair to flip him off without everyone seeing.

“He never gives her credit. Charlie is a great dancer,” Lauren chimed in, not allowing her husband to joke at her best friend’s expense. “Remember the spring production of Oklahoma our freshman year??”

Charlotte groaned. “Ugh don’t remind me! Some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“There was a nasty norovirus going around campus and Charlie, one of the only freshmen in Juilliard history to play the coveted lead of a spring production, caught it the second day of rehearsals. Was out for two weeks. The director planned on bumping up her understudy.”

“A senior who despised me and was probably hoping the virus would kill me,” she laughed. “Director said there was noooooo way I could learn the staging and choreo in the two remaining weeks before opening night,” Charlotte interjected, rolling her eyes. “He was just worried he took a chance on a freshman only for her to crash and burn.”

“Since I was dancing in the production, I could record rehearsals. Charlotte watched every rehearsal, learning every move, lyric, and note while she was sick. Sis showed up once she was cleared by the doctor and you wouldn’t have even known she missed two weeks of rehearsals. She looked and sounded better than some folks who’d been to every rehearsal.”

“Messed up one or two steps,” she admitted. “But nothing that couldn’t be fixed in the time we had left.”

“How’d you manage that?”

She shrugged. “I just rehearsed and slept in between trips to the bathroom,” she laughed. “My doctor thought I was completely insane but as they say, ‘the show must go on.’”

“Will you have enough tickets for us all to come to opening night or do we need to come at a different time?” Jackson asked.

“I definitely can get everyone tickets for previews, those start mid February. Not sure how many I can snag for opening night though.”

“What are previews?” Michael’s dad asked.

“Oh, sort of a test run? Just an opportunity to perform the show to audiences before the official opening night. Gives you a chance to work out issues and fix things before critics review it. The show ran off-Broadway first so our previews are only a couple weeks. So we have a month and a half of true rehearsals and then previews and then the show premieres March 1.”

“And how long are you all gonna be there again?”

“In total? 8 months I guess with rehearsals? I only signed on to be on the cast for six months though… March to September.”

“Knowing you, you’ll extend it,” Jackson offered with a knowing smile.

Charlotte shook her head. “I dunno. Chris would love that. But doing 8 shows a week for six months is a lot. And gets old after a while,” she admitted. “Maybe I’d do a different show, but I'll probably come back here. I promised Chris six months so that’s all I’m committing to.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, the conversation drifting away from Charlie and to separate topics. Charlie glanced around the table, a soft content smile on her face as she watched the two groups interact. It was not just each family chatting off to themselves. Lauren and Michael’s mom and sister were deep in a conversation about the struggles of parenting young children; Michael’s brother and Jackson were arguing about the Lakers vs the Clippers; and Jazz and Michael were deeply enthralled in a story told by Michael Sr. And everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there and interact. This was their first time truly combining the groups but she thought it boded well for when they all met the rest of her immediate family on the East Coast. If Jazz, Lauren, and Jackson liked them and fit in, the rest of her family would too.

As dinner winded down, Charlotte stood up from the table to bring out dessert. Michael offered a soft peck to the inside of her wrist, which she returned with one to the top of his head, before she grabbed his plate to take into the kitchen. She hummed to herself as she loaded the dishwasher and pulled out the cake his mom prepared earlier that day. It was Michael’s favorite, her rum cake. Charlie could not deny it was one of the best cakes she had ever tasted, hers included.

As she moved the cake to the island, she lost her balance on her heels, almost falling. She was able to sit the cake down quickly, it wobbled slightly in its glass case but remained unharmed despite her clumsiness.

“There you go, tripping over air,” she cursed herself, annoyed and thankful she had not destroyed his mother’s cake. As she moved the holder on the island, a wave of deja vu hit her, a vision of a cake and cake holder smashing to the ground filling her brain. She paused, studying the glass cake stand, her stiletto-shaped nails gliding over it gently. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, the memory too foggy and distant to make sense of. During most of her deja-vu moments or flashbacks, the memories hit her like she was being forced in front of a movie screen. But as much as she racked her brain, she couldn't think of anything related to this moment.

“You ok, dear?” Donna’s soft voice interrupted Charlotte as she zoomed through the Rolodex of memories in her mind.

“Hm? Oh yea, I’m ok,” Charlotte answered, glancing up. she noticed the plates in the woman’s hands before abandoning her thoughts and grabbing them from her. “Let me get those.”

“Thank you, dear. Your family is lovely. They fit right in,” Donna offered as she moved to grab a knife and small plates for dessert.

Charlotte smiled, “Thanks. I’m excited for all of you to meet the rest of them. Everyone else is fairly tame in comparison,” she joked.

As she loaded their dishwasher, she glanced at his mom.

“This was all delicious, thank you. Thank God he picked up your cooking skills or else we’d starve in New York.”

