#never enough chapter 21 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminjamms · 4 months

Text

sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption.

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted!

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence.

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like.

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron.

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious.

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all.

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband.

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.”

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid.

“Are you close with Toji?”

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent.

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!”

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain.

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance.

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch.

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw.

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek.

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!”

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.”

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?”

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage.

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former.

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.”

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—”

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!”

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you?

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe.

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens.

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black.

See!

Open your eyes, and see!

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail.

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.

“He is not picking up!”

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now.

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.”

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you.

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji.

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth.

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name.

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked.

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon.

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come.

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond.

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.”

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away.

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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jayjj7 · 4 months

Text

Teamwork

Danielle Marsh x reader

synopsis : working at the vet is never boring as you have patients, well pets, almost constantly. but as you and other coworkers work on a patient, an accident occurs that has your top competition at your side almost daily.

contains : newjeans, swearing, intended lowercase, friendly rivalry, strangers to lovers, EVERYTHING IS FICTION

accounts : master manipulators | happy fam | night shift

chapters:

1. work

2. life

3. prep

4. day one

5. forced communication

6. hectic

7. helping

8. worry

9. sweet

10. betrayal

11. stuffed

12. bonus

13. too much work

14. care

15. reparations

16. panic

17. realization

18. wait

19. pulling through

20. meet n greet

21. reality

22. normal

23. shock

24. anger

25. favoritism

26. stuck

27. confrontations

28. dinner

29. second

30. investigation

31. delete

32. blocked

33. enough

34. cafe

35. attempt

36. clarification

37. restrictions

38. jealousy

39. hater

40. mistake

41. clashing

42. aftermath

43. improving

44. master plan

45. painting

46. accomplished

47. intrusion

48. so back

49. square one

50. end

#danielle x reader #kpop #kpop smau #kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans smau #newjeans hyein #newjeans danielle #newjeans haerin #newjeans minji #newjeans hanni #newjeans

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taexual · 1 month

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sleepwalking ● 21 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, FLUFF!!, angst, SLOW BURN

words: 16.4k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 21 ► love me 'til my heart stops, hit me like a freight truck

You didn’t have the courage to knock on Jungkook’s door when you woke up the next morning. Your mind had sobered enough to recall stumbling into his room after accidentally trying to pick his lock, and you did not want to remember anything else. The rest of the night was blurry anyway, but you deduced easily enough that Jungkook was the reason you woke up smothered under the warm covers.

You wanted to stay in your room for as long as possible, but your headache was so severe that, if divided between people, it could have knocked out a small village for two days. You needed water. Most unfortunately, the hotel had no room service, so you had to find your way out of bed.

The world had finally stopped twirling around you, but that wasn’t a big improvement because other things bothered you now, like the carpet texture under your feet. Or the light that burned your eyes. Or your satin dress, which had felt comfortable last night but scratched you all over this morning.

Lacking the energy to change, you drew the curtains to block out the late morning sunlight and threw on a robe. Then you hesitated in the middle of the room, trying to place your belongings. You thought you remembered having a jacket on yesterday, but as you scanned your room, you couldn’t see it anywhere.

To make matters worse, when you left your room and the door shut behind you with a loud click, you were forced to pause and strain your muscles to stay upright. Every sound felt amplified like a megaphone had been taped directly to your brain.

You took a deep breath and turned the corner towards the stairwell. Your morning got a little brighter just then—you saw Luna cross the corridor, looking almost exactly how you felt. Taehyung was at her side, pushing a water bottle into her exhausted hand as he led her back to their room. He noticed you and immediately shook his head in disapproval, first at you and then at his girlfriend (not for the first time, judging from Luna’s defeated sigh).

Just as you were about to speak up in your defence, you smacked right into something solid and recoiled in surprise.

Jungkook nearly dropped his phone from the impact. He grabbed the railing of the stairs for support and turned around.

“Shit—hi,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you out of bed so early.”

The feeling was, obviously, mutual as your reluctant mind needed a moment to understand what was happening.

“What are you—why are you just standing here?” you asked, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. You had hit the clasp of his necklace when you walked into him, and the sharp pain began to pirouette around your head again.

“I was on my way downstairs for breakfast,” he said, a hint of amusement threading his every word as he observed your attempts to make sense of your surroundings. “But I wanted to text you first, so I’d know what to bring you.”

“It—thank you,” you replied, softer. Your thoughts had knotted into a jumbled, incomprehensible mess as images of Taehyung and Luna flashed through your mind again. “But I can go down. I think.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. He remembered you saying that last night, right before he’d half-carried you to your room. “Walking isn’t your strong suit when you’re drunk.”

You took a sharp breath. The mention of alcohol seemed to cause an unpleasant swirl in your already upset stomach.

You wondered briefly how noticeable your sudden nausea was, because Jungkook put his phone away and reached for you. You realised right then that you hadn’t even glanced in the mirror before you left your room. You could only imagine the state of last night’s makeup on your face right now.

“It’s clearly not my strong suit now either,” you said. “Sorry I nearly pushed you down the stairs just now.”

“It’s okay,” he said, snickering. One of his hands hovered over your arm in case you were planning to topple over. “Are you sure you should have drunk that much last night, though?”

“Of course I shouldn’t have,” you said, shielding your eyes with a weary hand as curious rays of sunlight filtered through the small windows by the stairs. “But what’s done is done. I think I’ve already embarrassed myself enough by breaking into your room last night, so that’s my punishment. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook said. He took a small step to the left to provide you with a shadow from the sunlight. “You didn’t do anything I haven’t seen before.”

You groaned. “That somehow makes it worse. But serves me right, I guess. I even lost my jacket.”

“You—” his laughter cut him off. You groaned again, only adding to his amusement. “Different shoes and no jacket. Sounds like quite the night.”

You wanted to shake your head but did not dare move it. Instead, you leaned against the wall, seeking additional steadiness that your stiff legs could not provide. Your ankles felt stretched out and twisted around, and the rigid hotel slippers did not help.

“Get something to eat,” Jungkook suggested, noticing your struggle to hold yourself up. “You’ll feel better.”

You closed your eyes. Your stomach was already churning precariously; you weren’t ready to eat yet.

“No, I just need water and I’ll be perfect,” you said. “I’m going—”

“I can bring it to you,” he offered promptly.

“I’ll walk,” you asserted. Then, realising that you were declining his kind intentions and he deserved an explanation, you cleared your throat and gestured around vaguely. “I brought this upon myself, you know? So…”

“So, you should punish yourself for having fun?” he questioned skeptically.

You shrugged. You did feel responsible for your splitting headache. But you also hoped that walking around would help ease your frozen muscles, which was, perhaps, a result of sleeping like a log all night. Although all that drinking and dancing probably added to the pain, too.

“Could you check on Maggie for me, though?” you asked, holding onto the railing nearby to keep your balance because the wall was not enough. The more you blinked, the more your body yearned to recline. “I’ve seen Luna, so I know she’s alive, but I haven’t heard from Mags.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he said, pivoting around you. He was evidently prepared to fulfil your request immediately.

You stopped him by placing an unsteady hand on his arm.

“I haven’t forgotten that we—we need to talk,” you said. “And our film.”

Jungkook turned around again. Despite the uncertainty that seemed to boil in his stomach at that thought, he liked hearing this – we need to talk. Our film. He thought he would have liked hearing about you peeling potatoes and parallel parking between two trucks together.

“Oh.” He looked at the small window in the stairwell; the stained glass was thick, but the sunlight behind it was too persistent. “Well—we don’t have to talk or watch anything today. You should—”

“No, no, we will,” you insisted. You said this with no additional pain on your face, and Jungkook took it as a positive sign. “Let me just grab some water, and—”

“I’d prefer it if you got some proper rest first, actually,” he said as you pushed yourself off the wall and paused to catch your breath after the exertion. “I can tell you’re not feeling well.”

You huffed again. Really, an average crow—one of those cawing in the trees outside the hotel—could have recognised that you weren’t feeling well. You wondered if you had enough energy to pretend otherwise.

“I’m—well, I’ll take something for my headache when I get back to my room,” you said. “And, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use a quick nap. And then we—”

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he decided, “so you can come straight to my room after you wake up.”

You managed a grateful smile. “Okay. That sounds perfect.”

He smiled back, and for a minute, the two of you lingered in the warm silence, watching each other as your silhouettes merged into one in the hazy sunlight. Once the realisation dawned that you were just standing here, staring at each other and grinning, the two of you erupted into bashful chuckles and looked away.

A new, unexpected feeling joined the heaviness in your stomach, replacing some of your nausea with a sensation oddly reminiscent of bliss.

“I’m off, then,” Jungkook said, waving his hand towards the corridor. “I’ll check if Maggie’s okay.”

“Thank you,” you said, “I’ll see you later.”

And it really was much later.

When you returned to your room with a water bottle, Jungkook texted you to confirm that Maggie was alive and well, albeit dying of thirst, which he helped her out with. Apparently, she also had your jacket.

Relieved that some of your concerns had already been put to rest, you finished your water, took some ibuprofen, and returned to bed.

And when you woke up, you were understandably startled to discover you had slept for over five hours.

You opened the curtains to get a better idea of the time, but the overcast sky made the hour seem even later than it really was. So you tried another approach and went to the bathroom to wash up, get rid of the pillow creases on your face, and fully wake yourself up.

By the time you knocked on Jungkook’s door, it was almost seven in the evening. You arrived armed with your laptop and dressed in appropriate film night attire: dark joggers and a hoodie. But so much time had passed since your encounter in the stairwell that you wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d found something better to do instead.

Actually, you realised while you waited for the door to open—or not to open—that two weeks ago, Jungkook would have probably gone out with Sid to avoid spending this time alone. But now he opened the door for you, smiling as if you had just made plans and he hadn’t been waiting for you for hours.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in. “I was just about to check on you.”

“I think I went into a bit of a coma for a while there. Sorry,” you said, walking inside. “And, of course, I’ve got a headache again now because I’ve been asleep for so long. Should we go for something to eat, and maybe—”

You stopped abruptly when you noticed the snacks strewn across his bed—a mound of chocolate-coated dragées, an unnecessarily large fortress of chocolate-chip cookie boxes, and an entire trove of crisps and popcorn. It took you a minute to comprehend it all, and then another minute to come up with a possible explanation as to how he could have got all this; there were no grocery shops within five kilometres of the hotel.

Jungkook closed the door and followed your gaze to his bed.

“Oh,” he said, not responding to your unasked questions. “Maybe it’d be better if you had a proper meal—”

“Are you kidding?” You jumped on the bed with an energy you did not realise you had and reached for one of the brown bags of chocolates, nearly dropping your laptop in excitement. “We’re eating this, and absolutely nothing else.”

Jungkook knew you liked chocolate the most, but he did not want to brag about the three taxis he had to take to eight different shops to get it for you. To be fair, he had not expected your favourite brand to be so hard to find, but he was determined. He would have found the factory and made the chocolate himself if he had to.

“It’s probably not the best choice for breakfast, though,” he said, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. “Even if it’s, uh, seven in the evening.”

You waved away his concerns, your mouth already full of sweets. Smiling, Jungkook sat down on the other side of the bed and pulled out a box of gummy bears that you had overlooked while trying to take in the abundance of snacks.

“So, uh, how did last night go?” he asked as he meticulously picked out the red bears and accidentally scattered the yellow and green ones on the bed.

“You know how it went,” you said. “You probably know more than I do, actually. The last thing I remember is Maggie swiping someone’s feather boa off their neck.”

“Oh, so that—” He stopped picking the gummy bears from the sheets. “Y-you had a feather in your earring when you got back. I was—honestly, I was a little worried that the three of you had robbed a zoo and tried to bring back a peacock or something.”

You snorted. “We might have tried. Did you check my bag for any stray lizards?”

“You didn’t have a bag when you got back.”

You stopped chewing and turned to him. “I—I didn’t have my bag with me?”

Jungkook paused, too. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to analyse what items you had with you when you showed up on his doorstep last night.

“You had your key,” he said slowly. “And—well, that was it. Are you sure you had your bag with you when you left?”

You tried to piece your fragmented memories together, but your mind struggled to reconstruct the precise sequence of events. You remembered having an umbrella because it had been raining. You also remembered sitting in your bathroom for what felt like half a minute but must have been longer because Luna and Maggie looked a little distraught when they found you there.

You set the candy aside.

“I might have—yeah, I might have left it at the hotel,” you said, realising. “After I talked to my mum.”

Jungkook finished chewing his handful of gummy bears in silence. Each calculated bite seemed to propel him toward a precipice from which there was no return. He hadn’t expected the two of you to get to this point so quickly, even if he was glad you did.

“And how—how’d that go?” he asked.

“Well, it—I mean, we talked,” you said, settling against the headboard of his bed. “She, um—I-I don’t know what I expected her to say, to be honest. I asked her to tell me about her relationship with my dad, and she—well, she certainly did.”

Jungkook took a moment to study the expression on your face, searching for something that he could point out to keep you talking.

“But, uh, you wish she’d said something different?” he ventured when you offered no further explanation.

A measured breath preceded your response. You wanted to explain but finding words proved almost as difficult as confronting your mum about this yesterday.

“I guess I wish it would have made more sense to me,” you finally started. “I had some time to think, and—well, I disagree with almost every single reason my mum had for getting back together with him. But I’ve realised that there’s probably nothing that either of my parents could say that would change my mind. I’m disappointed and angry, and I think I’ve felt this way for a while. I’ve tried not to feel that because it just seemed childish and immature—but I am angry. And that’s fine.”

You lapsed into a silence that Jungkook did not want to disturb. He could tell this was a pause, not a complete stop, and he was too nervous to speak anyway. He was afraid of the parallel between your parents and the two of you—especially in light of everything that Sid was currently sending to his phone.

“I-I mean,” you resumed and Jungkook made an effort to focus on the sound of your voice and not his thoughts, “the way my mum looked at her relationship—honestly, I do think she has a lot of courage. But she, um—she also has—her attitude just seemed a bit reckless. I don’t know. I guess I might never understand why she thought that getting back together with him once wouldn’t already be enough, but that’s—that was her choice. She explained it to me in a way that made sense to her, and I’m grateful she did. But sh-she seems to have blocked out everything that happened after each of their break-ups. She said she was now at peace because she had always listened to her heart. And I’m happy for her, really. But, well, I’m not at peace. This back-and-forth... it brought our whole family nothing but misery, and that does not seem fair to me, or to my brother.”

Jungkook did not think he would ever hear you realise the things he had realised long ago. You had always been so determined to help your mum heal that you’d closed your eyes on your own pain. But it was there. Feelings did not go away just because you wished them to; he knew this well.

And he felt relieved, he realised. No matter what else happened tonight, at least you finally accepted that you had a right to feel wronged.

“Is that why you feel angry?” he asked.

“It... well, mostly, yes,” you said. “Because on top of everything else, this significantly affected how I view my own relationships. I wanted my parents to be happy together. But they just weren’t. And I ended up convincing myself that their unhappiness was universal and inevitable. That anyone who tried to get back together again was bound to fail again. I wanted them to defy these odds, and when they didn’t, I thought no one ever would.”

He toyed with the gummy bear package, and only looked at you for no longer than two seconds.

“But that’s not true,” he said, his voice quiet, tentative.

“It’s not,” you agreed. “I get it now. I may not understand my mum’s choices, but that’s because I didn’t live her life. And that’s exactly it. That’s what helped me come to terms with it all. I got it. My parents’ relationship is not a rule. If anything, it’s an exception.”

Something was glistening on the very edges of his pupils when your eyes met. It struck you that he had been waiting for you to come to this realisation.

“Just because it didn’t work out for them,” you said, looking down, “doesn’t mean it won’t work out for us. That’s, um—that is the main thing, I think.”

Jungkook swallowed. It seemed to him that there were many things to say in response, and he could not find one that he needed. He sort of felt as if he were navigating a field of landmines only visible to himself—but instead of avoiding them, he deliberately tried to step on one. He needed the explosion. He needed you to say something more. But he didn’t know how to get you to say it.

“It’s—that’s good,” he eventually said, because it was all he could manage.

You weighed your next words as your headache doubled and receded in anxious, intensifying waves.

“I’m—I just want you to know that this is still the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” you said. “Which makes me incredibly fortunate on the one hand, because, well, this is nothing. Right? But also it—well, I’m just scared. I don’t think that’s going to go away. I don’t think things will suddenly be better because we decide so. I think it’s going to be something we’ll have to work through.”

“That’s fine, though,” he said right away, and a tired weight heaved itself off your chest and rolled down, relieving an immense pressure inside you. Just like that. “I just want to try again with you. But better this time.”

Your teeth dug into the corner of your lip. You wanted that, too, but you didn’t think labelling it like this was right.

“Trying again,” you said, “implies that, um, we’ve stopped doing something, and now we’re doing it again.”

He gave you a puzzled look. “Right.”

“I—I’m not sure if we ever stopped.”

He took a shaky breath, uncertain if he ever released it or if it would remain trapped somewhere deep inside his throat.

“My mum… uh, she also told me about the songs,” you said and Jungkook looked up as though his conversations with your mum surprised him, too. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

This was precisely why, Jungkook thought, turning away. Because you could not look at him when you talked about the songs he wrote about you, and he couldn’t look at you, either.

Rubbing the side of his nose, he said, “your mum, uh—she warned me that you might get physically violent.”

There was a sheepish grin tugging at his lips; he was joking.

Still, you shook your head. “But I mean when we were—when we started talking again. Not just at the bar in Oslo. Or at the hotel in Manchester.”

He coughed, feeling the sparkles in his lungs as they caught fire. You remembered, then—not just the two songs, but where you were, and what you were doing when he told you about them.

“Did you want me to tell you about the rest of them?” he asked, finally looking up. “You looked about ready to leap out of the nearest window when I brought it up.”