The older woman laughed. “Well anytime you want to learn, you let me know. Though I think you’d give me a run for my money with those desserts of yours.”

Charlotte could not help but beam a bit at her compliment.

Charlotte dried her hands on a dish towel, anxiously twisting the soft fabric in her hands and chewing on her lip as she watched his mom.

“I hope you don’t mind…” she started, pausing as the older woman looked at her with confusion. “M-Me stealing him away for a while. I’m honestly still a bit surprised he wanted to do this at all. But I know it’s probably hard when he’s gone for a long time. I feel kinda bad?” She admitted quietly. “I know he’s gonna miss you guys so much.” She stared at the wall that blocked Michael and everyone at the table from their vision, her face falling a bit as she felt the guilt of pulling him away from his family and community in LA. Even though he offered, she could not help but question whether she should have accepted it, accepted taking him away from his family like this.

“If I may?” Donna’s hands wrapped around Charlotte’s, halting her anxious movements and towel twisting. “I know it hasn’t been that long but I’ve never seen my son as happy as he is with you. One thing you should never doubt is how much that man in there adores you. I dare say he would try to move a mountain if he thought it’d bring you joy. You should never feel bad for accepting the manifestations of his love and commitment. Because I dare say, this is just the beginning.”

Charlotte felt a tear start to fall, not from sadness but from the love, grace, and compassion his mother always showed her. From the moment they first met to today, she never acted like those dreaded mother-in-laws her married friends moaned about. Charlotte’s mother would not be considered a constant presence in her life, a rarity at best. And through everything she had been through, the one thing she had always hoped for but never had was a mom. Michael’s mom did not know about her mom’s absence but she seemed to recognize it was something Charlie still needed, a mother’s love, support, grace, and word of wisdom. And she offered it in droves.

“T-thank you,” she whispered, whisking the tears away just as Michael rounded the corner to check on them.

“Hey, you two alright?”

“Yes of course, baby.” Her face immediately brightened as he entered the room, not even just to hide her and his mom’s emotional moment but just from his presence. “Just hounding your mom for this amazing rum cake recipe so I can make it for you in New York…”

“But… I told her she’s gotta be officially in the family first for me to share it. So get to it,” she whispered to Bakari with a sly smile and a peck on the cheek as she returned to the dining room with the rest of the family.

“Damn, she’s not subtle at all, is she?” he asked as he grabbed the cake while Charlotte grabbed the plates his mom pulled out.

Charlotte laughed, patting him on the chest as she passed him to return to the dining room. “No, definitely not.”

***

Their moans created an orchestra filling his bedroom as Michael kept Charlotte’s eyes trained on his as he fucked her slow and deep.

They rarely had sex in missionary these days, both of them finding other positions far more interesting and fun. However, when they were both in the mood for something slower and more sensual, missionary hit the spot for both of them. It offered them something deeper than pure pleasure. It was an intimacy and comfort they both needed for their last night in Michael’s bed for a while.

Looking into each other’s eyes was a meeting of the minds, beyond merely connecting with their bodies, they connected with their souls. They saw all of each other, all of the excitement, anxiety, joy, and fear of what tomorrow would hold for them. And every moment, every movement and touch between them was an effort to honor those feelings. Every touch and whispered adoration told the other that they were here and they were ready for everything the universe had in store for them.

There would be time for fast and wild later. Tonight, they were just cherishing the moment and each other before their first real adventure as a couple began.

“J-Just li-like that. F-Fuck, I-I love you,” she moaned, having already lost count of her orgasms as Michael pushed her to the edge of another one.

She could tell he was close as he picked up the pace a bit. Her hips rocked slightly to meet his, her core pulsing and tightening around him causing a primitive moan to escape him.

It only took a moment for him to fill her before he rolled off of her.

“You good?” He asked, a question he usually asked when they finished up, whether the session was slow and sensual or had her doing acrobatics. And the answer was always in the same vein: she was more than good.

“Excellent. I could fall asleep j-just like this,” she yawned, knowing that her sleep after sex was always elite, Michael tiring her out to the point where she could not do much else. However, before she did, she got up to go to the bathroom, Michael talking to her as she groped her way through the darkness of his room.

“You ready for tomorrow?” He asked as he found his briefs to slide on and climb back into bed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she called back. “You sure you still wanna come? Not too late to back out. Well, we signed a lease, on a way too expensive apartment, I might add… so it’s a bit late. But you could still do it.”

Though her tone had the intent of a joke, Michael could still hear it, her hesitation and fear that let him know she was still concerned he would abandon her. He knew she would not truly believe him until they were moved in and settled but he was genuinely excited to go with her. Not just to support her and provide her with some sense of safety while she was there, but to witness this next stage in her career. This was her dream and he saw no better use of his time than watching her fulfill it. He knew why she was hesitant, they had only been dating for mere months. However, when he looked at Charlotte, he saw a perfect glittering gold path to a future he had never given much thought to because he had always been too focused on the hustle, a marriage and a family like the one his parents had built. To him, this was one step down that path and he would never regret taking it. Part of him was annoyed he would have to return to LA in June for another project before her time in New York ended but he decided he would savor the initial six months of uninterrupted time together.

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, honey bee. And after living with me in New York, maybe that’ll convince you to move in with me when we get back?” He asked as she washed her hands.

She poked her head out into the room to look at him, finding that his face matched the seriousness of his tone and words.

“What? Y-You want me to move in? Here?”

He continued to surprise her with his level of commitment and dedication overall. However, just as she was about to doubt he truly meant it, his mother’s words floated back to her mind.

"Well, it wouldn't be here forever. Just till we found a new spot… something that's ours," he emphasized. “We’re gonna live together for at least 6 months in New York… if it works out and you don’t absolutely hate me by the end,” he joked, “Why not? What? You don’t think we should?"

She shrugged as she climbed back into his bed. “No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I mean I basically live here as it is,” she admitted. “I g-guess I just didn’t think about what living together in New York would mean for when we got back? Of course, you thought of it though. You think ahead and have a plan for everything.”

Michael was glad she could not see his face as she settled against his chest. She truly had no idea how far ahead his planning went when it came to her.

“Well, I just know what I want and I don’t believe in wasting time. But I’m not sayin’ you gotta decide now or anything. Let’s see how New York goes. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in it.”

“Yea, I’m interested.”

He nodded. “Now are you gonna tell me what you and my momma were talking about earlier? You looked upset?”

Charlotte chuckled, she turned over so her chest was against his, her ear pressed against his chest. The light thumps of his heart filled her ear like a soothing drumbeat. “I should’ve known you weren’t gonna let that go… I wasn’t upset. She j-just said something I needed to hear.”

She felt his lips press against the top of her head, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She appreciated that he did not press any further for information.

“Yea, I don't know how she does that. It's kinda creepy, honestly… that mother's intuition."

“Yea, its like she sees into your soul or something." Her last words turned into a mumble as she yawned and her eyes fell closed.

All Michael could do was chuckle before kissing her forehead and falling asleep himself, her gentle snores filling his ears.

***

Charlotte glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their new apartment on the edge of the Upper West Side. It was as beautiful and pristine as the pictures Michael had shown her. They were high enough to have a great view of the city from their balcony. It was in the perfect location too for work and there was so much around for her and Michael to do. The furnishings were perfect, the exact mix of her and Michael’s individual interior style. She knew he hired a designer but it was clear the person knew their shit. The house already felt warm, cozy, and safe, all the things Charlotte needed, and they had only been in it for an hour.

“What are you thinking?” He asked from the couch as he scrolled through his phone, both of them avoiding the dreaded unpacking they had to do.

“I’m thinking about my crappy little studio apartment when I first graduated… and my two bedroom with one of my college friends for those few months…” she paused, that apartment was a graveyard of bad memories. “Before I moved. I’ve j-just come up in the world, I guess.”

Bakari beckoned her to him, the young woman leaving her perch against the window to join him. The moment she was in arm’s length, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, Charlotte nestling into him with ease.

“This place is insane, Bakari. I mean I love it but I still think it’s too much,” she remarked, she raised her hands as if to surrender, knowing she was bringing up a touchy subject for them both.

“Aht aht. We came to an agreement on that,” he lightly kissed her bare shoulder.

She nodded, neither of them wanting to fall back into their first true argument of their relationship a few months earlier.

“So what do you think?”

Charlotte laughed. “I think I could fit 5 or 6 of my first apartment in that place,” she gestured toward his laptop as he flipped through photos of a high-rise three-bedroom apartment. “I mean it’s gorgeous but I don’t think I can afford it.”

“Yea but I can. It’s perfect. Really solid security, there’s only one apartment on each floor so it’s pretty private. And it's only 15 minutes from the theaters so when you finish up evening shows, it’s not a long drive. It’s perfect for us. Don’t think about the cost. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it but,” she chuckled. “Creed was my first real check in two years, babe. And I still gotta pay for my apartment here. I don’t really have the luxury of not thinking about the cost of things.”

“Ok but I’m sayin’ you don’t have to think about it cause I got it.”

“Well how much do you want me to contribute a month? If we go 50/50, it would be tight but I could swing it then, I guess.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “ I wasn’t expecting you to contribute anything. We ain’t roommates, Els.”

She shook her head, pushing off of the couch to pace in his living room, her annoyance officially rising. Finances continued to be a touchy subject for the pair. However, usually, Charlotte only put up so much of a fight before she gave in. But she could not give in on this, not today.