“I—okay, you’re probably right,” you conceded. “But, uh, my mum mentioned a new song you’re working on.”

Jungkook expected that to happen, but his stomach still churned anxiously as he smoothed the bedding with his palm. “Hmm.”

“Can I hear it?” you asked.

He brought his hand to the back of his neck. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you again, searching for a stronger confirmation in your eyes—and finding it there. He slowly rose from the bed and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“It’s—I think it’s the most personal song I’ve ever written,” he said, and you held your breath. “Your mum warned me about it, which she’s never done before. Usually, she just gives me permission to release the song and sometimes offers a compliment.”

“She didn’t like it this time?” you asked while he unlocked his phone.

“No, she said she liked it a lot,” he replied, placing his phone on the bed. The screen displayed various voice notes: some with gibberish titles, others numbered. The newest one was labelled, PUDDLE_FINAL11. “But she also said that this is a song I should run by you first.”

You crossed your legs on the bed and hesitated awkwardly for a second—unsure if you could really listen to the song and sit still. Then, you leaned back against the headboard and closed your eyes.

“Let me hear it.”

Jungkook watched you get comfortable and bit his lip. He knew this was what you did when you were nervous or excited—crossing your legs on the couch when the film you two were watching got to the most interesting part; crossing them on the chair in the library when you were studying for final exams, crossing them on the passenger seat in his car when you were on road trips, playing Guess The Song (he always won, which he took great pride in).

“This is, um, the song that I told you I was writing in Oslo,” he said. Your heart was racing just like it had back then. “It’s what the band and I are working on right now. Yoongi, uh—he’s the one who’s working through the tone and the instruments, and—well, that stuff. I’m just kind of there to sing and look pretty.”

You opened your eyes again to give him a look. “You wrote the lyrics.”

“I—yeah, okay. And I wrote the lyrics.” He took a deep breath. “This is—it’s still a demo, though, so—you know. Keep an open mind.”

You froze as soon as he pressed “play” on the voice note. This appeared to be the eleventh version of the song, as indicated by the number at the end of the title.

The recording began with soft, but quick guitar chords. The song was not slow-paced and seemed much more postcore than the band’s usual music. Even though his guitar was the only instrument accompanying his hesitant but clear voice, you could easily imagine an overlay of drums and bass.

How I run when my phone lights up with a text /

My friends all know, “is that your ex?” /

They said I bet you want her, bet you love her, bet you can’t forget /

I don’t remember why I lied, why I agreed, why I made the bet

You turned to look at Jungkook, your eyes filled with graphic surprise, but he was staring at his phone, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. He was tugging on it so forcefully that his lip ring strained against his skin.

The music shifted into a rhythmic bridge—Jungkook had stopped strumming and began to tap the body of the guitar instead, mimicking the beat of Hoseok’s drums.

This feels like a disease I suffer /

Might break just thinking of her /

Can’t breathe, cannot recover /

I love her, I fucking love her

“The chorus is next, and—” Jungkook cut in over the music, “—it’s very simple, but it’s not done yet. It should still sound better with Yoongi’s guitar, and all the rest.”

Immediately, he returned to his own guitar in the recording, the chords rapid and eager as he sang—his voice louder, more forced, emanating from deep within his diaphragm as the song reached the chorus:

I can’t look you in the eyes /

When all I say are these stupid lies /

The memories of when you were mine /

Are playing in my tired mind /

Scared to fail, so I’d rather get high /

Yeah, but I have to stand up and try

The song slowed for the exit of the chorus and Jungkook sang it to complete silence:

And this is nothing fucking new, /

I’ve always been in love with you

You sucked in a breath and closed your eyes again. If your heart hadn’t been pounding so intensely, you might have been able to envision what the musical break that followed after the chorus would sound like once it was accompanied by Taehyung’s bass.

Before you could try to calm yourself, however, Jungkook began the second verse on the recording:

How I miss you and this feeling is all that inspires /

How this pain shifts, grows, how it turns into fires /

It will burn when I write, when I think, when I sing /

Flames will turn to ashes, turn to words, turn to ink

Right as the chorus started again—his voice growing more passionate as he lost himself in the song—Jungkook cleared his throat and commented over the recording, “I wrote that part in Oslo. While—after I asked you to come meet me at the bar.”

You nodded—or thought you nodded; all movement felt surreal right now—and listened in silence.

“The refrain,” Jungkook spoke again as the second chorus ended and the music began to speed up, “is my favourite part. It’s kind of pop-punk, largely inspired by blink-182, but it’s also just… it’s a way to get it all out.”

As soon as he finished talking, you heard the refrain on the recording—his words were rushed, the music barely catching up.

Biffy Clyro at a wedding, but we dance on separate floors /

Hotel bathrooms and champagne, we’re hiding there with open doors /

Years ago before I saw you, I was lost without a cause /

You changed my life from the first time that our paths had crossed /

I knew about you way before, I didn’t think this through /

I walked up to you after class, because our meeting’s overdue /

Years later we’re in Paris, I looked around and knew – /

It was always you, it was always you, it was always you

You focused on the screen of his phone as the song played and you did not dare to move—not even when the final chorus finished, and he reached over to stop the recording.

He asked, “what did you think?” and you realised that your mind was as silent as this room once the song ended.

You felt lost in the echoing recesses of your mind. There were so many things in your head and at the same time, there weren’t any at all. Because everything—from the first time he introduced himself to you after class, to Chloé and Kihyun’s wedding in Paris, to the bet he’d made with Sid and Jude—had just been said.

“I… think you are insane,” you said, glancing at him. “And also incredibly talented to manage to put all of that into a—into one song.”

“Yeah?” A satisfied grin was playing on his lips and you couldn’t take your eyes off it. “Did you like it?”

You shook your head, because this was too feeble—like. Sitting on his bed in this room, you doubted if you had ever simply liked anything when it came to Jungkook. Every emotion you felt for him had always been so much more intense and infinitely deeper.

“It’s—fuck, it’s a great song,” you said, tapping your palm against the bed. Jungkook recognised the beat and felt his heart soar. The whole room seemed to brighten, not at all threatened by the darkness outside the window. “It sounded good. The rhythm—it’s really good. I can see it becoming a crowd favourite.”

“Thanks,” he said but did not relent. In all the crowds in the world, he was going to search for you. “But what did you think?”

Watching him watch you, you said awkwardly, “I liked your voice.”

He laughed, finding the real compliment in your flustered expression and your struggle to answer his question directly.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

“Was this the song you played for Yoongi and Namjoon that time?” you asked, so you could avoid giving feedback about the way he captured your whole life in his lyrics, and now your heartbeat matched the rhythm of the song. “W-when Yoongi came to talk to me, worried about you?”

Jungkook still nursed a bitterness about Yoongi’s initial reaction to the song and pursed his lips.

“Yeah, um—at the time, I only had the second verse,” he said. “That’s probably why he was concerned.”

“Well,” you dropped a pillow onto your lap, “it doesn’t sound like a heartbreak anthem.”

He snorted. “I hope not.”

You did not say anything else for a while.

You were not in control of anything that was happening inside of you right now, so this was the best you could offer. A big part of your brain was preoccupied with keeping you seated on your side of the bed instead of reaching—lunging—for him, and an even bigger part was still processing the song he had just played. This left you with very little strength to be eloquent.

You liked the song. You liked his voice. You were worried the fire inside your chest would do irreparable damage to your heart. You wondered what went on in your mum’s head when she heard it.

“I can’t believe you sent that to my mum, though,” you voiced your latest thought. “The whole thing?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug because getting feedback from your mum had become a regular practice. He had continued to reach out to her even after you started to manage Rated Riot.

“With the curses and everything?” you asked, your nose scrunched.

He laughed again. You looked so beautiful like this, analysing his lyrics in your head. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

“She knows I curse,” he said. “She’s read most of my lyrics. Also, I am twenty-six.”

“Still,” you muttered. “There’s so much—you, um—you mention the bet in the song.”

His expression grew serious.

“Yeah. One of the first times I texted your mum, I…” he paused here, tracing his fingers lightly over his eyelids. “Well, actually, I was drunk, so I mostly remember this from the screenshots I took. I asked her if I could write a song that would bring you back to me. I was really—well, drunk and, you know. Sentimental. And she said—and I actually remember this part, because, somehow, no one else thought to say this to me—she said that I could, but I had to be honest in my lyrics.”

He fell silent, but it didn’t feel like an invitation for you to respond.

Looking up at you after a minute, Jungkook continued, “every song I wrote about you was honest. I meant every single word in every single verse. And I was hoping one of them would bring you back.”

It began as a faint buzzing in your chest and escalated into a gentle whisper, then erupted into a loud scream, filled with all the longing that’s been there all this time—mostly dormant, but restless. This longing wasn’t buried under mundane, daily tasks, it just existed right there in your chest, pushing sharply into your heart every time you thought you forgot, thought you moved on.

Every time you looked at him, every time you remembered him, every time you fell asleep, the longing was there, and it was growing, always growing—even more rapidly now that you and Jungkook began to spend more time together. By now, it had grown far larger than your chest could hold. And it was screaming.

“I’m—I don’t—I’m not sure I was ever really gone,” you confessed. “I think I... I actually called my mum with a decision already made. And I just needed her to say it was going to be okay. Because, you know. She’s my mum.”

There it was—the explosion he’d been waiting for. He could see the clouds in the distance but he hadn’t felt the impact yet.

“W-what’s your decision?” he asked.

“I want to try,” you said. “If you—if you’d—”

“I swear to God,” he interjected, his voice gaining volume as his heart rate gained speed. “If you're going to ask me if I want to be with you, I’m not sure I’ll make it.”

A smile flickered across your features, but you clutched the bedsheets underneath you tighter to control your expression.

“Let’s give this a chance,” Jungkook said, echoing everything that your heart demanded from you. “I know you’re scared of what this could mean for your job, and—”

“No,” you cut him off. “That—what happens with my job, happens. That feels—it feels like something we can figure out. But I want to try, and that’s what’s scary. Because this isn’t something we can solve, we either work out or we don’t. And I’m scared I won’t always be able to overcome my fear that we might not work. I’m scared I’ll still try to run away from everything.”

“I’ll find you,” he said, and your heart threatened to stop. “I’ll always find you.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though,” you protested weakly. “That’s not fair.”

“My love,” he said, sliding closer to you on the bed. You felt very light-headed. “Anything’s fair to me when it comes to you. Stay and let me make you happy.”

It was remarkable how his hotel bed managed to fit both of you and all that you’d carried inside you for all these years.

You shook your head.

“I’m happy,” you said. “This is right where I’ve always wanted to be. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook looked at you, and he felt like he was nineteen again, watching you from across the campus quad. Thoughts of how to approach you—how to talk to you; how to look at you—were running rampant in his overstimulated mind. He had just left Sociology class where he’d doodled and daydreamed about you the whole time and now that he had a chance to talk to you, his legs had turned to stone.

He knew you liked Hayao Miyazaki, and he thought, alright, he would lead with that. And then in a frantic attempt to explain his determined stride towards you with a murderous expression on his face, he had ended up introducing himself as Neighbour Totoro.

Your smile in response should have been plastered on billboards; and was, on billboards, actually—all over the canyons of his mind. All he could do after that was just stammer about seeing you around campus, noticing that you shared a few classes together, finding it really cute when you dozed off during your professor’s philosophical rants, and wishing very much that the earth would open up and swallow him whole because what the fuck was he saying to you right now—and you’d smiled again. And the stones in his legs had melted.

You gave him your phone number and invited him to a party that someone on your floor was throwing that Friday. And you’d said, “I think it’d be really cool if you came,” but all that he could hear had been the violent pounding in his chest.

His heart pounded just as intensely now.

“Yeah?” he asked you, breathless and half-drunk as the rest of his hotel room drowned in your eyes.

He thought he could feel the earth move. He thought he could will it to stop, to pause for just a split second until you replied and he could—

“Yeah.”

He had arrived at that party back then, and you had found him right away. You’d spent the whole night talking until he finally mustered up the courage to ask you to hang out alone sometime. Maybe watch a film and have dinner? And you’d said yes.

You’d said yes seven years ago, and now you were here – saying yes, again.

Jungkook reached for you so quickly that you barely noticed the smile on his face, let alone the one on yours. His hands were soft on your cheek as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a clumsy kiss—but your mouths needed less than a second to find a familiar rhythm.

His tongue met yours, and he tasted like the memory of every time you’d kissed him before and a promise of every time you’d kiss him in the future. He tasted like everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you thought you’d lost.

“Did you know,” he whispered, his words punctuated by heavy breaths and your lips smacking against each other, “that I dreamt about you—on the night before you showed up at the company—as our manager—?”

You pulled back slightly to be able to look at him, your lips parted in a surprised smile. “No. What did you dream about?”

“This, actually,” he said, kissing you once more and frowning when you pulled back again, waiting for him to explain. “Except neither one of us pulled away.” He paused here, looking at you very meaningfully. You pressed another kiss to his lips and he grinned, continuing finally, “I hadn’t dreamt of you in months, and I woke up from a text message in the middle of kissing you in that dream. I was obviously pissed. I looked at the text, and it was from Yoongi. He was saying, ‘we’re meeting our manager today, don’t be late’ or something like that. And I remembered debating just going back to sleep. But I forced myself out of bed, thinking that this manager better be worth it.”

Your smile was absurd. “Was she?”

He nodded, tracing his fingers down your neck to your collarbones, and bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin.

“She was,” he said.

“You didn’t say one word to me throughout that whole meeting, though,” you pointed out.

Jungkook shrugged.

“I hadn’t seen you in two years,” he said. “I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would tell you how long I’d been waiting for you.”

You did not feel yourself respond with a defeated, breathless, “oh,” but Jungkook smiled when he heard it.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in. “Hardly professional.”

“Mmhm—” your hum drowned in his kiss. “Hardly.”

There was something artificially sweet on his tongue when you kissed him back—likely from the gummy bears—and it made your hands instinctively reach for his shirt, pulling him closer. He wondered if you noticed the way his heart rate quickened at that; he found your need for him exhilarating.

You kissed him harder and remembered all your stolen kisses throughout this tour. This did not feel anything like it.

This kiss was not hurried—not until the five minutes you’ve allotted yourselves were up. It wasn’t secret—not until you had to leave your hotel room in Amsterdam. It wasn’t pretend—not until you had to admit to yourselves that you weren’t and could not be friends. And it wasn’t a dream, either—not until one of you had to wake up and realise that this had just been your subconsciousness, refusing to let go. To move on.

The kiss was slow. It was not rushed, and not hidden. It was true, and it was real.

Your heart finally returned home.

Then, Jungkook slowly pulled away, his pupils dilated and filled with something distracting that lingered on his mind.

“You didn’t say anything to me, either,” he said slowly. “When we started to work together, I mean.”

“I know,” you replied, letting go of him. It did not feel fair to touch him when he said that, but Jungkook felt lost for a moment after you pulled back your hands. “I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“Hmm.” He needed to find the string attached to the words he’d kept inside, and he needed to pull them out, but he could only do that by looking away. “I, uh—I get that now, but back then, I felt very, um—well, left-out, I guess. For lack of a better word. You talked to everyone else but me.”

You were struck by the immediacy and the clarity of these memories: how you’d made a deliberate effort not to talk to him unless it was necessary, because that was the only way you could stay professional. In hindsight, that should have probably been a hint. If you had to go to such lengths to avoid someone in order to remain professional, it likely meant you weren’t truly professional, just pretending to be.

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—well, I could have said something, too,” Jungkook said. “But after a while, it seemed to me like we’d silently agreed to just ignore our relationship, so it didn’t feel right to bring it up again. I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

Your smile broke through the sombre atmosphere in the room. You couldn’t listen to this without pointing out his reactions to you in those first few days. Jungkook had been very loud about doubting your authority.

“You used to complain about me all the time in the beginning,” you reminded him. “You said you wouldn’t take orders from a kid.”

He grinned, remembering, too.

“Well, I had to say that,” he defended, a glint of mischief in his eye. Age had been his favourite argument against working with you. “How else could I hide that I still had feelings for you?

You looked away—he expected this, and his smile grew wider. You thought you had him there. But he knew that in all the years you’ve known each other, you could not find a moment where he didn’t love you. He couldn’t find one himself.

“Maggie told me you were the one who told her we had dated,” you said then.

Jungkook did not immediately remember. “I did?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “We were all drinking together, and you—”

“Oh, yeah,” he cut in, nodding. He recalled Maggie responding to him as though he’d told her he was an escaped convict. “In the parking lot. I don’t think she believed me at first, actually. I was very good at acting unbothered.”

You arched an eyebrow. “She said she came to check on you because Hoseok noticed that you seemed bothered.”

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Well, Hoseok notices these things. It doesn’t count.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

Jungkook, meanwhile, remembered something else now that you’d mentioned Maggie. It was something he’d held close to his heart for years, and he was hesitant to bring it up now. He knew it was probably not real, but he held onto the ignorant hope that it might be.

“Did you… tell anyone on the staff?�� he asked.

“Hm? About us?” you clarified.

He nodded.

“Just the band,” you said.

“Oh.” He held his breath as he considered how to explain this, and how to brace himself for your response. “Because, um—well, apparently, Maggie spoke to Jin after I talked to her. And then Jin talked to Jimin. And Jimin told me that he thought I just had a crush on you.”

“A year ago?” you clarified, a little uneasy about the timeline.

The girls had tried to reassure you last night that you and Jungkook were really not that obvious—but perhaps the truth was that you had wasted all these years just like you feared.

You put unnecessary strain on your heart because you’d convinced yourself that this was how things were meant to be. You’d convinced yourself that Jungkook really did not love you anymore. And when you realised that maybe he still did, you’d convinced yourself that second chances did not work, and it was better to suffer through the initial break-up for years rather than attempt to try again.

“Yeah.” Jungkook swallowed, getting to his point. “And, um—a while after that, Namjoon said he thought you might have a crush on me.”

You blinked, feeling your heart leap into a thrilled dance, each beat a self-assured I told you so.

“Namjoon said that?” you asked weakly.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “We were both drunk, trying to work on a song, and not doing so well. I was upset about something that day, so I thought he was just saying that to comfort me. Cheer me up. He said he noticed you staring at me during our meeting earlier that day. He said he thought it was meaningful. Said you didn’t seem to just be dozing off.”

I told you so—

I told you—

You remembered that meeting.

You remembered looking away from Jungkook and meeting Namjoon’s raised eyebrows. You hadn’t realised you’d been staring. But he had.

Right now, in the hotel room, you did not say anything, but Jungkook felt the bubble of hope swell in his chest, straining as it threatened to explode.

It was true, then.

You had been watching him during that meeting. So much so that it led Namjoon—a very smart, but arguably the most oblivious man in the country—to notice that something was going on.

You cleared your throat. “Did he—uh, did he know about—”

“He knew I was writing about you,” Jungkook replied. “The second he yelled at me and told me to stop writing about abstract feelings and start writing from my own chest, I pulled out three different songs for him. He always knew.”

“Hmm.”

A moment of silence followed, allowing the two of you to simmer in the sounds coming from your chests.

You thought you were trying very hard to ignore him and focus on your job, and you did, really. Especially when you first started to work together. But gradually, the less you talked about your relationship to each other, the more your suppressed feelings made themselves known: it was the way you always happened to stand next to each other at the label events. It was the way Jungkook was the only one who remembered where your office was in the labyrinth of corridors at the company building. It was the way you looked at him when you talked to him. It was the way he teased you at every chance he got.

“So, the roadies thought you were dating Namjoon,” Jungkook concluded, “while Jimin thought I liked you, and Namjoon thought you liked me.”

“Yeah. Apparently, we’re all twelve,” you said. “I love how that’s ongoing, too. We’re still a very hot topic.”

Jungkook chuckled, seemingly as entertained about this as Seokjin had been when he mentioned the bets the staff had going about the two of you.

“I know,” he said, trying to restrain his reaction for your sake. “But it—it’s just us. You know? We’re the only ones who really know about us. You and me. And about fifty people on this tour with us, but that’s—well, who cares?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Not a big deal.”

He heard the sarcasm in your tone, but he still grinned. “Yeah.”

You looked down and brought your hands over your sweatpants, and his smile faded. He seemed to react to your next words before you even said them.

“I’ll have to, um—I’ll have to talk to the label about us,” you said. “I’ll have to tell them.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another silence stole away any remaining words. Jungkook wondered if the two of you were really as powerful as he’d imagined. He wondered if you had the authority to decide what you’d do.

“What do you think they’ll say?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you replied. There was a calmness in your voice that he wasn’t expecting. “We’ll see.”

“Should I—should I talk to them with you?” he suggested—and realised right away that this would not work.

“Probably not,” you replied gently. “It’ll feel a little like we’re talking to our parents. And not, you know, our employers.”

“Right.”

You glanced at him and realised that he appeared more worried than you felt. You thought that perhaps this was how it was between you two: one of you panicked while the other stayed level-headed to provide reassurance.

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “We got so far, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. “But, I mean, what if they say this can’t happen?”

“Well, then we break up, of course.”

He gave you a long, questioning look. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too,” you replied, not serious at all.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you want to joke about it. Okay.”

You laughed, and immediately made him smile, too. Leaning into him—almost reflexively—you placed a hand on his chest and gently pulled him down onto the bed until the two of you were lying face-to-face. Finally, he laughed, too.

The truth was, you felt nervous as well. But some innate balance required you to look on the bright side when he couldn’t. Surely, if you overcame yourselves, you could overcome external hurdles, too.

“I’m not joking,” you said. “It’ll be fine. We, um—we know our issues now. I think we can figure out what we should do no matter what happens. We’ve grown.”

Jungkook looked at you for a minute, then finally exhaled and reached out to touch your cheek.

“Alright,” he said, the tips of his fingers careful as they traced over the side of your jaw. “We have. We used to never talk to each other.”

“Yeah, that had always been the core problem with us,” you agreed, leaning into his touch and singlehandedly stopping his heart for a dangerous minute.

The two of you found it very easy to point out your flaws now—like teachers marking all the issues in a student’s essay: lack of communication, toxic friendships, parental trauma.

“None of that now?” Jungkook asked.

“None of that now,” you agreed, closing your eyes.

You felt him scoot closer to you on the bed as his palm replaced the tips of his fingers on your cheek.

“I’m not going to shut up about how much I love you, though,” he whispered.

You looked at him again, and your smile stretched from one corner of his hotel room to the other.

“I’ll take that over silence,” you said.

He responded with a shuddered breath and moved closer. His lips found yours blindly, but effortlessly. His kiss was soft, slow, and lingering because now you had all the time in the world and he was determined to savour every moment.

Pulling back slightly, he brought his nose to yours, and the air you exhaled as you chuckled softly made him close his eyes again. He kissed your cheek and the corner of your lips and the edge of your jaw, and somewhere along the way, he realised that he had wanted to say something else but now he forgot all about it. He kissed your lips once more instead. Then twice more—until you were smiling too much for the kiss to feel like anything other than a gentle peck.

He settled back on the bed next to you. He was so close that you could barely look at him without your eyes going out of focus. And he was beautiful like this—his hair falling in loose, messy curls around his face, his eyes alive with an energy so powerful that you could not look away from him once your gazes met. His lips were parted as he breathed steadily, running his tongue over his lower lip.

You watched each other just like you had earlier in the corridor, with the tips of your fingers locked onto each other’s skin as though transferring electricity from one heart to the other, and back again.

“I’m sorry I did not want to talk about our relationship,” you finally admitted, your voice a timid whisper. “I thought the safe choice would be to speak to you one-on-one as little as possible. And after a few months, it became easier to be in the same room with you without my hands shaking, and my heart—well, anyway. I didn’t want to ruin what little stability we had with each other. Even though for a long time—maybe even the whole time, I don’t know anymore—we were there, in the back of my mind.”

He exhaled. “We could have talked about us before.”

“We should have talked about us before,” you corrected.

“Right.” He rolled onto his back. “Instead, I drank three bars into bankruptcy in those first few months after you started working with us.”

He remembered Sid’s messages as soon as he said this, and for a brief, irrational moment, he waited for you to stand up and leave the room. Instead, he was startled when he saw you smile out of the corner of his eye.

“I know,” you said softly. “I was asked to pay off your debt at one of them.”

He turned to face you, his eyes wide. “No—w-were you really?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Sid called and gave me an ultimatum: either I came to pay for your bill or the bar owner was going to call the police on you.”

Jungkook had to really concentrate to remember anything, and he quickly felt embarrassed that he even tried. He could not remember his own name, that was how drunk he would get in those days. He couldn’t bring them back to his memory now, no matter how much he tried.

“Where was Sid, then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “Probably tripping on something in a random hotel. He never called me if he was still with you.”

Jungkook swallowed, his thoughts racing.

“Well, I mean—shit,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t,” you replied. “I came to the bar and told the owner your name was Isidore Mercer-Hastings, and that they should contact the police to settle the bill for whatever you drank that night.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. He thought he lacked Sid’s perpetual sneer to pass as someone from a conglomerate family.

“They believed it?” he asked.

“Well, they didn’t know who you were,” you said. “And it was resolved very quietly after that. I doubt the bar owner even managed to write a report after he mentioned the name at the station.”

“Someone in Sid’s family must have handled it,” Jungkook speculated. You thought so as well. “Sid never said anything.”

“I don’t think he expected me to fight back, actually,” you said. “In any case, I paid the price. After that, he started leaving you in all kinds of shitholes for me to find a lot more frequently.”

Jungkook realised that a ball had formed in his throat.

“I-I didn’t even notice it,” he admitted. “He—he had me by the throat, and I thought he just wanted to hang out with me.”

You didn’t want the topic to shift to Sid, but it felt inevitable. He was the additional burden on your relationship, he always had been.

“And he’s in London now,” you said, sighing.

Jungkook exhaled, too. “Yeah.”

“What are we going to do?”

He looked at you for only a moment, but his eyes were filled with an unexpected alarm.

“I’m—well, nothing?” he said. “I don’t know.”

“But—I mean, he has to be here for you, right?” you questioned.

Jungkook’s phone weighed heavily in his pocket.

“He probably is,” he said.

“So, he stalked you all the way to London,” you noted. “I think we should start considering the possibility of you getting a restraining order against him, or—”

Jungkook whipped his head to face you. “Isn’t that—uh, a bit dramatic?”

Frowning, you propped yourself up on your elbows and turned to him. “He is stalking you, Jungkook.”

He looked away and brought his finger over the bedsheets. If Sid had sent him only that one video, perhaps Jungkook could have handled it quietly. But Sid had kept them coming.

And Jungkook had already tried it before: this method of not telling you and hoping to find a way out of a predicament that he’d allowed Sid to put him in. It hadn’t been successful. He had no intention of trying it again.

“To be honest,” he said, sitting up, “that is not the only thing he is doing.”

Your stomach clenched with something it had come to know very well over the past few days – pure dread.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“He, um—he’s sending me things.”

“Oh, God.” You turned away from him, groaning. “Don’t tell me he’s sending you the body parts of people he’s stalked before.”

“N-no, that—no,” Jungkook said and then paused to snicker at the thought. “He’s just—he’s sending me videos.”

You did not feel relieved. The way he said it made it sound like it was not just videos. It sounded like it might as well have been severed limbs.

“What videos?” you asked reluctantly.

He hesitated before answering, hoping—almost irrationally—that he would find a way to summarise the videos for you in a way that would diminish their significance. But he was worried he’d make it worse instead. He didn’t want to casually mention them or act like it was not a big deal, only to hear your negative response. You’d think he was still incapable of realising what he was doing, you’d think he hadn’t changed—and he had. He was sure he had. But his hands were shaking as he tugged on the bedsheets and refused to look at you.

“Of—of me,” he finally admitted. “Of us hanging out together before this tour.”

“Oh.”

He did not like the thickness of the silence around you. He didn’t want this to turn into yet another problem. And it wasn’t—it was a continuous problem that he’d willingly brought on this tour.

Jungkook couldn’t stop blaming himself for everything he did with Sid, and now he was convinced that his guilt wouldn’t even make a difference. He’d tell you about this, and the videos would be too much, and he would not be enough.

You’d warned him you were afraid; he didn’t want to add more doubts to what already seemed like a hesitant decision. Of course, he believed in your relationship too much to think that you were willing to try again just for his benefit. He believed you wanted this, too. But he was also rational enough to understand that you couldn’t just wish for your relationship to work out this time, and it simply would. You had to work on that. And he was sure that these videos would hinder the progress you’ve already made.

He decided he didn’t want to talk to you about this as though he needed your help solving this issue. He wanted to tell you about it with a solution already in his mind.

“T-they’re not good,” he added. “But I—”

“Why is he sending them to you?” you interrupted.

He paused, rearranging his thoughts. He wondered if you were intentionally avoiding asking him to show you the videos, or if you did not want to see them. He was not sure which option he preferred.

“He’s, um, threatening to show them to you,” he said.

“Unless you do what?”

“Unless—” He paused again. “I—I don’t know, actually. I don’t think he wants me to do anything. He’s just taunting me. I tried to block the number, but I assume he has multiple disposable SIM cards or something because I keep—well, different unknown numbers keep sending me videos from the same… situations.”

You looked away, absentmindedly patting the pillows on the bed.

You were certain that Sid had a goal in mind, he just hadn’t told Jungkook about it yet.

“Well, what’s in those videos?” you asked.

Jungkook shut his eyes. He was sure of it now—he would have preferred it if you hadn’t asked about the contents of the videos, after all.

“We’re—we’re drunk in all of them,” he said, his tongue catching on the dryness of his mouth. “Just doing dumb shit. Shit that I thought I left in the past. I know I left it in the past, I’m just—but with Sid pulling it all out now, it feels like—it feels like I’m still there.”

You frowned, puzzled.

“But you’re not still there,” you pointed out.

“I’m not,” Jungkook said, but his voice sounded distant. “But it—you were always the one who made sure that Sid and I didn’t damage the band’s reputation, or—well, anything else. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I-I don’t want you to think that all that you’ve done was in vain, and I don’t want you to think I’m still the same—I know I’m not—but it feels like—”

“Jungkook,” you said, cutting him off by placing your hand on his shoulder.

His distress reminded you of the night he told you that Sid was in Manchester with you. He was breathing heavily, barely able to choose his words. He thought, clearly, that you were going to blame him for this. He thought he’d let you down.

“Show me,” you asked.

And he showed you—because he knew he had to. He took a deep breath, sat down next to you, and played the videos for you, starting from the very first one.

But like he had yesterday, he cut the video off just as his hands reached out for his dance partner and he wrapped one of his legs around their ankles.

“Wait,” you raised your eyes to Jungkook’s restless gaze, “what happens next?”

“I, um—” he paused, attempted to inhale, and forgot all his words.

He thought he showed you enough. He thought showing you the rest of the video was going to be bad. He hadn’t considered how bad it would be if he had to recap it himself.

“I flip this person on their back,” he said, forcing himself to continue. He was going to tell you everything, even if he had to rip his heart out to do it. “We, uh—we make out. Or try to. It’s, uh—it’s definitely too much. But we’re drunk. Then a security guard comes to tell us we can’t do that here. I then declare that we’re getting married, so he can, respectfully, get fucked. And all of us get escorted out of the club.”

“Ah,” you said. “You must have been really wasted.”

Your voice sounded disconnected somehow—like you hadn’t fully grasped that he was the person in the video.

Or, he thought in a brief moment of lightness, maybe you had grasped it, but it made no difference because it’s been so long.

But Jungkook couldn’t hold onto this hopeful thought for too long. He felt he deserved stronger adjectives.

“Is this it?” you asked after a moment. His phone screen had gone dark after he hadn’t pressed on anything else. “Is that all he—”

“No,” he said. “That’s, um—that’s only the first one he sent.”

Then he played you the three newest videos—the ones he’d just received earlier today after he turned his phone back on.

All the videos were from days that he could scarcely remember. Sid had filmed him dancing, arguing, screaming, engaging in other activities that would earn a community label if the video got publicised, and drinking. Alcohol was featured heavily in all the videos.

You maintained a neutral expression through the first few clips but finally frowned when you watched the third one. In it, Jungkook was having a heated argument with someone outside what appeared to be a nightclub—the only indication was a bright neon sign behind the two figures on the screen.

Jungkook was visibly agitated in the video, hurling all curses known to mankind—and some only known to animalkind—at a red-faced man whom you did not recognise. The man remained silent, swaying slightly on his feet, frowning more and more with each passing second.

You attempted to remember this moment, trying to place the street where the video was taken—you thought Sid had asked you to pick up Jungkook from somewhere around here. But as you watched it, you could not remember Jungkook harassing a seemingly random person. And then you realised that this likely wasn’t a random person, and Jungkook wasn’t the one harassing him.

Turning your head to look at him, you were surprised to see the resolute defeat on Jungkook’s face. He appeared to be waiting to be sentenced.

“He cut the video,” you said, looking back at his phone, “to make you look intentionally aggressive. This guy—he approached you at the bar, didn’t he?”

Jungkook only hummed. It took him another minute to relax his muscles so he could speak—by that time, the video had already ended, and he snickered bitterly.

“Yeah. He used a few pretty slurs, so I told him we should take it outside,” he said. “Right after the video ended, he actually threw a vodka bottle at my head. It didn’t hit me, but we got into a—a fight, and I cut myself on a shard. No stitches, but, um, it bled like a bitch.”

“Fuck, that’s—I-I remember you bleeding,” you said, looking away. You’d wrapped your scarf on his hand when you found him behind that club, on the street from the video, sometime later. He’d refused a hospital and you had not slept the whole night after you dropped him off at his house. “What was Sid doing while that was happening?”

“Well, he watched,” Jungkook said, locking his phone. “He watched and filmed, and now he’s trying to make it seem like I picked that fight.”

You quieted. The videos had made it very clear that Sid was crafting a narrative about Jungkook—to make him look like an ungrateful, aggressive, alcoholic womaniser. Clearly, he was creating Jungkook’s fictional image after himself, and you would have pointed out the irony if you weren’t so annoyed.

“I know it’s my fault,” Jungkook added. “I shouldn’t have allowed him to get under my skin like that, but—”

“How long ago was this?” you interjected.

“I—it—a while,” he said, worried that this was the wrong answer. “I can’t remember.”

“Were you in Rated Riot?” you asked, hoping to determine a more specific timeline, because understanding when the videos were taken might help you figure out what Sid wanted. But you also just wanted to keep asking Jungkook for technical details to keep him out of his own head.

“I think so,” Jungkook said. “Because—I’m trying to figure out why Sid chose to send me these specific videos since I’m sure he has a lot of other great ones, you know what I mean? So, why these?”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because he called you to come pick me up at the end of these nights,” he said with an unsettling hollowness behind his eyes. “And you—well, I don’t remember, but according to what Sid told me later, you never asked what we were doing. You just pulled me out of these situations… and brought me home. A-and now he wants to show you that—he wants you to know what we were doing. What I was doing.”

“Okay,” you said. “But it—it’s been ages.”

He seemed taken aback by the ease in your voice, and his surprise was crushing. You realised he was expecting you not to talk to him again now that you’ve seen the videos.

To Jungkook, that would have made sense.

For years, his self-worth depended on how he was perceived and whether he lived up to expectations. And he balanced between wanting to live up to very different expectations from very different people: Sid, on the one hand. You and his grandmother, on the other.