“It’s one thing for you to always pay for dinners and shit like that but you can’t pay all of our rent while we’re there. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why can’t I?” He asked, his tone signaling that he did not understand the seriousness of the conversation for Charlotte in the slightest. He still did not quite understand her hang up with finances. He knew it was part of the cycle of abuse but he had no problem spending money on her if need be. She had only just stopped fighting him on paying for dates. Though he was not the type of celebrity who blew all of his money on frivolous things, Michael also did not pretend money was a significant consideration in his decisions because it just wasn’t. And he would never apologize for wanting to spend his money on her, for wanting to support her.

“B-Because I…” Charlotte stopped herself from finishing the sentence, Don’t want you to be able to control me that way. But she knew that was not his way.“T-then it’s y-your house a-and not mine. I-I would just feel more comfortable i-if you let me contribute something. L-Let me pay for half? Besides, you’re gonna be in LA sometimes, full time in the summer. You shouldn’t pay the full amount every month like you’re gonna be there the whole time.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Charlotte. I don’t need your money and I don’t want it.” His tone signaled that he hoped to get the final word in and end the discussion.

She could not help but feel frustrated like he was not hearing her. But she understood why he did not see this situation through her eyes. “I-It’s not about you n-needing it!” She cried out, Michael suddenly realizing her unexpected outburst meant more simmered beneath the surface than her just wanting to contribute. She took a deep breath, not wanting to start an argument with him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

He rubbed her shoulders and nodded, “Ok just breath for a second, babe. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would bother you this much. I just.. I wanted you to have a serene, safe place to live and work while you’re there a-and I wasn’t gonna ask you to pay because money wasn’t a factor when I chose it. I just want you to be comfortable while we’re there.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t push him on the finances piece so much. But she refused to ever let a man hold her livelihood over her head again. Where she laid her head was important and even though she stayed at Michael’s most of the time, she could at least retreat to her home if she ever needed it. She did not want the only place she had to lay her head to be not in her control at all.

“Look, I-I appreciate it. That place is beautiful a-and perfect. I love it, truly. But… t-this is the first time I’m living with a guy since Shaun a-and the a-amount of times he held t-the fact that it w-was his h-house instead of mine o-over me…” she exhaled deeply as if she could release the memories into the air with her breath. “I-If I d-don’t contribute something then it’ll be your house and not ours. I k-know you don’t need it o-or want it. But I need it. I need it to feel like I have an equal claim to it. Please.”

At that, Michael decided not to push any further. He understood her triggers were real and legitimate and if it gave her a sense of autonomy and control to pay him, he would not let his ego get in the way of that.

“Understood. I’m sorry,” he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t think about that. This’ll be our home and I want you to feel like it. How about you deal with all the utilities and I get the rent?”

She could not help but laugh a bit at his “compromise.” “Those things aren’t comparable at all, babe,” she muttered.

“Monetarily? Nah. But what’s the point of an apartment without lights, wifi, gas, water?” he listed. “All of those are necessities too and without them, this would be a pretty terrible apartment.”

They squared off for a moment before she nodded, realizing he budged about as far as he was willing to on the subject.

“Deal.”

“We came to an agreement, yes. But don’t think for a second I like it. Anytime you wanna accept that 50/50 split, let me know.”

Michael gave her a peck on the nose.

“Not gonna happen. Let me treat you to this one thing, baby. But what could happen is us christening some of this furniture?” His eyebrow raised suggestively, his intentions clear in his words.

Charlotte smiled slyly. “I like the sound of that… if we start with the counter.”

***

“Charlotte. Baby. Stop eating your breakfast like it’s a drive by. Sit, relax, and eat. You got plenty of time. Don’t have to be there for another hour.”

Charlotte nearly catapulted out of bed that morning, a wrecking ball of nervous energy flitting around their apartment. Michael did not know how she was moving so quickly and chaotically, since all she did was toss and turn the night before. And as soon as the Sun was up, she was out of bed and out on a run through the neighborhood. And when she returned, their bed quickly turned into a wreckage of clothes, the young woman changing her outfit no less than 10 times.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Michael asked as Charlotte forced herself to sit at the island and eat Michael’s apple cinnamon pancakes, her favorite, and a couple pieces of bacon. Though this was her favorite breakfast meal, she found it difficult to eat, believing her time would be better served practicing or running her lines again rather than just sitting there.

She scratched her head as she stuffed her face quickly, her eyes zooming across her sheet music. “Couple hours. Lots of tossing and turning before I just gave up and reviewed the music again.”