That was why he didn’t tell his grandmother that he was friends with Sid. It was why he didn’t tell you about all his failed attempts at making your relationship special. It was why he refused to admit to Sid that he still loved you.

And, ultimately, it was why he did not want to reminisce about the nights in Sid’s videos. Nights when he knew he was making mistakes, but he needed to escape from his thoughts too much to care.

Jungkook realised all that. He understood. But there was nothing he could do with the voices, screaming at him in his head. They were telling him that his friends had all turned to reasons why you broke up that first time. He turned them into those reasons. And now those reasons were right here, on his phone.

“I know. But I just—it feels like this is something I can’t run away from,” he said. “It feels like Sid is telling me that this is who I really am. That I’ll always fuck up in the end, and that I’ll die trying—and failing—to be someone better.”

You were shaking your head, and Jungkook shook his, too, to counter your refusal to agree with him.

“No, look, I think that Sid means to use this to, well, to humiliate us,” he insisted. “Or—or just you. Like, ‘see what he was doing? And you still took care of him.’ So you would—you would realise what I’m—what kind of person—and you would change your mind about me—and about—about this. And then...”

He could not find the end of his sentence, but you knew what this was. Jungkook excelled in most things, but he had a throbbing Achilles’ heel – it was his fear of disappointing the people who mattered most to him.

The first time you learned this about him was at his twenty-first birthday party. Minjun, already very drunk, had decided to make a toast and told everyone a story about when he and Jungkook were fourteen. Among all of Jungkook’s friends, Minjun was the only one who’d actually been to his house, and on that day, they were riding bicycles around Jungkook’s front yard with Jungkook and his cousins. Jungkook wanted to perform a trick and he wanted Minjun to record it to brag to Sid later. But as soon as he lifted the front wheel off the ground, he ended up in his grandmother’s azaleas.

The story at the birthday party ended there, with everyone politely laughing and clapping, but Jungkook gave you the rest of it later.

Apparently, his grandmother had warned him about the flowers in advance; she told him not to bike there. And he had. He’d done what she told him not to do. Really, it was because he wanted to outdo Sid, so this could have been another thing that Sid had ruined—but Jungkook couldn’t even get to that part. He was already defeated by the sheer force of his guilt for letting his grandmother down. He was devastated.

He said she hadn’t even yelled at him after she saw how grief-stricken he was. But he still replanted the whole garden and watered the shrubs every day.

And as you listened to Minjun’s story at that birthday party, you realised that even then, almost a decade later, Jungkook flinched every time his friend mentioned azaleas. And he would keep flinching, as you would see in years to come, whenever his grandmother would bring up her garden.

Jungkook never forgot his mistakes, and they all weighed heavily on him. He could only escape them when he was surrounded by people, their voices drowning out his own.

He thought no one knew—he took a paradoxical solace in the belief that only he and the voices in his head knew about what went on inside him—but you’ve seen it over the years.

“No—but these things don’t make you a terrible person,” you said. It didn’t feel like enough, but the thoughts in your head were fast and frail—you could not find one to settle on.

Still, Jungkook looked stunned.

“I—they don’t?” he asked—with a genuine confusion that broke your heart.

“Jungkook,” you said, the edges of your voice desperate.

“No, I—I know,” he said, averting his gaze. “I know. But—really, this is my fault. I did that. I went out with him. It’s—”

“Your fault was staying with Sid for so long,” you interrupted. “That’s your only fault. But realising what was wrong with these people that you surrounded yourself with—that—that’s not wrong. That’s good. You’ve come a long way from the days in those videos.”

He heard you. But a sudden memory still resurfaced in his head: Taehyung had talked to him in the hotel corridor in Amsterdam. He had accused him of fooling around with you and reminded him that your relationship affected the whole band. Jungkook had told him he was serious. He wasn’t fooling around.

He’d meant it—but the bet had been ongoing. However much he wished it not to be, it was fucking ongoing.

And now Jungkook was all the more aware of the thin line between your decision to try this again with him, and the absolute recklessness of this choice. Had he come a long way? Was he different? Or was he really just running away from who he really was?

It would affect the whole band, Taehyung had said.

If he wasn’t good enough for you, he would ruin everything.

“But look how long it took me,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t—I can’t erase all the shit I did just because I suddenly decided to be a different person.”

“You can’t erase it,” you said, the conviction in your voice rivalling his anxiety, “but you can learn and move on from it.”

He shook his head again. “How can I do that when Sid won’t let me move on?”

“You can do it by accepting these videos as lessons,” you said. “But leaving everything in them in the past. You can do it by not letting Sid get to you anymore. I mean, you’re already doing it. You showed me the videos, which was what Sid threatened you with. You took away everything he was holding against you. You’re doing okay, Jungkook.”

He looked down and swallowed.

He wanted to believe he was okay so much. But there were so many weights on his chest and he could not shake them off. He could not escape them. He could not even pretend they were not there.

This was the reason, he knew, why he dreaded being alone and inevitably recalling every single time in his life when he could have been better, but wasn’t. When he could have been more, but chose not to. When he could have chosen you, but didn’t.

He longed for you in a way that he hadn’t longed for anything in his life before—so much that it hurt to think and his whole body felt grey and tense—but he’d already let you down. He’d let himself down.

“I hurt you,” he said after a minute, covering his face with his hands. “And, fuck, I don’t—I’m not saying this to guilt-trip you into forgiving and forgetting everything. I’m just fucking—I’m so fucked up. I love you more than anything in my life, but I-I can’t spend a single minute by myself without thinking about how fucking fucked up I am. And I’ve done so much stupid fucking shit. I don’t want it to hurt you any more than it already fucking has. And I know you’re the last person who should be comforting me about this. I’m just—I can’t get over those—”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your chest against his, forcing him to still in your embrace and finally stop speaking.

After a breathless minute, he finally inhaled and you felt him lower his hands from his face and tentatively slide them around your waist, his grip tightening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. It was still his fear talking, you could feel it pressing against your chest as you pulled him closer until you couldn’t breathe, either. “I don’t think I can ever be enough for—”

“You’re you, Jungkook,” you cut him off. “That’s enough for me.”

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes; you felt his lashes flutter against the side of your neck.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head against his shoulder. “I love you.”

He held you and breathed you in for an amount of time that no clock could not keep up with, but it still felt insufficient. And when you pulled back slightly to look at him, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that expressed everything that words could not.

“Thank you,” he added. “For everything.”

You kissed him back—not to say you’re welcome, or no problem. You kissed him to tell him that you had finally made a choice. You were here. And you were staying.

He understood all of it as his lips pressed to yours, as your tongues touched and your breaths mixed together, as his hands settled around your waist as if they’d never been elsewhere. But you sensed his nervous heartbeat against your chest, even though he tried to fight against it.

“Promise me,” he whispered against your lips, “that you’ll tell me if I let you down again.”

Gently—but swiftly—you pulled away.

“I’ll tell you right now,” you said, the firmness in your tone contrasting with the tenderness of your touch as you held a hand to his chest and another one on the side of his face. “You let me down when you put yourself down. We make mistakes, we own up to them, we learn from them. We try too hard, we don’t always succeed, but we get through it together. That’s what we do. And we talk to each other about it all.”

The second you stopped speaking, he pulled you to himself with enough force to knock your breath out of your lungs. You rested your head against his, your heart pounding to the beat of his pulse.

“We’re very co-dependent,” he whispered and the tension in your chest finally eased at his light tone.

“Yes,” you stated. “It’s how we are.”

He snickered and lingered some more in your arms. You rested your hands on his back, rubbing gentle circles and steadily calming down his mind, his heart, and the entirety of his tired soul.

“Maggie, um—she took a picture of us in Amsterdam,” you said. “Did you know?”

He furrowed his eyebrows but allowed you to pull away as he thought about this.

“Wh—oh, in the bathtub?” he asked.

“Yeah. You’ve seen it?”

“Yeah, she sent it to me a while ago,” he said. And, overwhelmed by the honesty of the moment, he added, “it’s beautiful.”

That wasn’t a secret—he’d named his newest song after the moment you’d shared in that bathroom—but he still questioned if he should have said this right now. He could imagine your shock about the picture—that was why he chose not to show it to you when Maggie sent it to him.

But your expression remained gentle, almost pleased.

“Yeah, I liked it, too,” you said. “Well, after I got over the fact that we left the fucking door open.”

He chuckled softly, the sound straining against the cuts and bruises in his chest.

“But anyway, my point is, focus on things like that,” you continued. “That’s who you are. You’re not a video from fuck knows how long ago. Sid doesn’t own you, and he does not control you.”

Jungkook swallowed and lowered his gaze. He nodded his head a few times, but you still started to feel uneasy—was this enough? Or was Sid’s presence in his head still heavier than yours?

You looked around for a distraction, and quickly found one, partially hidden under a stack of cookies.

“We had a film to watch,” you said, pulling your laptop out and accidentally knocking down some of the candy towers he had built on the bed.

Jungkook glanced up and caught a bag of chocolates right before it hit him on the arm. “Oh—w-we had. But how’s your head?”

You had completely forgotten it existed at all, which certainly alleviated your headache. The pure adrenaline from being so close to him probably contributed, too.

“It’s good,” you said, opening your laptop and turning around to adjust the pillows on the bed for more comfort. “I’m great.”

“I still think you should get proper food,” he said, and it struck you that this pattern of worrying, comforting, and taking care of each other in turns was truly a regular occurrence between the two of you.

“I’m fine,” you said. “We’ve got chocolate and more cookies than we should be allowed to eat. I want to live out my nine-year-old fantasy and my dentist’s worst nightmare.”

He smiled at that, but still hesitated. “Okay, but—well, maybe you would rather sleep?”

“I—alright.” You pushed your laptop aside and crossed your arms over your chest. “Now it’s starting to sound like you don’t want to watch this with me.”

“I do,” he said, coming to sit across from you so he could push the laptop back towards you. “I’m just—”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. “I want to be here.”

Hearing that made him happy—the jump-off-buildings kind of happy, where he was glad to have you here or else he really would’ve had no way to keep it all inside himself—but he seemed to still wait for something. The air in the room was still thick with everything that you’d talked about tonight.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “We don’t have to do this—after everything.”

“I want to do this,” you said. And then, responding to the doubts he chose not to voice, you added, “I want to do everything with you.”

He watched as you leaned over your laptop to set up the film across the bed from him. He hadn’t realised he could feel so suffocated from the butterflies in his chest—his stomach could no longer contain them—and he was worried about opening his mouth in case they would try to escape. They’d fill this whole room with their fluttering wings, and the two of you would simply not fit.

“I love you,” he breathed out.

You raised your head and smiled at him—easily, effortlessly. Like you’ve done countless times before.

“I love you, too,” you said.

There wasn’t a building tall enough, he decided. Your voice resonated in his pulse and as long as his heart kept beating, he would always land on the ground perfectly safe.

“Alright,” you said, interrupting his very productive Staring and Smiling. “Let’s watch the film.”

“Alright.”

He returned to his side of the bed and managed to settle on the very edge of it. He watched the paused screen of your laptop and twiddled his thumbs. It took him half a minute to notice you were watching him.

“What?” he asked then.

“You’re comfortable?” you questioned. “Your grandma is going to be disappointed if you tell her that you watched the film but couldn’t even see the screen.”

He looked away. “To be fair, my grandma would be disappointed if she found out I had you in my room and I was across the bed from you.”

You tried everything to suppress your smile, but it crept onto your face in blatant defiance and chose to stay there.

“Well, what’s stopping you from coming closer?” you asked.

“My heart, I think. It might really stop this time.”

You laughed, and he was forced to acknowledge that he did not need to be right next to you for his heart to stop. All it took was this.

He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to recover from the fact that he could finally do this again—sit on the bed with you, watch films together, listen to you laugh, kiss you, tell you he loved you and hear that you loved him, too. And no one could text him and wake him up from this dream.

“Come here,” you said, raising your arm over the pillows to make space for him by your side.

He was beaming. Neither Sid, nor any voice inside his head could ever taint this moment or take it away from him.

Jungkook scooted closer to you, seemingly determined to make you regret your invitation. He immediately draped a hand over your waist and a leg over yours, his body warm, his touch inescapable. You started the film on your laptop, but doubted, suddenly, if you’d be able to watch anything with him so close.

One of your hands had come to rest on the back of his head, gently teasing the strands of his hair as he lied on his side next to you, almost half of his body thrown over yours. His fingers toyed with the edges of your hoodie, and he kept humming an unrecognisable tune under his breath. You weren’t sure if he even realised it, because every time you glanced at him, especially during your favourite parts of the film, he was diligently watching the screen. The only times he looked up at you was if you stopped playing with his hair.

Then, once the film ended about an hour and a half later, Jungkook pulled back a little to be able to see you in his dark room.

If not for the tapping of his leg against yours, he would have looked like an ancient sculpture with the contours of his face illuminated by the glow of your laptop screen. It felt exceptional, somehow, to be able to witness him like this, and you came to the same realisation as you had in Stockholm while walking down empty streets at night with him, and in Amsterdam, when he lied on the hotel bed next to you. You realised how effortlessly poetic he looked. How otherworldly.

And you realised you loved him far more than words could describe.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

His expression darkened, but he did not move to check who’d texted. He was determined to stay in the dream he was having.

Within seconds, before either of you could say half of a word about the film you’d just watched, his phone buzzed three more times.

Finally, he exhaled. He did not need to look at his phone; you both knew it was Sid.

“I told Minjun about this earlier today,” Jungkook said, reaching over to grab the device from the other side of the bed. “He thinks I should ignore him, but I’m not sure if that’ll work. I, um—I had hoped Sid would forget about the bet and just leave me in peace, but he saw how bothered I was, and that brought him joy. He never forgets anything that brings him joy. And this is something else that—”

“Reply to him,” you said.

“I—hmm?” He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged your shoulders. He appeared even more perplexed by your apparent nonchalance.

“He’s clearly anticipating it,” you explained. “Text him that I’ve already seen those videos. Add a heart.”

Jungkook was not sure what to make of this. Last night, you had tried to stop him from doing the very thing you were now suggesting.

But then he looked down at his phone in his hands—several new notifications about video attachments from unknown numbers were on his screen—and he thought he understood what had changed. He could see how your responses to Sid had been building up to this point. The bet was just one of many instances, a small drop in an endless ocean of shit that Sid came up with and encouraged. All of it had brought you and Jungkook to this moment: with the videos on his phone looming over him.

Sid may not have been the sole cause, but he had reinforced Jungkook’s already prominent reliance on external validation and his subsequent isolation anxiety. He even played a significant role in exacerbating these issues. Jungkook was aware of it, even if he couldn’t help it. And you were aware of it, too.

While he wasn’t sure how deep inside of his mind you could see, Jungkook looked at the determination in your eyes, and he understood. You were on his side, and after everything you’d talked about tonight, you were angry.

He considered your suggestion again.

“Won’t that antagonise him further?” he asked cautiously.

“Sure it will,” you replied simply. “But what else can he do?”

“I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“Well, he wants you to react,” you said. “He’ll continue to spam you with everything he has in his gallery unless you show him that he’s got nothing to win. You said he’s taunting you, he’s threatening to show me the videos. Well, I’ve seen them. He can’t do anything about that now.”

The more Jungkook thought about this, the more his heart rate increased.

“But then,” he said because he’s known Sid for most of his life, “he’ll find a different way to get under my skin.”

You shook your head. You were convinced that the only reason why Sid got so far, why he had such a tight grip on Jungkook’s thoughts, was because Jungkook allowed it.

“He won’t have that much power,” you said, “if you won’t give it to him.”

Jungkook was still hesitant—his habit of blindly following Sid’s lead was very hard to kill—but he unlocked his phone.

“Alright,” he said. “But—okay, I guess he might not believe me if I tell him you already saw the videos. So, what if I—”

“I’ll text him.”

His stomach sank in horror.

“You—no,” he disagreed, panicking as he got up on his knees on the bed. “No, no—w-we don’t even know these numbers he’s using.”

“I don’t need them,” you said, taking out your phone. “We know it’s Sid. We’ll strip him of all his courage by exposing the anonymity he believes he has.”

Jungkook watched you in helpless awe—as though you were doing something truly impressive rather than simply sending a text message. He leaned in closer to be able to get a better view of your phone screen as you selected Sid’s contact (saved as “ASS #1” on your phone—with Jude following as “ASS #2,” of course), and typed: “I already know about the videos, thank you for thinking of me 🖤”

Then, you put your phone away and turned to Jungkook. He was still biting his lip, evidently doubting and regretting at least half of his life.

“There’s a second part, you know,” you said.

“Hm?” He glanced at the black screen of your laptop. “Of the film?”

“Mhmm. He’s escaping from LA this time. Do you want to watch it?”

Jungkook felt a little dizzy. This was over, then. You sent the text, and that was it.

He was forced to accept that even though he had cut his ties with Sid, he could still feel the phantom grips of Sid’s collar around his neck. He wasn’t sure if he would have believed in himself enough to send one text and be done with it. He needed a deeper provocation—like Sid’s descriptions of you before he punched him—or someone actively supporting him all through it—like Minjun and Taehyung, when he gave his Katana up.

And you, he thought. He was thinking of you during all those times.

“I—well, yeah,” he said finally. “Let’s watch it.”

You nodded and returned to your laptop to prepare the second film. You had your back turned to him, so he could not see the slight tremor in your hands. You did not enjoy texting Sid, but he was using you to get back at Jungkook, and you were tired of sitting down and taking it.

“Do you think,” Jungkook said, leaning back against the pillows, “I should get an anaconda tattooed on my stomach?”

Your relief was so strong that you didn’t even realise you had started to laugh. Kurt Russell’s character had a very prominent shirtless scene in the film, and you had been waiting for Jungkook to mention it.

“That was a cobra,” you said. “And no.”

“I think it—wait, why not?” He leaned forward to look at you, offence prominent on his face. “It looked cool on Snake.”

“You’re not cool enough to pull it off,” you replied. He raised his eyebrows, and you shook your head to hide your smile and to emphasise your point. “It just wouldn’t work.”

He nodded slowly, his lips twisted ironically. “Oh, I see, okay. So, what would work for me, then?”

“Maybe a cute little rabbit.”

“A rabb—oh, sure.” Crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, he looked very much like the tattoo you were imagining. “Go ahead and mock me.”

You squinted your eyes. “A rabbit with a lip ring?”

“Mhmm.” He tilted his chin up. “I will get a cobra tattoo out of spite now.”

Snickering, you hit the spacebar on your keyboard and started the film.

“Let’s watch the second part before you decide rabbit or cobra,” you said.

“I’ve already deci—”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, cutting him off. A familiar anxious shiver ran down your spine.

You glanced at him, and just as before, the two of you quickly came to the same conclusion, and the radiant smiles on your faces suddenly clouded again.

Breathing a little heavier, you paused the film after less than a minute and picked up your phone.

There was a new text message from Sid. He had sent you a link to what appeared to be an Instagram post. His message underneath it read, “Okay :) and do you know about this? x”

You had a feeling what was coming even before you clicked the link; your subconsciousness had made the connection before it should have realistically been possible.

The link directed you to Sid’s profile and the picture he’d posted four minutes ago: it was the black-and-white bathtub shot that Maggie had shown you at the bar last night. Sid had captioned it, “so happy for you!”

Jungkook cursed softly on the bed behind you.

You were not sure if you were breathing.

“Fuck,” Jungkook said again. “He—he must have got it from my phone. Maggie—she sent me the picture, and Sid—”

“This piece of fucking shit,” you swore. Your hold on your phone remained firm, despite the device shaking in your frustrated hands. “He’s definitely not just taunting you, he’s targeting us both.”

The Rated Riot fans knew who Sid was, they saw the picture. Jungkook glanced at your screen once more as you clicked on the likes. They were pouring in too quickly, and the total number—which Sid had not made private, of course—could not refresh in time.

Neither you, nor Jungkook said anything. Neither of you drew any obvious conclusions. Simply watching as the image spread online was already enough.

People said a picture was worth a thousand words, and you wondered about the value of this particular one.

You hadn’t even talked to the label; you’d barely talked to each other about your relationship. How would this look for you? What would you do?

“This is what he wants, then?” you asked, staring at your phone. The usernames on the screen blurred together. “For us to break up? He’s that miserable?”

Jungkook felt a knot straining in his stomach, and he could not respond.

“And why do it like this?” you questioned further. “What the fuck is wrong with him, aside from the obvious? What does he gain from any of this?”

Jungkook thought he knew what it was. He could feel it that night when he handed Sid the keys to the Katana. But he hoped—he really fucking hoped—that Sid would get over it. He got his way, after all.

“He won the bet,” Jungkook said, “but I did not lose anything. He can’t stand the thought that I’m—h-he needs me to know that I’m not better than him.”

You groaned. “Fuck—fuck him. Fuck his immature shit, and his fucking ego. Whatever it is that he wants, he’s not going to get it. He’s already done enough.”

You got up from the bed, and Jungkook watched you move around his room with a quiet purpose that he could not decipher.

“What…” he cleared his throat, “do you mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” you said, and your pacing increased. “But we’ll figure it out. He’s not getting his fucking way.”

Jungkook felt a little foolish as he asked, “you’re not mad?”

You stopped in the middle of the room and looked at the uncertain arch of his brows, the slight pull of his lips. You wondered if you would have had it in you not to strangle Sid if he was in the room with you right now. Really, Jungkook wouldn’t even have to do anything. Maybe dig a hole later.

“At you?” you asked, returning to the bed. “Why would I be mad at you? I—I’m angry in general. But I think Sid would have found some kind of a picture of us and posted it anyway. At least we managed to get on his nerves a little first.”

You sat down beside him, and he ran his fingers through his hair, half-nodding, half-shaking his head.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he decided. “We might have, uh, actually pushed him into doing this without thinking it through. He didn’t even tag us in the picture, right? And I mean, I know it’s us, but we’re completely in the dark, and—”

He stopped talking when you abruptly jumped up, scrambling to unlock your phone again.

“W-what is it?” he asked, alarmed once more.

You returned to Sid’s profile, clicked on the picture, and refreshed the post.

He hadn’t tagged you.

Jungkook was easily recognisable in the picture if you expected to see him there. However, it was likely that besides Maggie and Luna—who already knew it was you because Maggie had said so—no one else could identify the other person in the bathtub.

“Shit, you’re right,” you said, your heart speeding in your chest. “He didn’t tag us. If I hadn’t texted him, he might have posted the picture later, after thinking it through better, and—but he hadn’t. Fuck, this is—we can fix this. I—oh, we will fix this, and I’ll fucking make sure this is the last game he plays with us.”

Right away, just from the tone of your voice alone, Jungkook knew that Sid had lost. He’d lost and he didn’t even know it yet.

You hadn’t broken up. You were together—seemingly even more together now than you were hours ago, when you’d first entered his room.

Finally, Jungkook exhaled in staggering relief.

The two of you had already won.

chapter title credits: normandie, “blood in the water”

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celtic-crossbow · 21 days

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 21

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Sexual content; Animal death (hunting - not descriptive); Mild description of vomit; a little sad angsty moment; Non-con sedation

You had to admit that holy shit, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. It was cold as fuck, but you were bundled up in the coat that had been brought to you all those weeks ago. It sucked to keep it situated for easy gun and knife access but it was enough. Your feet were warm in your boots, two pairs of socks since they were a little big to accommodate any swelling of your feet as the pregnancy progressed but that only meant that your toes were nice and toasty. Leggings under maternity jeans were a hindrance when the baby decided to drop kick your bladder, but otherwise, necessary to ensure you didn’t get frostbite in very inconvenient areas, as well as your legs.

You had been walking through the snow for about an hour before coming across any walkers. There were two, both women. One a little older than Beth and one about your own age. They moved slower in the cold, you had noticed. After putting them down, you became aware that their skin appeared to be freezing solid.

“Walker popsicles. Huh.” You muttered, storing that information to share. Another fifteen minutes went by and you had still seen no game, so you decided to stop and rest. You weren’t necessarily out of shape but you were growing a human inside of you. That tended to take a bit out of the energy department. You had swiped a canteen and some of the jerky, partaking of both to make sure you could carry out what you came to do.

“Alright, Thumper. Let’s see if we can figure out daddy’s weapon of choice. Can’t be that hard, right?” You promptly came very close to shooting a bolt into your own foot. You blinked at it and looked around as if there had been anyone else to see the incident before putting a hand to your belly. Thumper rolled as if just as shocked. “Let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

It was the operation that hindered you. Once you figured out the mechanics,—with about forty-five minutes of tinkering—aiming and firing were things that came naturally to you. Daryl was going to murder you when he had to fix everything you had fucked with in your exploration of the weapon. Collecting the bolts you had used for practice, you froze, eyes narrowed on the small indentations in the snow. Rabbits.

Small game was your specialty. You always hunted rabbits and squirrels when it was just you and father. There was nowhere to keep an abundance of meat in your small home. No smokehouse. It had been different when the family would come over, your aunt and uncles. They loved their venison and you never had to be concerned with wasting anything.

The smile that lifted the corners of your mouth was one born of bittersweet longing. You wished your father could be there to meet his grandchild, but you were—at the same time—thankful that he wasn’t around to see what had truly become of the world, that it would never go back to how it used to be.

Still, you chuckled as you wiped away a tear. Your father would have had one hell of a time getting used to the idea of Daryl being the father, but in the end, he would have been the first to see through that rough exterior to the man hidden underneath. And he would not have wasted a single second before calling the archer out on it.

“If you’re a boy, I could name you after your grandad. Maybe after your uncle, if your daddy wants.” Daryl still hadn’t revealed much about his family. Maybe once he was better, you could sit with him and just talk, quid pro quo. You ask a question about him, and then him about you. He seemed to be okay with that sorta thing. He never liked being the center of attention.

He also appeared interested in learning about you in every way he could. It hadn’t taken you long to notice the way he picked up on things and filed them away. He knew how you liked your meat cooked when it was being eaten outside of a stew. He would take it from Carol and do it himself, usually. He knew how things touching the front of your throat made you feel uncomfortable, like scarves or the top buttons of a flannel, stopping Maggie from wrapping a rather pretty knit fabric around your neck one bitterly cold morning.

Daryl also knew just how to touch you, how to curl his fingers inside of you and how much pressure you needed when his thumb would graze over your clit. He excelled in making you shiver by wetting his digits with your own arousal before dragging the tips over your skin to stimulate your nipples. He did all this while pressing soft kisses just behind your ear or over your pulse, everyone sleeping around you being none the wiser. It was always so incredibly erotic to be brought over the edge knowing that any of them could simply open their eyes and see that he was working you over.

Maybe you could show him what you knew he liked while he recovered. You knew for a fact that he would groan if you lapped and nibbled at a specific area just above his collarbone. He would never admit it but you had noticed the way touching his nipples made his hips jerk when he was inside of you. The first time you’d gone down on him back in the woods, you had kitten-licked at his tip and pressed your thumb against the vein that ran underneath, dragging the digit up his length. He had clawed at the tree behind him so hard that you were certain he’d be picking splinters from beneath his nails afterward.

It took a soft thump to the cranium, snow falling from a branch overhead, to bring you from your pleasant thoughts. With an ache between your thighs and the prospect of maybe getting some alone time with your boyfriend—you still needed to clarify what you could call him, if anything—while he wasn’t trying to evict his lungs from within his chest, you whined quietly. You kinda wished you had stayed there and were curled up in bed with him. Was he okay? Were the meds helping? Was Carol whacking him over the head with the bedpost to keep him from chasing you?

You had nearly convinced yourself to turn back when you saw the first rabbit, a decent sized cane cutter that would make a nice stew to last a couple of days. It hadn’t seen you and taking it down was easy since you had not yet shouldered the crossbow.

“One down, Thumper!” You took one step and then paused. “It’s kinda insensitive to call you Thumper when I’m hunting rabbits, isn’t it?”

You had two rabbits by the time at least three and a half hours had passed, a little disappointing but it was freezing and you did have to make periodic stops to put down walking corpses and even more stops to pee. You were feeling a little nauseous as well, so it was likely beyond time to head back. Maybe Daryl would rest just as well the next day and you could come back out since this excursion would show everyone you could handle yourself out there.

Wiping your knife across your thigh after yet another slow moving walker, you had barely secured it into the sheath before you noticed the tracks.

Deer.

A single deer, young but more than a year. Based on the depth of the tracks, you could likely manage to haul it back on your own if you could take it down. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the way back to the house; back to Daryl.

This was all for him, after all. The more food you could secure, the longer he could rest and recover. The decision was simple after that. Ensuring a bolt was loaded, you set out to do what you once did best.

You were still her.

The only differences were the people in your family were no longer an aunt and two uncles, the main man in your life was no longer your father, and you were 11 or so weeks away from having your own baby. You had never needed to be provided for, always the provider. There was no reason you and Daryl couldn’t share that responsibility. When the baby came, you’d adjust and adapt, providing differently and that was okay. The longer you could nurse Thumper, the easier it would make things. You’d step back then, let Daryl take over. It would be even more important to him then, the need to provide. You’d be a team, each caring for the baby in your own way.

The prospect was equal parts exciting and terrifying. New parents in a dystopian world. It wasn’t impossible. It was just dangerous. Daryl had done so well, thinking ahead when he had cleared that Wal-Mart. So much that would be needed already secured, ready to carry with your group when moving from place to place. With a small, tender smile, you glanced at the bracelet for morning sickness you still wore. It likely no longer worked, but you couldn't really bear to part with it.

You wanted to search out a baby store eventually, or make a request for a run. Cloth diapers would be a lifesaver once the disposable ones had been used. Infant and children’s medications needed to be stocked.

Thumper gave your ribs a jab, earning a hiss in response. “Okay, okay. I’m focused. Jeez, kid, can you be any more like your father?”

The tracks were getting closer together in clusters, the deer stopping to check out areas in search of food. You were catching up, the falling snow not yet filling in the prints. In the back of your mind, you maintained an active regard for the time you’d been gone, one eye on the sun to ensure you’d make it back before dark. You would be late and you’d steered off course but you were confident. You’d need to circle around and place yourself downwind soon if you wanted to stand a chance. This is what you knew.

You’d meet up with the search party at the very least on your journey back. That is if Carol hadn’t grown anxious and sent them earlier. Or Daryl— dear god, if Daryl hadn’t somehow managed to drag himself out of that house. No, they wouldn’t let him. You had to believe that. It would be Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. Maybe Maggie. They’d likely be sore at needing to come find you but if you were hauling a deer, that disgruntlement would likely be forgotten quickly. You just needed to ensure you succeeded and that you stayed safe.

Just as you continued to track, you muttered a curse at a slow shuffling walker. One bolt needed to remain untainted for hunting and, so far, your knife had been sufficient but you were closing in on your target. Using the crossbow would be ideal for the dead at that juncture. Nearly silent kills. The crossbow was level with your eyes when you saw it.

The doe’s head perked up just beyond some snow-covered shrubbery, ears twitching. “Fuck.” You whispered. You had to take the deer first or risk it running from the walker. It had already spotted the threat, getting ready to move. There was no time to think. The deer went down easily, your muttered apologies and gratitude for what it would provide for your group were unheard as you dropped the bow and sprinted for the corpse.

Loading another bolt would take too much time, the deer would be lost to the walker. You were already cutting it close this way, the snow and the off-centered weight of your belly slowing you down. Just as the dead man began to fall on top of your kill for the unearned feast, you tackled him. There was a jolt of pain in your midsection but your knife was already sinking into an eye socket, the deed done.

“Ow,” you muttered. Scanning the area for threats as you unzipped and moved clothing, raising your sweater to look at the deep red mark on the side of your belly, just below your right rib cage. “Fuck.” A knee or elbow must have been angled just right to jab you on impact. “You okay in there?” Your sweater still rolled up, you laid your knife on your thigh and caressed the taut skin with both hands. “Come on, Thumps, need you to move.” A foot or hand pressed firmly into the injured side. “Okay, okay! Point taken! No more tackling walkers. Ouch, you little gremlin.” With a huff, you adjusted your clothing. You’d have Hershel look you over and check on the baby when you returned.

Wiping your knife on your jeans, you secured it on the sheath and crawled over to the deer. It remained unsullied and perfect to feed your family. It was a clean, quick kill and it didn’t suffer. You were always thankful for those.

“Alright, let’s get this back—” No time to register what was happening before you tilted over to retch violently. “Shit.” You panted, looking away from the mess of bile, water, and undigested jerky. Of course this couldn’t just go smoothly. Once again, the world had decided to fuck you. “At least Daryl beat it to getting me pregnant.” You laughed at your lame joke and laid back against the belly of the deer to catch your breath.

“Fucker.” You growled, angling your leg to kick the man's corpse. The baby moved as you laid there, the slightly ripple showing beneath your coat and sweater. “Oh, hey. I could see that.” You smiled, rubbing your very upset stomach. “Your father is gonna skin me right along with this deer.” You nodded to yourself. Closing your eyes, you took deep, calculated breaths in an attempt to gain control over the nausea.

But when they opened again, it was dark, the sun having fled and the moon bright in the star-filled sky. You groaned as you sat up, checking yourself and the area around you for any signs of walker activity. No bites. Your deer was frozen but whole. Shaking off the snow that had gathered on you, you rubbed your hands together, digging through the pockets of your coat with numb fingers in search of your gloves.

“You good in there, Thumps?”

Nothing.

You had just finished pulling on the second glove before stilling to stare at your round stomach hidden beneath your coat. “Thumper?” You had grown so accustomed to the baby reacting when you spoke that to feel such stillness made your chest tighten. “Baby?” Swallowing hard, you adjusted your clothing again, shivering when the chill of the night air struck your belly. “Come on, baby, can you move for mama?”

What if the baby had died inside you? Does the virus affect a fetus? What if you carried the baby only for them to be born a walker?

Then there was movement, gentle ripples below the skin. Some that you could see, some that you couldn’t. But the thought remained, a very real terror that your baby could already be dead and just trying to get out.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. You could only jerk your eyes back and forth at the sound of footsteps getting closer.

“Whatcha sittin’ in the snow for, Peanut?”

Now you definitely couldn’t breathe. There, bathed in moonlight, standing on two very there, very functioning legs, was your father. “Dad—daddy?”

“Hey, there.” You sat stock still, sweater still rolled up, eyes still frozen on him as he approached and crouched in front of you. “Let’s get you all fixed up here.” Gentle hands fixed your clothing, zipped your coat, and ruffled your hair.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked with the slightest wobble to your voice.

“‘Fraid so, Peanut-butter.” When the sound that punched out of you was like a painful sob, he was ducking to find your eyes. “Hey, hey. None of that.”

“I miss you.” You sniffled, letting him pull you close with his chin on your head. “There’s so much—”

“I know, baby girl. I’ve been watching.” He pulled back, thumbing away your tears. “Gonna be a grandpa, I see. Daddy wouldn’t have been my first choice but he surprised me.”

“You like him?” You smiled, lopsided and silly, giggling when he rolled his eyes.

“No father thinks any man is good enough for his little girl, but this one? Well, he keeps surprising me.” He offered you a hand, pulling you up with him as he stood. “He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. So you need to get you and my grandbaby back to him before he loses his mind.”

“But the baby—”

“Is fine.” He chortled, gently stroking your cheek. “You’ll be an amazing mama, Peanut.” He was starting to fade right before your eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Don’t go.” You pleaded, hands passing through his shoulders when you tried to pull him back.