Michael laughed, “You know every song by heart, even the ones that aren’t yours. You’re gonna be great today.”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.” She glanced at her watch and bit her lip before abandoning her half eaten breakfast. “Thanks for this, Bakari, but I think I should go practice the songs one more time. The run in the Act I closer is fuckin’ killing me. I can’t get it just right a-and if Chris has us practice that part today, I don’t want to look stupid.” She paused her ranting to practice the chorus and run right there as she paced by the counter. She sounded flawless in Michael’s opinion but he could tell she hated it the way her whole face scrunched up in frustration. “See? Can’t get it. But you know… maybe I should practice my ballad first though… it would make sense he’d want to start there since it’s earlier in the show. Do I have time to do both…” She was no longer talking to Michael, only rambling and muttering to herself as her questions about which song to use her precious last few minutes to practice started to become inter spliced with actual lyrics from the songs as she studied the music while she walked through their home. “Babe! Have you seen my script?? Maybe I should run through all my lines for Act 1?” She checked her watch. “I s-should’ve used the time last night to do that. UGH.”

Her incoherent stream of consciousness and half singing were interrupted by Michael who put himself in the path of Hurricane Charlotte and their bedroom. Her favorite room to practice in was the bathroom because the acoustics were the best in the house. Imagine his confusion and slight amusement when, the first thing she did when they arrived after throwing her bags down, she started singing her ballad in every single room to test the sound quality before deciding the bathroom was the best option.

It had not been 24 hours yet and he already learned one critical thing about her: she was a perfectionist chaotic nutcase. He had never seen this “behind the scenes” look into her process and work ethic. When they worked on Creed, she showed up to set every day the picture of an actor, in the zone, focused, and ready to work. He had never seen what it took to get to that picture and it was a perfect frenzy that he could not hope to understand or follow if he tried.

And still, he found that her perfectionist nature that drove all the practice and ramblings only made him fall deeper in love with her. He imagined this is what he looked like to his friends and family when he was prepping for a role, so much energy and time spent to become someone else and embody their souls and personas. So much attention to detail and time rehearsing to give each moment in front of the camera your all. This was so much like that, and yet so much harder because Charlotte could not just yell cut to redo something. Every night she got on that stage, she had one opportunity to show her talent at its fullest. He could completely understand why she pushed herself as hard as she did.

“Honeybee… you gotta calm down. No more practicing,” he grabbed the sheet music out of her hand, Charlotte offering mild protests as he walked to her bag and slid them inside, secretly adding a little card of his own. “You still have weeks of rehearsals. Keep doing this and you’ll lose your voice,” he warned, his lips twitching from the laugh he forced himself to stifle at the look of objective horror on her face, as if she had never even considered that was a possibility. But he imagined for her, losing her voice was the worst type of illness she could have. “Exactly. Rest the vocals for a bit. Sit, finish your breakfast and we’ll drive to the theater together.”

With his hands on her hips, he steered her back to the island for the third time that morning and watched her sit down to resume eating, this time far slower and more measured.

“You don’t gotta take me like a child headed to kindergarten for the first day, dad,” she bemused with a soft smile. “I’ll be good.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

She nodded, talk of Michael’s plans for the day filled the rest of breakfast before she grabbed her bag, filled with her script, sheet music, and mid-day snack. Michael had to stop her from triple checking her bag before he slid a perfectly made chai in her hands and ushered her out the door.

He kept his hand on hers as their driver took them the short ride to Abernathy Theater. She had not told Michael but she had performed in this very theater in her very first Broadway production out of college. It felt like a full circle moment to be back there.

“Ok, this is it, babe. You got this,” he kissed her on the lips. “Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.”

“Thanks, love. See you tonight.” She took a deep breath before gathering her things and exiting the car.

Charlotte glanced back at the black car before she opened the theater door, the window rolled down, to find Michael giving her a thumbs up as if he knew she would need an extra push to walk through the door. She knew her nerves were somewhat foolish. She had spent the better part of her life in theaters and on the stage. And yet, she still felt like a fish outta water. So much time had passed, so much life had happened. Chris thought she still had what it took but would everyone else? She had given up this dream. And though she had never admitted this out loud, she felt so much shame for how easily she had casted it aside and resigned to leaving it to die behind her. As she walked through the theater, her first time in one in over two years, she questioned whether she even deserved this second chance at it after she had squandered the first one, regardless of her reasoning for doing so.

But now as she walked through the theater, taking in the opulence of the insanely tall ceilings and their perfectly preserved murals, the dazzling gold arches and trims, and the sea of ruby-colored seats, she knew one fact to be true. No one and nothing would tear her away from this dream this time. She had breathed new life into it and she would not lose it again.

“Charlotte!”

Her visual survey was interrupted by Chris who waved at her from the stage. She smiled and made quick work of making her way to the stage where he waited.

“It’s so good to see you,” he mused, pulling her into a tight hug. “The rest of the cast is trickling in. But I wanted to show you around personally and introduce you to everyone. I’ll take you backstage.”

He looped his arm around hers and led her backstage, the two laughing and chatting like old friends as he took her around and introduced her to everyone. He was showing her her dressing room when a familiar man’s voice filled her ears.