“I’m so proud of you.” His voice was echoing, distant even when you could still see his face. “You’ll be fine, all three of you. But now you need to wake up.”

A tear was frozen to your temple, pulling at your skin there when your eyes opened. Snow peppered down from the dark sky, the moon barely visible beyond the clouds. You felt no panic, breaths coming calmly and the baby kicking periodically, even if it did smart when the little extremities connected with the sensitive injury.

You winced pulling yourself away from the deer you knew would be at least partially frozen. The meat would keep, at least. You’d let the men handle the thawing and prepping anyway. The area was dark, no signs of flashlights or sounds of voices. They had either passed you by or never came at all.

It wouldn’t matter in the end.

Because you were going back to them.

Getting to your feet, you gathered your things and prepared to drag the deer. It would likely be about 115 pounds so carrying it was unlikely. You wouldn’t risk leaving it for later retrieval, not when 45 to 50 pounds of meat was likely from that single kill. Hell no.

You had once dragged Daryl while he was soak and wet and he had at least 60 pounds on that deer. This was doable. You just needed to think. Eyes darting around, you let your fingers drum on your tummy while you pondered. With a deep breath, you started to believe you’d just be dragging the damn thing by hand but then you noticed the walker you had put down. Grabbing your knife, you grinned like a damn fool and set to work.

Lori was pacing in front of the door, watching the men prepare to leave. “You should have already been out there hours ago! Before dark, Rick!” When the deputy stood with a sigh, she didn’t back down. “Do you remember when the decision was made to leave Daryl out when he didn’t come back? Who went to get him? What shape he was in when she brought him back?”

“Yes, I remember, okay! I was just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt! She seemed like she had something she wanted to prove.”

“She said four hours. Carol came to you before that because we were about to lose Daryl on a crazy quest to find her.” Maggie was looking at Glenn but then sent a pointed glance to each of them.

“He’s gonna have a lot to say when he finds out you waited, especially after what we had Hershel do.” Carol said from her spot on the top of the stairs.

“What did Hershel do?” All eyes turned to you in the doorway, dropping the straps you had made from the walker’s overalls. It was Lori that made it to you first, her arms winding around you awkwardly with two different sized bumps barring the way.

“Carol told us you had left to hunt and all I could think about were the things I said upstairs.” The other woman’s eyes were wet and sincere. With a smile, you pulled off one of your gloves and wiped a thumb below her eye. You didn’t say anything because what could you say? She had been incredibly insulting to Daryl and you wouldn’t speak for him. Maybe she would get the hint and talk to him eventually. Maybe not.

You looked past Lori toward Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn. "Got a deer and two rabbits." Then your next smile, wry as it was, aimed up the stairs. “What did Hershel do, Carol?” Carl and Beth came thumping out of the kitchen, throwing their arms around you. You hugged them close while your eyes flitted over to the old veterinarian himself walking along the banister from Daryl’s room. You were gentle when pulling away from the kids, tossing a kills are on the porch, have fun at the men while you began your ascent.

Carol fell in step with you.

“Before anything else,” you started, unzipping your coat, “I had a literal run-in with a walker. Hershel, can you—?” You rolled up your sweater, the skin already bruising.

“Has the baby been active?” He asked immediately, probing the area with tenderness while the other hand struggled to place his stethoscope in his ears.

“It’s Nascar in there, I promise.” You felt the baby squirm slightly before they settled again, your eyes on the old man’s face, watching for any concern. You found none and let out a breath when he straightened.

“Seems like all is well. Heartbeat is just fine and it is indeed the Indy 500. You were lucky.” There was a bit of a reprimand in that last statement, one you couldn’t say was unwarranted. Nodding in agreement, you made up your mind that as long as the meat could last until Daryl was on his feet, you wouldn’t venture out alone again.

You then turned to Carol. You had told her to do whatever it took to keep him there, even knock him out. If Hershel was involved, you assumed the knocking out was of a medicational nature. He wasn’t dead, they would have been smart enough to tell you that around people that could restrain you. “Okay, what’s the damage?” You asked from just beside the doorway, afraid to look inside just yet. “Is he tied down?” Carol shook her head.

“He was determined, Y/N. He pulled out the IV, only made it to the stairs before collapsing. They couldn’t get him back into the room, weak as he was, he fought all three of those grown men.” Hershel sighed. “I gave him a very small dose of morphine. It was enough to sedate him without compromising his respiration.”

You groaned. That man was going to verbally rip you a new asshole, but you’d take it with grace because it was going to keep him safe and give him more time to recover. As long as the meat was prepared and rationed correctly, it could last a while. Maybe that would give you a chance to get back on his good side.

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him.

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” You asked, finally rolling your back against the wall to place you inside the room. Daryl was out. You had never seen the man so unconscious, and you’d seen him nearly die. That was a frightening thought. The plus side was that his color was so much better and the rattle in his chest couldn’t be heard until you were much closer. He didn’t stir in the slightest when you sat down next to his left hip, all the way around toward the wall, avoiding the arm with the replaced IV.

“You won’t need to do much of anything. Monitor his breathing and fetch me if it gets too slow. It shouldn’t with the dose I gave him but his body has been fighting a horrific illness, so we can’t be too careful. It’s been a couple of hours so it will likely start wearing off soon, regardless. When he wakes up, make sure he drinks and encourage him to cough. Coughing and keeping the lungs free of mucus and liquid is crucial.”

You were nodding almost robotically, your fingertips just brushing his hair back and forth with no particular rhyme or reason. Just touching him.

“His fever has yet to break but it’s lowered dramat—is she even listening to me?” Hershel finally asked Carol, who chuckled and leaned across Daryl to clasp your shoulder until you looked at her.

“Watch how he breathes, don’t let it get too slow. Only for an hour or so. Get him to cough and drink when he wakes up. Fever has come down but hasn’t broken. I’ll come tell you when to give him more tylenol. Okay?”

You smiled, both embarrassed and grateful. “Okay.” With a nod to Hershel and an eye roll at Carol’s wink, you watched them shut the door.

Your hand on his cheek had to be freezing. They had just said his fever was down but he felt like a furnace to you. Shit. You were still in the clothes you had been wearing out in the snow. Coat, boots, jeans, and one pair of socks were quickly shed, you were in your sweater and leggings with your thicker socks still covering your feet. You’d been gone long enough and couldn’t seem to wait another second to crawl onto the bed with him. He shivered once but settled, his head turning toward you. You thought for a moment he might wake but he remained still.

With a deep breath, you settled yourself against his shoulder so that you could look up at his face. “I know you’re going to be mad as fuck at me, and I get it. You have a right to be and I won’t tell you otherwise. I was careful, I promise.” Your palm settled on his chest, feeling his heart lazily thump against it. “I have a—well, it’s just a bruise. Hershel looked at it. Thumper’s okay. I’m okay.” Why were you even talking? He was sound asleep. “I didn’t like being away from you while you were so sick. I don’t think I would have liked it even if you weren’t sick.”

Your hand left his chest for your fingers to dance along his jaw while you admired just how peaceful he looked. No lines of worry or pain. Just resting, fully relaxed. Seeing him like that just made your own exhaustion compound into something nearly unavoidable. With a large yawn, you snuggled closer and placed your hand back on his chest, counting his breaths like sheep. You knew you were losing the battle to stay awake, a tinge of worry sparking to life in your chest until you felt him move, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. He wasn’t so sedated that he couldn’t move.

Sighing, you smiled and finally let your eyes drift closed. “I love you.” You whispered, too far gone to react when the hand sporting the IV came to rest on top of yours.

“Me too, crazy girl.”

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justawritterwithideas · 1 year

Text

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ next part ✩

summary: Spencer and Y/N meet in college after a book search, creating a friendship where opposites attract. But Spencer has to move across the country to pursue his happiness and completely loses contact with Y/N. What if fate decides it's time to meet after 15 years and with a crazy stalker in between? Spencer won't lose to fate again and will do anything in his power to protect Y/N.

warnings: mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

this will be a small series of chapters so here are the general precautions of the series, each chapter will have its own precautions. !!!

words: 3,909 words.

a/n: hey! here alme with a little series i've been planning for a couple of weeks now. as you may know, i've been talking about the spencer reid x famous!reader relationship but as hayley williams, so i decided to set myself the challenge and write a little series called "boy wonder and the rockstar", so i hope you like it. i haven't planned how many chapters it will have yet but i don't want to make it too long, and also patience with each chapter. so, I don't want to make it longer and I'll leave you the first chapter. thank you. ♡

𝟎.𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲.

Spencer always lived under the stigma of being a child genius. His I.Q. was 187, he could read 20,000 words per minute and had an eidetic memory.

Everyone around him told him what to do, from his mother, to his "friends," to his teachers, to his neighbors.

"Hey Spencer, with that brain of yours you could make it in the government" "Spencer you could be part of NASA" "Spencer you could be a mathematical genius like Einstein!" "Spencer you're going to get into the CIA!"

"And where are you going to go to college? Because you know Harvard is already a lock for you" "I bet you'll go to YALE, that's where all the smart ones go" "Princeton is an excellent choice for you!" "MIT could open a lot of doors for you"

Spencer this, Spencer that.

But no one really thought about what Spencer wanted. Maybe he wanted to be a magician and make children happy with his tricks. Maybe he wanted to be a trapeze artist, or a fireman, or an astronaut, or just an ice cream man.

All these expectations of Spencer reached a point where he didn't even know what he wanted in life. He lived under the shadow of the expectations and visions people had placed on him, and he didn't want to let them down. He was just a kid, a kid scared of adult life who had to impose himself because others imposed it on him.

That's how his brain made him skip grades, have to enter high school at age 12, and have to suffer a lot of abuse from the grown-ups for just being a boy genius.

Spencer sometimes wished he could make his brain disappear and have a normal one. Then he could have normal friends, go to a normal school, have a relationship, experience the problems people his age have, and be able to feel the phases of adolescence like any other kid.

But things were not like that.

He had to live the life he had been dealt, with his genius brain and the damn adult problems at 13.

CalTech was a new life he had to accept, but it wasn't as bad as the one he had before. His mind was kept busy for a long period.

He was forced to grow up around books full of equations, chemical elements and mathematical problems, managing at 16 to get his first college degree, which was Mathematics, and the following year to get a PhD in it. But he did not dislike this.

But as they say it is never enough, he kept on studying until he was 21. Thanks to this, he became a doctor of two more degrees, Chemistry and Engineering, in addition to Psychology, Sociology and Criminology.

His social life at the university was not so hectic, in fact, he only stood out for the fact that he was a boy genius, and that was it. To other people, he was a person like any other.

Until one autumn day, in the middle of his 19 years and studying psychology, his paths were interrupted by crossing that of others, and that, probably, is the person who changed his life the last years of college.

It was an ordinary day in the university library. Spencer had been rereading an encyclopedia of human anatomy for two hours. Why you may wonder, well, it was his way of killing time during his free time.

Acquiring knowledge was the best way to keep his brain fed and occupied, according to the boy.

He had eaten his sandwich a couple of minutes ago and let his brain feed on information at that moment, trying to persuade his intrusive thoughts at that minute. Through the pages you could see the muscular system, focusing on the leg and foot areas.

To be honest, it looked quite interesting.

That day, leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, filling the ground with their autumn colors; there was a gentle cool breeze, a strong smell of wet dirt and people were crowded in the warmer areas of the campus. It was no surprise to anyone that the library was one of the most crowded areas, the vast majority of people were gathered around the tables as large college texts lay open on them.

Spencer was sure he had seen more than one student curse at the fact that they couldn't find what they were looking for, and then walk out of the room in exhaustion. It wasn't the first time someone had cursed his name because they found themselves reading the text they were looking for and, besides, they weren't able to approach and ask for it.

He could believe it was cowardly on their part, maybe they were too shy to be able to do it or it was an excuse to put off studying what they were looking for. Even though he considered that the The study methods they had were not very good and, if they started studying earlier, they could increase their grad-

"Excuse me."

A voice interrupted the conversation Spencer was having with himself, pushing away his intrusive thoughts that were beginning to take over his mind. The young man's head turned and he saw a girl, perhaps his age, staring at the encyclopedia in front of him.

"I asked Miss Wellington about the Rouviére and Delmas encyclopedia of human anatomy, and well..." The girl looked over Spencer's shoulder. "She told me that maybe the boy sitting at the back table had it. There are no other tables in the back and you're the only guy sitting here, so I think my deduction is correct and you have it."

"Y-yes, this is the encyclopedia you're looking for." Spencer admitted, looking at the young woman.

More than looking at her, he was admiring her. She was wearing a red skirt and hoodie with some embroidered words on it, her legs were also wearing dark leggings and some rather damaged black converses, over it she was carrying another coat and a backpack; her arms were loaded with medical and anatomy books, plus her hair was disheveled.

"Great! Must be my lucky day that a cute guy has it." Her books fell onto the table and she sat down next to Spencer.

The boy could smell the scent of tobacco and mint mixed with the scent of cherry perfume.

"May I see?" Spencer turned to look at her and, even though he was reading that book first, his head nodded. "Fine! I just want to see..." The sound of the leaves was rapid, as if a fan was moving them. "This... Nervous system."

Suddenly, and as if by magic, a notebook appeared in front of them both and quickly the girl was beginning to write on the blank sheets, even though to Spencer it looked more like a scribble than a resume as such.

"Shit, what is this?" the girl paused to read more closely. "In the central axon, the electrical signal is converted into a chemical signal, and then releases the chemical signal with chemical messengers called neur-neurotransmitters." The sound of the pencil falling on the table made the boy startle.

"Nervous system?"

"That's right, I have a lecture in three days and I'm still trying to associate concepts in the nervous system. Like my nervous system isn't nervous anymore."

Spencer chuckled to himself, the girl had a funny sense of humor.

"In fact, when the brain interprets that we are in danger, it produces a rush of adrenaline that activates the heart and muscles to place them on alert, but if prolonged, it can lead to health problems such as cardiovascular disease like heart attack and is associated with hypertension and arrhythmias and is the enhancer of other cardiovascular risk factors." Spencer turned to look at the girl, who looked quite interested in what he was saying, jotting everything down in her notebook. "But it's not that your nervous system is 'nervous', it's that it interprets that it's in danger and so it sends that kind of stimulus to your body that makes you anxious."

"I see you know about the nervous system, much more than I do." The girl scanned him from head to toe. "Are you a medical student?"

"No, CalTech doesn't have a medical degree, but I am a doctor." The boy admitted.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Shit, and you already have a doctorate?"

"Actually I have three."

Silence stretched between the two, caused by the woman's shock.

"Are you some kind of alien or is your brain too big that it stores more information than I can retain?"

"Well, I have an IQ of 187 so I can read 20,000 words per minute, plus I have eidetic memory. But I prefer the concept of being more advanced than others."

The girl stared at him.

But to his surprise, the young woman only let out a giggle.

"You're funny, I like it." No one had ever told Spencer that he was funny. In fact, he thought that adjective didn't directly relate to him. "I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"Spencer...Spencer Reid." Y/N denied.

"No, you're not Spencer."

"Excuse me?"

"You're Dr. Spencer Reid." Spencer smiled, she was right. "Well, it's nice to meet you, dr. Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Miss L/N." They both smiled.

"Well, now that I know your name, dr. Reid, we can start our friendship."

Spencer never thought making friends was so easy, even though he knew it was because the girl had gone to the trouble of calling herself his "friend," without even knowing him.

But that didn't bother him, in fact, he found it nice that someone had decided to be his friend.

Overnight, Spencer's evenings began to become more colorful, smelling of tobacco and mint, and filled with questions from Y/N, his new friend.

Although, at first, Spencer didn't seem comfortable around the girl, he quickly got used to it. He had learned several things about Y/N over the days, such as that she was a medical student at Pasadena City College, a college a couple of blocks from CalTech; she was the youngest in the family and had an older brother who had been diagnosed with leukemia a couple of years ago.

He had also learned that she was very into fashion, lived in an apartment complex nearby, smoked a couple of years ago, and only liked menthol tobacco cigarettes. Her favorite color was orange, but she didn't think it looked good on her, and she didn't see herself going to medical school, but she wanted to be a singer.

The first time Spencer heard Y/N sing was during a kermes in Pasadena City, she had been invited to sing on behalf of the medical school. Spencer never liked the idea of being around so many people, let alone at a kermes which was as unsanitary as possible, but his new "best friend" had begged him to go.

He couldn't say no.

He remembered perfectly how her hands shook with nerves, how she bit her lip as she cleared her throat and watched her bandmates, aka Y/N's other friends, rehearse with their instruments.

He knew she had practiced for this moment a bunch of times, had more than once arrived at Spencer's dorm wet from head to toe from running in the rain after a rehearsal, and hummed the songs under her breath every time they studied together in the library.

She was more than ready, but her own fears sometimes made her afraid of her talent.

Reid's eyes were on her, smiling confidently to convey that feeling as a guitar began to play the first chords, and announced the start of her performance.

Spencer didn't know what song it was, he wasn't even sure if the song was to his taste, but when he heard Y/N's voice he knew it had become his favorite song.

“Her name is Noelle

I have a dream about her, she rings my bell

I got gym class in half an hour

And, oh, how she rocks

In Keds and tube socks

But she doesn't know who I am

And she doesn't give a damn about me”

Their gaze was on each other, as if they were the only ones in that large space. The few times the eye contact was broken was when Y/N closed her eyes.

The song ended successfully and an avalanche of applause greeted Y/N, who thanked the audience for their attention. Soon another band filled the stage and for a few seconds, Spencer lost sight of Y/N. He wanted to tell her how great she had turned out, how all her effort and practice had made everything come out perfectly and that she looked like a total rockstar on stage.

"Spence! How was it, did you like it?" Y/N hugged the boy's arm, who turned to look at her with a sweet smile on his face.

"It was amazing, Y/N. Everyone loved it." Affirmed the boy.

"I was so nervous, I was so afraid it wouldn't go well, but I saw you there, and I felt like I could do it. You're my lucky charm, Spencie."

Spencer felt something jump in his chest.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm dying for some corn-dogs." Said the opposite.

"Y-yeah, let's get something to eat, my treat."

The day Spencer was accepted into the FBI academy was probably the most bittersweet day of his entire life.

At 22 years old, and in the middle of finishing his college semester for what felt like the fifth time, a letter arrived in his dorm room.

A letter of acceptance.

He could feel that all his hard work had been rewarded by whoever was up there. He quickly put on his sneakers and ran a marathon to the medical building at Pasadena City College.

His best friend's short red hair he could quickly visualize as he saw her smoking by the entrance, she seemed to be listening to something on her MP4 and bobbing her head to the beat of-who-knows-what song.

"Y/N! Y/N!" Spencer's voice sounded agitated, trying to get her best friend's attention.

The, now, redhead removed her earpiece and turned to see the tall boy running towards her.

"Spence?" From her mouth came the tobacco smoke, causing her to let the cigarette burn between her fingers.

"I made it, I got into the academy!"

The two big hazel eyes made contact with those of the girl, who dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and hugged her friend tightly.

"I can't believe it, Spence! You did it! You did it! My goodness, I couldn't be prouder!" The younger girl began to do some jumping jacks as she didn't let go of her grip on his embrace.

"Thank you, Y/N. I couldn't have done it without you, you were the one who stuck with me through this whole process."

"You don't have to thank me, dorkie. I knew you'd make it, they couldn't leave out a genius like you." Soon they both disengaged from the embrace and the girl looked at the boy's face. "W-where is the academy? Tell me."

"I don't know, I-I didn't fully read the letter." He admitted embarrassed.

"Then read it! Go on." The girl took him by the arm and forced him to sit down on the faculty stairs.

Slowly, Spencer began to read the letter while Y/N listened intently to every word.

"The course begins on September 23rd of the current year in..." A pause.

Y/N looked at Spencer, who had stopped reading the letter.

"Where, Spence, what does it say?"

"The course begins September 23rd of the current year in Quantico, Virginia."

Y/N felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dropped on her.

Quantico? That was on the other side of the country!

"Q-quantico? Spence, that's on the other side of the-"

"Country, I know Y/N. I-I... I can't do it, I can't."

"What the fuck are you talking about!" The girl stood up startled, looking accusingly at her best friend. "No, I refuse. You have to do it, it's your dream, Spence! What you've always wanted for the last three years that I've known you, I refuse to let you back down now, I won't allow it!"

Spencer looked up from the letter, watching Y/N who was looking at him with her face burning with anger.

"You know I can't do that, what's going to happen to my mom? You know what's going on with her and her schizophrenia, I can't leave her alone."

"She would want you to go, Spence. Her happiness is where yours is, you know she'll be able to do it, there are plenty of options to help her." A long silence settled between the two of them.

Spencer didn't want to leave California, he didn't want to leave his mother or Y/N, he couldn't.

"Spencer Reid, I know what you're thinking right now, but I won't let you let this opportunity pass you by. You have dreamed of this exact moment for years, for as long as I have known you you have always wanted to go to the academy and you have done everything in your power to do so. Now they are offering it to you on a silver platter, you have to do it, there is nothing more you can do here in California. You've already studied all the existing careers in the world, you've already done what anyone in 50 years would have done and at your short 22 years you're already a doctor of three careers." The girl settled back down beside him, letting her icy hand wrap around Spencer's warm one. "You can't just limit yourself to staying here just because you have an engagement, the world has to know who Dr. Spencer Reid is like I know him, you have to go."

Spencer drew an elongated smile, feeling his body fill with that feeling of sadness that pervaded him from head to toe.

The redhead's words were true, it was his dream. But he didn't want to leave the only thing that made him happy on the other side of the country, he would love to carry it in his pocket to Virginia and have his dose of serotonin after each day.

He didn't want to stop smelling her tobacco and minty breath, the cherry smell coming off her clothes and the blueberry smell coming off her hair. He wanted to keep seeing the reddish locks of hair on his clothes and the cheesy paper notes in his pockets every time they met. He wanted to keep listening to the music on Y/N's MP4 every time he went to her apartment and drink coffee with lots of sugar that she made for him, keep hearing her voice in the shower and get biology questions at three in the morning every time she had a test.

He wanted to go to thrift stores to try on printed T-shirts and watch Y/N's camera fill up with pictures of the two of them, keep going to her shows with her band and eat frozen pizza after every gig.

He wanted to keep being with her.

But if she was letting him go, then he had to let her go too.

"I think I can go on living without hearing your bad jokes." Spencer's words lifted Y/N's spirits, who gave him a playful smile.

"Hey! My jokes are the best, last time you laughed for two hours."

"Because it was stupid."

They both laughed, letting the tension of the moment go with the last echo of their laughter.

"So you'll go across the country to make me proud?"

"Yes, I'll go make you proud."

Y/N's arms wrapped around Spencer's body, resting her head in the space of his shoulder and chin.

"I'm glad you didn't make a dumb decision."

Staying here with you isn't a dumb decision, Spencer thought.

They both pulled apart.

"Well, screw the skeleton. Let's go to the library and write your answer."

The girl's small hand imprisoned the boy's large hand, guiding him to the library to write what would be Spencer's fate.

The flight from California to Washington was five hours.

Five hours where Spencer and Y/N would be separated, and they would have to accept that fate had something different in store for the two of them.

Despite California being a sunny paradise, that day he wanted to keep the two friends company as they said goodbye at the airport.

"You already know my number, you know you can call me whenever you want." Commented the girl, who was in charge of carrying the book she had given him to read during the trip.

"I'm not such a fan of technology, you know that."

"There are pay phones over there too, Spence. It only costs a couple of cents to call me, plus they must have landlines there, and you have my email." The girl stopped in front of the door that separated goodbyes with new beginnings. "And if not, you can send me a letter. You know my address."

"A letter doesn't sound bad at all, in fact, for centuries, it was one of the most widely used means of communication by human civilizations since man began to write and whose importance transcended nations. The oldest courier service ever found was in Egypt in 2400 B.C. and in 1840, Sir Rowland Hill created the first postage stamp, which was called Penny Black, which was a profile drawing of Queen Victoria of England that had the rate 'One Penny' written on it."

"Oh Spence, I'm going to miss your fun facts about absurdly boring things." Commented the girl before she could hug him.

Spencer felt his heart clench.

"I'll miss you listening to me." They both turned in an embrace so tight it could take all the oxygen out of their bodies.

Neither wanted to be the first to say goodbye, neither was ready to leave the other. Their hearts were bound together like puzzle pieces, and just as when you lose one, the puzzle will no longer be complete.

"Now, you must go, your flight is about to leave." Y/N commented, separating from the young man as she wiped away the small tear that escaped from her eyes. "Miss me a lot, huh? And show off how pretty your best friend is."

"Always. Remember that wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you're with, you'll always be in my heart."

A pout settled in Y/N's mouth, who felt like she was letting a part of her go with Spencer.

"Don't forget about me, because I will never forget about you." Demanded the girl, who was pushing the boy to go for his flight.

"It's impossible for me to forget you, I have an eidetic memory." He said laughing, waving goodbye as he received the book the girl handed him.

The two met in a final embrace, where Spencer could smell the girl's cherry and menthol tobacco scent for the last time.

"Write me!" Y/N vociferated, waving goodbye to the boy who nodded and disappeared behind the airport doors.

Y/N and Spencer didn't know that at that moment fate would place them on trial, causing their paths to diverge for many years until, magically, they would come together again.

“When two souls are meant to meet, fate brings worlds closer, erases distances, joins paths and defies the impossible.” Anonymous.

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x famous!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #it's my first series #almeseries

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angelicyoongie · 1 year

Text

Abundance (XIX)

— summary: You never expected that you would end up adopting a hybrid, and if someone had told you that you would end up with seven? Well, you would have thought they were crazy. But here you are, with three different packs of hybrids that don't get along – but all want to stay with you. Yeah, it turns out crazy is an understatement.

— pairing: hybrid bts x human f!reader — genre: fluff, angst, smut — warnings/content: explicit sexual content! handjob (lol), mild sub!tae vibes — word count: 8.3k Part: I / II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / Find more chapters here!

Early access to chapter 20 and 21 can be found in the author’s note at the end!

You squirm, grumbling in your sleep, as a hot puff of air hits your throat. Twisting your head to the side does little to deter the ticklish sensation, something soft brushing along the slope of your neck.

The comfortable weight resting over your hips won’t allow you to flip over on your side to escape, but you’re too warm and cosy to bother opening your eyes to find out who’s keeping you trapped.

You’re being scented gently, almost timidly, and it slowly begins to lull you back to sleep.

The tender motion of someone nosing at your throat and nuzzling against your skin in the morning has become familiar to you by now, as it’s a certain bunny hybrid’s favourite way of waking you up.

The weight on your middle shifts, and you reach blindly for long soft ears as you mutter out a slurred, "-Jeongguk?"

You get a short, petulant whine in response, a set of sharp canines nipping at your throat.

"I’m not a bunny."

The bite isn’t hard enough to break skin but it startles you all the same, any chance of falling back asleep washed away as you blearily open your eyes. You blink once, twice, as the halo of deep orange blocking your vision begins to shift into focus.

Taehyung’s messy hair is falling into his face from where he’s perched over your hips, his hands resting besides your shoulders, caging you in. He peers down at you with dark, unreadable eyes, fox ears flattened to his head.

"Tae?" You murmur, drowsy and confused.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand, tiredly rubbing your eyes. It feels like you’ve awoken from a long coma, your body heavy with exhaustion.

The last week has been intense to say the least, all the work you missed by helping Seokjin and Jeongguk with their ruts practically being shoved down your throat the moment you stepped back inside your office.

You’ve been pulling sixteen hour days for a week to catch up, only coming home to sleep and wash up before hurrying back to the firm. It’s been miserable and you’ve missed the boys terribly, but the hard work has thankfully paid off. All of your less important cases have been dealt with and now you have the entire weekend off to spend time with them.

Taehyung's face twists at the sound of his name. His voice is meek, little more than a whimper, as he asks, "Are you disappointed that it’s me? If you’d rather have Jeongguk here, I can go get him."

The look Taehyung gives you makes your heart ache something fierce, the little distance between the two of you suddenly feeling much too far.

"What? No, Taehyung, of course not!" You scramble to push yourself up on your elbows, shocked that he would ever think so.

You reach up to gently cup his face in your hand, smoothing your thumb across his cheek as you try to catch his gaze. Taehyung leans into your touch, a sad pout pulling on his lips as he noses against your wrist, breathing in your scent.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours before he looks away, his shoulders hunching with hesitation as he quietly asks, "Show me?"

It hits you then, just how inattentive you’ve been to the other boys after Seokjin and Jeongguk’s rut passed. You were intimate with one pack and then practically disappeared for a week. It’s no wonder Taehyung feels insecure, you haven’t been able to reassure him or his instincts that you want him just as much as the rest.

The realization feels like a punch to the gut.

You should’ve seeked him out sooner to make sure he was okay, to make sure he felt wanted, especially when the incident with Jeongguk and the weasel hybrids is still such a fresh wound.

"Oh, Tae," You let out a quiet breath, covering the guilt simmering under your skin with a tender smile. "I’ll show you as many times as you need me to."

You slowly guide his face towards your own, your fingers following the curve of his jaw until you have your thumb pressed against the mole on his lower lip.

Taehyung's ears do a curious twitch as you gently pull on the flesh, parting his mouth to make room for your own. His breath hitches as you lean in, a sweet little eager sound leaving his lips as you press a chaste peck against them.

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed as you kiss him again, his cheeks flushing pink as you murmur a soft handsome into his skin. The fox hybrid’s tail swishes happily back and forth behind his back as you pepper light kisses everywhere you can reach, from his jaw to the tip of his nose.

Taehyung chases after your mouth when you draw back, capturing it in another kiss. He immediately tries to deepen it, tongue brushing against your lips in hopes that you’ll let him in. You willingly part them, licking into his mouth as the fox hybrid melts against your body, his stomach vibrating with low content purrs.

You curl one hand around Taehyung’s neck, cupping the back of his head as the other settles on his shoulder, pulling him closer.

Taehyung lets out a soft moan as you kiss him with a little more intent, more passion, too distracted by your lips to notice how your eyes flutter open. He doesn’t seem to mind that you awkwardly throw a leg over his back, the duvet impeding your full range of motion.

The wet smack of your lips disconnecting as you pull back makes the simmering heat in your belly flare up. Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow as he loses your touch, his rosy lips puckering subconsciously as he blindly seeks you out.

You can hear the telltale signs of a whine building in his throat but before he can get too upset, you tighten your hold around his body, using the leg you have over his hip as leverage to flip him over.

Taehyung stares up at you with big eyes as he finds himself pressed against the bed. His orange hair is splayed around him on your pillow, looking messy and wild after your wandering hands.

The pure surprise on his face makes you giggle.

You peck his cheek, pulling back just in time as your hands settle on his waist, fingertips lightly tickling his sides. Taehyung jerks forward, a burst of laughter leaving his mouth as his brain catches up with what your unrelenting hands are doing.

"Y/n, ah–!" He wheezes, squirming on the bed as he tries to escape from the light touches fluttering all over his torso. A mischievous grin settles on your mouth as you realize the leg around Taehyung’s waist is keeping him trapped, the fox hybrid having no other option but to endure your tickling.

Taehyung’s bright laughter fills your bedroom, the infectious sound making you join in as you watch him attempt to shimmy away from your wiggling fingers.

He squeaks as you find a particularly sensitive spot on his stomach, his tail whipping wildly against the bed. The array of snorts and cackles that Taehyung lets out is like music to your ears, the insecure and vulnerable look in his eye nowhere to be found as they scrunch up with laughter.

There’s a new glow to the fox hybrid’s golden skin when he manages to capture one of your hands, trapping it against his chest. He flashes you a bright grin as you futilely try to yank it back, using the moment to catch his breath after your intense onslaught.

You pout, zeroing in on his exposed neck. As you shift your weight, ready to lean forward in hopes that tickling his neck will free your trapped fingers – Taehyung seems to read your mind. Something wild flickers in his gaze before he surges up, the sudden burst of energy throwing you off balance. In a flash, you find yourself back where you started, Taehyung once again hovering over you.

Your attempts to wrestle him back down are useless, his limbs rooted in place even as you try with all of your might to flip him back over. Your struggling does little but get rid of the duvet, the thick blanket kicked aside as you squirm and huff under Taehyung’s body. His bare legs are flush against yours, warm, as the heat from his skin seeps into yours.

"Tae," You whine, finally flopping down with an exhausted sigh as you realize you have no chance of overpowering him.

"What?" Taehyung tilts his head, blinking down at you with faux innocence. His ears are standing straight with attention, twitching with every little sound you release.

You give him an unimpressed look, eyeing how his tail lazily swishes behind his back in victory.

Taehyung snickers, his expression melting into something a bit more smug – pleased, as he takes in your ruffled appearance. "You’re the one that wanted to play. It’s not my fault you’re a sore loser."

You roll your eyes, suppressing the smile tugging at your lips.

"Well … You’re too strong! Frankly, it’s a little–" You raise your hips up in an attempt to flip him again, your brain stuttering as the movement causes you to bump against something hard, "–unfair?"

Taehyung lets out a soft moan at the contact, eyelashes fluttering as he ducks his head.

"Are you…?" You trail off. Your cheeks grow warm at Taehyung’s weak nod.

"It’s my instincts," He admits in a low whine, arms flexing as he digs his fingers into the mattress. "I can’t help it. You were acting like prey, uh, squirming around like that. "

You hum under your breath, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you rub your hands up Taehyung’s arms, feeling his muscles strain under your touch.

You have to admit that Taehyung getting turned on by your little wrestling match is, well, hot. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him being affected by his instincts but the fox hybrid seems to think otherwise, his ears pulled back in shame.

You simply refuse to allow him to think so lowly of himself.

"Can I touch you?" You ask. You slowly drag your hands up from Taehyung's arms to his chest, resting your palm above the harsh thud of his heart.

"Do you really want to?" Taehyung’s dark eyes shine with uncertainty as they meet yours.

"Yes."

You keep your gaze locked on his, making sure your intent is clear as you raise your hips just enough to brush against his hard cock.

Taehyung’s arms wobble at the contact. A low keen leaves his mouth as his hips jerk automatically, chasing your body for more friction.

Your circle one arm around his back, pushing between his shoulder blades to bring him closer. Taehyung scrambles to comply, making room for himself between your legs as you pull him into another kiss. He moans as your hand trails from his chest to his stomach, the light scrape of your nails making him shiver.

The short second you pause as you reach the waistband of Taehyung’s shorts has him breaking away from the kiss, panting against your mouth as he whines out a desperate please.

You steal a peek at his face, just to make sure he’s still okay as your hand slides under the elastic and the sight that greets you almost knocks the breath out of your chest.

Taehyung looks wrecked. His skin is flushed, burning hot, eyes glossy with want as he rasps out another plea for you to do more.

His mouth falls open as you lightly rub the head of his leaking cock, hips buckling as you reach down to grasp him properly. The cramped angle is a little awkward but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind it, whines and moans filling the air between you as you pump his length.

The slide of your hand is loud, lewd, in the otherwise quiet room. You thumb at his leaking tip with every upstroke, collecting the steady dribbles of precome in your hand to make the glide easier.

Taehyung moves against your fist, whimpering, as your slick palm forms a hot and wet hole for him to thrust into.

"S-so good, fuck," Taehyung growls as you tighten your hand, squeezing around his throbbing cock. He dives down to recapture your mouth, the kiss sloppy and hungry as he nibbles at your lips.