“The prodigal daughter of Broadway returns… You know I took bets on when you’d be back.”

Charlotte whipped around to find Malcolm Roberts, one of her costars, leaning against the doorway, his usual sly smirk etched on his face.

She sauntered up to him, a similar smirk falling on her face. “And? Is the Tony award winning Malcolm Roberts poorer or richer these days?”

“Richer…” At her surprised expression, he shrugged. “I learned a long time ago to always bet on you.”

She laughed and immediately pulled him into a tight hug, the man lifting her feet slightly off the ground.

“It’s so good to see you. I owe you dinner so you can catch me up on everything,” he said as they hugged. “You look amazing, still as gorgeous as ever.”

Malcolm had been in her last production before she moved. She followed his career after leaving theater and his star had only risen higher and higher, as he deserved. And now, he would be playing directly alongside her and she couldn’t have been more pleased. If there was one person she trusted undoubtedly to act alongside, besides Michael, it would be Malcolm.

“Thank you! Should’ve known Chris would call in the heavyweight champ,” she laughed.

He merely shrugged. “A friend calls and I answer. That's how he got you outta hibernation too?” He asked as they walked to the practice room for rehearsal, their banter drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the team as they worked to build the set and gathered props around them.

“Naturally. One day you’ll have to tell us how you convince everyone to do whatever you want?” Charlotte told Chris who merely smiled slyly.

“Win me another Tony and I’ll tell all my secrets.��

The two actors glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “As if you need anymore!”

“Does your house even have room for another one and that big head of yours?” Malcolm teased as Charlotte snorted.

“Well, my partner says I can’t convert the kids’ room to a trophy room. So I guess when you two are done sweeping, I’ll have to buy a new house.” He winked at the both of them before grabbing his assistant director to chat, leaving Malcolm and Charlotte alone.

“How was the move?” He asked as he interlaced his arm with Charlotte’s as they walked.

“Oh totally fine. Michael took care of everything, of course. All I did was say yes or no.”

“Ah yes, the new boyfriend, aka my wife and sister’s celebrity crush. Remind me never to invite the two of you over for dinner?” Charlotte let out a deep belly laugh. “But I’m glad to hear it. Looks like you found yourself a good one?”

“Yea… I think I did.”

She raised her eyebrow as he stopped walking to study her for a moment, his face drawn up in a look of pride and something else she could not place. Understanding? Knowing? She could not read it. However, before she could ask him, he merely patted her hand, which rested on his arm and said, “Well no one deserves that more than you.”

Before she could inquire more, they arrived at their rehearsal space, each of them settling into their spots. Chris did quick work of introducing Charlotte to everyone else who she hadn’t met and embarrassing her with his praise. She was thankful when it was all over and everyone started to pull out their scripts and sheet music to run through Act I.

As she pulled out her materials, a small card fell out of the stack and onto the table. She picked it up and examined the card, Honey Bee written out on the front in Michael’s handwriting. She half listened to Chris share notes and information from the last rehearsal as she slid the stationary out of its envelope.

I would say good luck but I know you don’t need it. You’re gonna kill it, as you always do, and remind everyone there today and in this world, who you are. Take a deep breath and remember you, not only deserve this moment but, you were made for it.

Love,

Your biggest fan

If she had not been in a room filled with people, she would have bursted into tears. She slid the note back in her bag after reading it once more and taking the deep breath he instructed her to. She grabbed her phone as the cast started the table read and sent a quick but simple text.

Thank you ♥️♥️

She knew she did not need to elaborate and that he would recognize the meaning. Not a whole minute passed before her phone buzzed with a similar simplistic response.

Anytime.

***

A month later

“Oof, that’s it. That’s the right spot,” Charlotte moaned as Michael massaged her aching limbs. “You got the magic touch, baby.” Her eyes lulled closed as he did the Lord’s work, kneading and massaging the tense spots on her legs and back after another long day of rehearsals. "First show is in two days and I can barely feel my legs.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of her spine before continuing his work.

Though Charlotte did not mind the quiet, the silence that settled over them both as he worked, she found it odd. Most evenings, she and Michael never stopped talking, the pair catching the other up on any and everything from the moment she walked into the door until the moment they fell asleep. However, today, Michael’s head seemed to be elsewhere.

“You ok?” She inquired.

“Y-Yea, yea. I’m good.”

She laughed. “I know you well enough to know when you’re good, Bakari. What’s wrong?” She gestured for him to move so she could sit up. She slid her robe over her nude body and slid into his lap.

“I just had an interesting call with Ryan today.”

“Oh? Got another project for you?”

“Actually, yea.”

She motioned for more details, unsure why he was being so coy and secretive. “Ok… you gotta give me more than that, babe. What’s the role? And why are you acting like he threatened to kill you?”

“It’s a Marvel project.”

Her eyes immediately grew wide. She gracefully tumbled out of his lap and onto her knees, excitement filling her previously lethargic body. While she had only just started to get into anime thanks to Michael, both of them bonded over their love for comics. Growing up with her brother, she and Jackson spent far too much time in the comic book store and she made a point to see every Marvel movie that came out.

“It’s Black Panther, isn’t it??” She squealed, her excitement radiating off of her.

“How’d you guess that so fast??”

She scoffed and smiled. “Marvel’s been talking to Black directors for months for that project. A-and Civil War is coming out soon with Chadwick. Ohh,” she shook his shoulders. “You HAVE to do it, baby.”

He laughed, getting up to go into their in-suite bathroom. “You don’t even know what the role is, love.”

She shrugged, following behind him with an extra pep in her step. She did not understand how he wasn’t more excited about this.

“I mean I could sit here and go through all the Black Panther comic lore if you’d like and guess. But that’ll just make you horny,” she teased, knowing Michael got a little too excited when she put on her nerdy hat and talked comics. “And my legs hurt too much for acrobatics with you today. Why aren’t you excited? You said yes, right?? He wouldn’t’ve called unless the role was yours.”

He pushed himself up to sit on the bathroom counter. “I want to say yes, the role is fantastic a-and his vision is spectacular. I s-spent the whole day reading up on the character and everything. It would be a game changer for sure.”

“Of course it would. But I sense a but coming?” Her hands inched up his warm bare chest and wrapped around his neck as she stood between his legs.

“I’d have to go back to LA for a couple days to screen test with Chad and a couple of the other confirmed actors, meet with the execs… and between Kevin Feige’s schedule, Ryan’s and Chadwick’s… only one week before like June works for everyone.”

At the annoyed and guilty look on his face, Charlotte immediately understood. “Opening weekend of the show?” She prayed she was wrong but at the small nod, she let out a disgruntled sigh.

“Yea. A-and I don’t want to miss that, Els. It’s such a big deal and I moved here to be all in on us and support you. I asked Ryan if we could find a different date or if we could do something out here instead but I dunno yet. I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to disappoint you if it’s not a sure thing.”

“Babe. I so appreciate you and that you even thought to consider me and the show before saying yes. But you can’t put your career on hold for me. This is the MCU, babe, I would miss opening night of my own show for Kevin Feige. You have to go.”

Michael’s jaw almost unhinged at her statement. That was not what he was expecting at all. And when he searched her face for a hint of disappointment or sadness, he failed to find any. Her joy for him was natural and authentic, not the forced type people give when they are trying to hide their own emotions.

“What??”

“I’m joking,” she amended but she quickly shook her head. “Actually I’m not. I would totally ditch schmoozing investors and the nausea of waiting for reviews for Marvel,” she laughed. “Seriously though, I’m gonna be doing 8 shows a week for months. You’ll see me on stage so many times, you’ll get sick of my voice and the show. You don’t have to be there opening night to support me. Honestly, I’d rather have you there the first night of previews in a couple days so you can see me on stage for the first time anyway. Opening night is only a big deal in that critics can finally review the show. And there’s a party for the cast and producers and investors and all that shit. You moved across the country to support me. That’s all I need.”

She walked back into their bedroom and grabbed his phone, her slippers shuffling lightly against the floor as she went.. She held it out to him. “Call Ryan.”

“Babe… I just don’t feel right abandoning you on such a big night.”

She tilted her head to study him. She found that she was not just saying those words because she knew she should not stop him from pursuing an opportunity. She actually meant it. Now that she was back in the swing of things, her anxiety had eased quite a bit. It had only been a few weeks but she had not seen or heard a peep out of Shaun, her promo for the show being reduced to one mention in a Broadway.com article, thankfully. And she knew she would have to handle a few days here and there without him before they got there. It was still early so she was still beyond thankful to have him there, but she could survive a couple days without him if he was needed elsewhere.

“You aren’t abandoning me. You’re following your dreams, you’re moving your career forward. Ryan picked you, the role is yours. Meeting with the execs and a couple screen tests are the only hurdles you gotta clear. And you shouldn't put that off. Would I love to look out into that crowd and see you opening night, sure. But would I prefer to see you snag a killer role in what is already a highly anticipated project, 100%. I know you’ll be there in spirit.”

“You sure you aren’t gonna secretly hate me?”

“I could never hate you. Besides, shit like this is gonna happen… we’re both two busy body ass actors. We aren’t always gonna be able to be there physically but I know you’ll be cheering me on as I will for you.”

His phone still hovered in her hand between them, Charlotte giving him an cocky grin before unlocking it and finding Ryan’s number for him.

“You sure?”

“I’m giving you the push you gave me. Call him and tell him he’s got his Killmonger. Hopefully he doesn’t bust your fuckin’ ear drums like Chris did mine.”

His eyes grew wide. “How’d you do that shit?? I never even said his name.”

She chuckled as she turned to walk back into their room, her shoulders shrugged. “It was a lucky guess… that you just confirmed,” she smirked at him. “Now…” she sexily allowed her robe to open and slide off her shoulders, the silk fabric pooling to the floor around her feet. “Don’t stay on the phone with him too long.”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, his thumb hovering over the call button. “I thought you were too tired?”

She shrugged. “Consider it the last bit of encouragement you need to make that call.” She winked at him before sauntering off to their bed, delighting in the way his eyes followed her perfect ass as she climbed onto their bed.

***

“Well, I think that part could use a bit more emotion from both of us?” Charlotte remarked as she and Malcolm reviewed their notes from earlier in the day.

The stage was filled with chaos as many in the company practiced off to one side while the staging and lighting folks tried to get everything ready for their last rehearsal before previews started the next evening. Rebecca and Jonathan, the supporting actors in the play, were tucked in a corner just like Malcolm and Charlotte reviewing their lines.

“For sure. We shouldn’t hold back. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. All that pent up aggression and anger and hurt… it really should feel like something is simmering beneath the surface and then an explosion on stage before the number.”

Before Charlotte could agree with him and practice a bit more, Chris’s voice grabbed their attention.

“Heads up, everyone! So don’t hate me. But a lot of the investors can’t make previews tomorrow night but they want a peek before opening night so they asked if they could sit in on rehearsal after the producers’ meeting happening upstairs. Should be wrapping up in about 15 minutes. So we will have a small but mighty,” he emphasized, “Audience today. So everyone should give this their all and we’re gonna do it in our costumes. Go get changed. Sorry for the change of plans.”

Light mumbles and grumbles could be heard through the company as everyone filed back into their dressing rooms. Charlotte and Malcolm merely shared a smirk, the actor whispering to Charlotte, “The investors and producers say jump…”

“And we say ‘how high?” she grimaced with an eye roll before shutting the door to her dressing room. This was the only part of her job she hated, schmoozing people whose only credentials for being there was the hefty check they wrote. Charlotte’s outfit was quick work, a simple dress, cardigan, and heels so it did not take long for her to change.

She sang a few chords to herself, warming up her voice, while she waited for the backstage cue to return to the wings of the stage. When the lights flashed, she made her way to the wings, stopping by Malcolm who had his face drawn up in a grimace. She was thankful to find another actor who also hated the politics of it all. She followed his line of sight to the parted curtains, revealing center stage where Chris stood with a group of men in suits. They quickly reminded her of all of the men she met at Shaun's office parties and events, her distaste had not changed. Most of their backs were turned to them until Chris noticed the entire company was assembled and waiting and waved them over.

“Let the jumping begin,” Malcolm moaned lightly as they all started walking toward the group of powerful and wealthy men.

“And these are the stars of our show, Charlotte Bennett, Malcolm Roberts, Rebecca Sloan, and Jonathan Rivers,” Chris gestured toward all of them, the group turning around to greet them.

However, the bright smile that Charlotte put on as she pulled on her dazzling actress persona immediately fell as her eyes locked with one of the men. Her movements halted, her entire body going cold and rigid as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her.

Everything around her went silent as if someone had pressed the mute button, she could not even hear her pounding heart in her ears. But she could feel it, beating against her rib cage as it threatened to burst out of her chest. She forgot where she was, who she was, as he offered her a menacing and knowing smirk.

Instinctively, she took a step back, increasing the distance between them as the rest of the cast continued forward to introduce themselves. Only one person noticed her change in demeanor, her low, shallow breaths that were drowned out by pleasantries and greetings.

Malcolm touched her shoulder, Charlotte almost jumping out of her skin with shock, finally taking her eyes off of a man she never expected to see here of all places, in her safe space.

“You good? Look like you saw a ghost,” he chuckled nervously, though his eyes were filled with concern.

Her mouth felt bone dry, the words caught in her throat but she forced them out anyway.

“No, no. Not a g-ghost. J-just…” she shook her head. “I… um, just need a minute? Tell C-Chris I’m r-running to the b-bathroom. N-not feeling great.”

She turned and rushed out of the theater, her legs carrying her as fast as they could without breaking into an all out run until she found herself near a concession stand in the deserted lobby. She needed as much distance as she could between herself and him. She stopped and leaned against the counter, her hand pressed into her chest as she tried to calm herself. She wondered if she would have rather seen an actual ghost. That would have been less terrifying than what awaited her back in that theater, a different monster haunting her from her past.

Shaun Parker.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh

***

A/N: So good news… we got some fluff!! Bad news… some niggas we don't like have found their way back. Thanks for reading! *drops this off and runs away*

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii #michael b jordan smut #mbj fanfic #mbjedit

171 notes · View notes