You’re hot and flustered, dizzy almost, from having Taehyung so close. You can’t see his cock but you can feel it – how sensitive it is, how well it responds to every little thing you do. You swallow thickly at the steady stream of whimpers leaving Taehyung’s mouth, the fox hybrid following your lead so well it drives you a little crazy.

When you stroke faster, Taehyung snaps his hips quicker. When you tighten your hold to massage the base of his cock, he slows down, whimpering but complying. He’s just so eager to please.

It makes your mind stray places it shouldn’t, heat pooling in your belly as you wonder just how obedient he can be for you. Lost in thought, your grip grows a little slack, and the steady pressure around Taehyung’s frantic thrusts disappears with it.

The fox hybrid’s body stutters, a distressed chirp leaving his lips as he mouths over your cheek.

"Y-n, please, please–"

"Sorry, Tae, I got you," You whisper.

You slide the hand on his shoulder to the nape of his neck, burying your fingers into the soft orange locks there. You tug lightly at his hair, increasing the speed and pressure around his cock.

Taehyung’s stomach tenses with every brush of your knuckles against his skin, his release so so close.

Taehyung nudges your head back, biting into the delicate skin on your throat with more force than normal. He soothes it immediately with his tongue, the wet drag leaving a delicious sting behind.

"You’re doing so well for me, Tae," You breathe, choking on a moan as he repeats the action with even more fervour. You can see his tail swishing madly behind his back, high keens filling the back of his throat with every stroke of your slicked fist.

Taehyung is trembling, his whole body taut as he strains to keep up with your hand.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, confused, as another flurry of choked pleads suddenly falls from his mouth. There’s nothing stopping him from coming, and yet he’s holding back – waiting – for something.

Taking a leap of faith, you use the grip on his hair to angle his head up, bringing his ear close to your mouth. You press a sweet kiss to his earlobe, tightening your fist around his cock before you murmur out a quiet, "Good boy."

Taehyung’s head snaps back with a gravelly, desperate moan as his body tips over the edge. His hips stutter as he grinds into your palm, shuddering as ropes of come spill from his cock.

You relax your grip, gently stroking him through his release as another spurt drips past your fist, pooling on your stomach. The sensation makes your core throb.

You tamp down the urge to grind against the leg Taehyung has pressed against you, forcing your gaze to wander from his blissed out expression to the dull colour of your wall instead. This was about making Taehyung feel good, wanted – your own needs can wait.

Taehyung’s head lolls back down as you release his cock, lightly trailing your fingertips along his shaft one last time before you let your hand fall away. His breaths are heavy, chest heaving as he tries to recover from his intense orgasm.

You tuck Taehyung's face back into your neck, smoothing your fingers through his hair and scratching at the base of his ears as you wait for his breathing to slow down. He nuzzles into your skin, happy rumbles trickling from his chest as he noses against the marks he left there.

"How do you feel?" You hum.

"‘m feeling good," Taehyung mumbles against your throat, his bushy tail giving a few lazy flicks against your leg.

Your smile quickly morphs into a grimace as you shift a little to your side, noticing how the wetness on your stomach has started to cool. You gently nudge at Taehyung’s waist, pressing a peck to the side of his head as you say, "Let me clean us up a little."

Taehyung lets out a small whine in protest, but another nudge has him tipping sideways, rolling on to his side. You reach out for the tissues on your bedside table while Taehyung curls an arm over your chest, pulling himself flush against your body.

Making quick work of the sticky substance on your skin, you turn to Taehyung, gently cleaning him up as best you can while he happily scents your shoulder.

You bunch the tissues up, throwing them in what you hope was the thud of your trash bin.

Turning back to the fox hybrid plastered against your side, you bring a hand up to frame his face, kissing him softly. Taehyung melts pliantly into it, letting you keep the rhythm unhurried and tender as you both wind down.

A few minutes pass of Taehyung being putty under your lips before he suddenly jerks back, eyes big as his ear twitches in the direction of your door.

He listens to the footsteps coming up the stairs, a sheepish smile blooming on his red-bitten lips as he confesses, "I was supposed to come and wake you up for breakfast."

You snort, shaking your head as Taehyung grabs your hands to haul you up.

"You can blame it on me," You grin, smoothing out Taehyung’s sleepwear to the best of your abilities. You both really need to get cleaned up and changed before you see the rest of the boys for breakfast.

Taehyung leans closer, his dark eyes sparkling with sincerity as he murmurs, "Thank you, Y/n."

"Always," You smile.

Taehyung surges forward to plant a wet smack against your cheek, giggling at the startled sound you make as he scoots off the bed. He hurries to the door, throwing a bright grin your way and a rushed "hurry downstairs!" before the door clicks shut behind him.

You throw a fond look at the closed door as you get out of bed, happy that you accomplished your goal. You know it'll take more to make sure Taehyung feels confident in your relationship, but you hope it’s a start on the path to make him feel secure and loved.

Letting out a small sigh, you grab a change of clothes from your dresser. You have a lot to make up for, with both him and the rest of the guys.

You shuffle across the room, twisting the door open as you bend your neck, satisfying little pops cracking in your ears as you try to loosen up the tightness there. Your head is nearly touching your shoulder when you find yourself face to face with Yoongi, the cat hybrid tilting his own accordingly until he meets your eyes.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows, amused.

You straighten your neck, rolling your shoulder back as you ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks.

"Stretching," You pout.

"Why? Are you tense?" Yoongi steps closer, curling a slender hand behind your neck. He frowns as he gently digs his fingertips into your muscles, eyeing your expression as he skillfully massages the sore area.

You feel your eyes flutter as he reaches a particularly sore spot.

Maybe you strained your neck a little too much with Taehyung, but how could you not devour those pretty pink lips when they were right in front of you?

"Ah," Yoongi muses, tilting your head, "I guess this is why."

You suck in a breath as he presses his thumb against one of the fresh marks on your throat.

Yoongi lets out a displeased rumble as he studies the faint bruising blooming on your skin, tail flicking with annoyance behind his back. The grip around your neck tightens just a smidge, just enough to lock you in place as he leans in.

Yoongi regards you with narrowed eyes, pupils pulled into thin slits as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. It almost makes you feel like a scruffed kitten, like he caught you doing something naughty.

"I wanted to see what was taking the fox so long, but–" Yoongi’s nostrils flare as he sniffs around your neck, a low hiss sounding under his breath as he moves lower, a particularly potent smell lingering near your stomach.

"Mystery solved, I suppose."

Yoongi’s lip curls as he draws back, ears falling flat against his head. He looks miffed at the discovery of what you and Taehyung were up to, but you can tell that’s not all there is to it. There’s a layer of hurt there too, a hint of sadness in the heavy breath he lets out.

You twist a hand into the soft knit Yoongi’s wearing, tugging at it.

Yoongi’s tail swishes at the contact, his mouth forming a soft pout. The fingers on the back of your neck twitch, like he isn’t sure he should keep holding on to you or not.

"Talk to me?" You ask softly, dragging him a step closer.

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath, his posture slumping as he instinctively leans towards your warmth.

"What?" You whisper.

Yoongi looks away, words a little jumbled as he mumbles, "I missed you."

"Yoongi..." You breathe, reaching out to cradle his face.

You really didn’t expect to have your heart crushed twice in one morning.

You pull him into a gentle kiss, smiling against Yoongi’s lips as he holds you still, the steady grip on your neck not letting you move an inch. It’s slow and sweet, the way he parts your lips, slotting them perfectly against his own.

You let your hand explore the strong curve of his jaw, the softness of his pale cheeks, everything you didn’t have time to map out the first time you kissed.

When you eventually have to lean back to breathe, you ghost your lips over Yoongi’s, hoping he can feel the sincerity in your words as you say, "I missed you too, I really did."

"I’m sorry I haven’t been around much this week. Work has been rough, but I shouldn’t have let that come in the way of us spending time together. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect right away, but I am going to try my best to balance everything a little better."

"Y/n," Yoongi shakes his head with a small sigh, "You’re doing good."

He presses a quick peck to your lips, levelling you with a look as your mouth purses in silent protest.

"You’re working hard to house and feed us, and yeah, sure, it sucks that you can’t be at home as much as we’d like, but we understand. No one else has ever put as much effort as you are into making sure we’re happy and comfortable, so don’t worry too much about us, okay? Just, focus on yourself first. That’s all we ask."

You melt into Yoongi’s embrace as he wraps his arms around you, muttering out a wobbly okay.

He holds you securely against his chest, tucking his nose into your hair to breathe in your calming scent. Yoongi never thought he would experience a scent that soothes him as much as Jimin’s, that smells like home – but yours do. The thought alone is enough to calm down the jittery edge that’s been clinging to his instincts for the past week, low purrs rumbling in his chest.

You rub your face into Yoongi’s sweater, discreetly trying to wipe away the tears prickling in your eyes. You will do better, you’re going to stand by your promise – but still, it’s comforting to hear that they don’t hate you for spending so much time away from home recently.

"You feeling okay?" Yoongi slowly releases his hold, stepping back to look you in the eye.

"I’m fine," You murmur, clearing your throat of the thickness lingering there.

Yoongi hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"Go get ready then, I’m sure the others are dying to see you."

"Y/n, where should I put this?"

You glance up, squinting against the sun to make out Namjoon’s outline through the rays of light.

"Anywhere will do, Joon. Thanks for grabbing it for me," You nod in the direction of the other garden tools, brushing the dirt off your hands as you flash him a grateful smile.

"My pleasure," Namjoon grins, tail swinging happily behind his back.

You watch as he turns, blocking the light momentarily as he hefts the bag of soil more securely over his shoulder, biceps straining under the black t-shirt he’s wearing. Judging by how buff Namjoon looks, it seems that the workouts they’ve been trying to rope you into doing with them have been paying off, the sight of a particularly prominent vein in his arm causing your mouth to run dry.

You swallow thickly as the wolf hybrid places the bag on the ground with a soft grunt, the flowers in front of you long forgotten.

"Be careful, Y/n-ie, otherwise you’ll catch flies."

Blinking, you quickly avert your gaze from Namjoon’s bulging muscles, whipping around to stare at Hoseok.

"W-what?"

The dog hybrid gives you a knowing look from where he’s kneeling on the ground next to you. There’s a teasing smirk adorning his lips, his golden tail wagging with newfound interest.

"Shut up," You murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own. You fumble for the handheld shovel on the ground as Namjoon walks over, flustered that Hoseok caught you ogling his pack alpha.

The wolf hybrid plops down on your other side, ears perked as Hoseok lets out a low snort.

"What’s up?"

You pointedly do not look at the sculpted, tanned arm that reaches out for the hand rake in front of you, throwing Hoseok a narrowed gaze as he cheerfully says, "Nothing much. Y/n was just really enjoying the view."

Namjoon makes a confused sound, the empty flower bed you’re sitting in front of not offering much besides the large bay windows looking into the living room. He tilts his head back, watching the sparse fluffy clouds drift by, the sun on his back wrapping around him like a warm hug.

"The sky does look pretty today," Namjoon agrees, oblivious to the death glare you’re giving his packmate.

"Sure does!" Hoseok chirps.

His tail hits the grass with quick thuds, clearly enjoying the flustered state he’s put you in. Hoseok’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he continues, "Y/n, I’m sure Joonie would love to hear what–"

"Wow, look at these pretty flowers!" You interrupt him, face growing warm under the smug smile you get in return. You busy yourself with dragging the cluster of nursery plants closer, avoiding Hoseok’s gaze as you push the small shovel to his chest.

"We should get them settled into their new home while the sun is still out, don’t you think?"

The reminder seems to snap Namjoon out of his cloud watching, the wolf hybrid letting out a startled, "Oh, right!" as he turns back to the plants. He’s too busy trying to figure out how to use the garden rake to notice the fond looks you and Hoseok send his way.

You bite your lip, stifling a giggle, as you wonder how you ever could’ve thought of Namjoon as intimidating. It’s hard to picture the calculating gaze and imposing presence you felt at the shelter when the hybrid in front of you is just so – cute.

Namjoon is hunched over the bed, making himself small in front of the delicate flowers as he attempts to crumble the soil for them. A wrinkle appears between his brows as the tool only grazes over the surface, his grey ears twisting back in confusion when it doesn’t work.

Gently, you reach out to take Namjoon’s hand in yours, turning the rake over in his grip. The wolf hybrid perks up when he once again tries to drag it over the hard soil, the tines actually digging into the ground this time. Namjoon’s tail begins to wag as he rakes the soil, a soft look of wonder on his face as old, buried roots come to the surface.

You know the boys haven’t had it easy in the past, but you really hope that the new experiences they make with you can lessen that hurt over time. You really haven’t met anyone – human or hybrid – who are as good as they are, and you’ll be damned if you don’t try your best to make them happy. And if gardening can do that for Namjoon, then you’re willing to convert your bedroom into a greenhouse if that’s what it takes.

Your heart skips a beat as you take in the pure joy shining on Namjoon’s face as he fluffs up the soil, his fingertips stained with dirt. You can’t help but lean in, chest tight with love as you plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you for helping me," You smile, heart fluttering as he sends you a bright grin in return, dimples on full display.

"Of course," Namjoon preens, chest puffing out as he digs into the soil with even more energy than before.

A low whine has you glancing to your left, Hoseok giving you his best pout as he tilts his head, angling his cheek in your direction.

The intense scenting and kissing session you received before breakfast honestly left you in a bit of a drunken daze, your mind scrambled after trying to keep up with five needy hybrids. You know that’s why Hoseok refused to let up on his teasing before, it isn’t often he can do so without you returning the favour, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let him get away with it now that the spring air has started to clear your head.

You send him a puzzled look, feigning ignorance as you mouth a confused 'what?'

Hoseok stares at you, dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, as you turn back to the flowerbed with a small shrug.

You have to tamper down a smug smile of your own when Hoseok seems to catch up to what you’re doing, whiney grumbles being muttered under his breath as he realizes you’re ignoring him in retaliation for earlier. You’re not cruel, it’s not like you can deny them kisses for very long, you’re just, hm, saving it, as reward for when he finishes digging up his part of the bed.

You watch him begin to shovel out of the corner of your eye, tuning out his weak complaints as you focus on your own patch. Namjoon’s excitement is infectious and you honestly can’t wait to see how the garden is going to look once you’re done with it. The old owners didn’t care for it much, letting most of the plants rot and wilt away, but you don’t mind that too much. The new garden is going to be something you’ve created together with the boys, and it’s going to be so much more satisfying seeing the space blossom and thrive the more love you collectively pour into it.

"This is such a mess," Hoseok sighs. He eyes the flowerbed distastefully as he flips over another spot of old dirt.

"Hmm," You lean back, tapping your shovel against the soil as you pretend to think, "I wonder what made it so messy? Surely it couldn’t have been because of two grown hybrids stomping around in it, trying to spy–"

"Tae!" Namjoon suddenly calls out, neck splotched pink with embarrassment.

A few slow seconds pass with no reply, Taehyung nowhere to be seen. Just as you’re about to nudge Namjoon to tease him for trying to divert your attention, you hear the sound of pattering feet rushing over the grass, a series of high pitched barks calling out from the other side of the garden.

You watch, stunned, as a copper fox runs straight into Namjoon’s arms, squirming around in his lap until the wolf hybrid gently hugs it to his chest. It yips as if asking him to play, giving his jaw a few quick licks while it rubs his snout all over Namjoon’s neck.

"Not right now," The wolf hybrid shakes his head, amused, as he lovingly pets the thick, orange fur.

The fox – Taehyung, your mind unhelpfully supplies a little late – gives a low snort, clearly unhappy that his alpha won’t indulge him right away.

His fox form is just as pretty as you remember. Taehyung has a long rich orange fur that fades into white near his stomach, his bushy tail sprinkled with black hairs that make the copper look even more vibrant. His pointed ears and small legs are dipped in black, his body agile and nimble as he somehow manages to slip out of Namjoon’s strong hold like it’s nothing.

You hold your breath Taehyung as immediately scurries over to you, tail swishing as he flops down on the available patch of grass between your knees and the flower bed. He rolls to his back, looking more like a dog than a fox as he gives you a little wiggle, waiting to be pet.

"Like this?" You ask, carefully burying your hand in the soft fur on his belly. Taehyung seems pleased as you begin to run your fingers through the silky hairs, low purrs vibrating in his stomach as you marvel at his pretty fur.

"Look at our handsome boy," Hoseok coos. He reaches out to rub the narrow space between Taehyung’s fox ears, laughing as one of his hind-legs twitches in response.

Taehyung looks blissed out from the attention, panting happily as you rub his stomach. You haven’t seen this side of the fox hybrid since the first time at the shelter, and it warms your heart that he finally feels comfortable enough to shift and let go even with the other packs around.

You scratch Taehyung’s chin, grinning as you playfully say, "Do you know your hyungs are trying to use your cute little face as a distraction for ruining our flowerbed?"

Namjoon smiles sheepishly as the fox gives you a high, confirming yip in return.

"It’s working, so I guess I can’t be too mad about it," You sigh, shaking your head in amused exasperation.

You keep petting Taehyung for another minute until he seems to grow bored of it, his attention span a bit more fleeting in his shifted form. He rolls back over on his stomach, clambering up on his legs before he shakes his fur out. You’re not even sure if that’s something foxes do, or if he’s just picked it up from Hoseok and Namjoon over time.

The fox walks a few laps back and forth, following the paved border along the bed as he sniffs at the freshly turned dirt. Hoseok notices the longing glances his packmate sends the disturbed soil, aware of his own instincts begging him to shift to dig around in it.

He pats the ground to make Taehyung rush over to him, running a soothing hand over his spine as he gestures to the spot he abandoned his shovel. "There’s this root I can’t get up, it’s buried pretty deep, do you think you can get it for me?"

You can practically see Taehyung’s entire body immediately honing in on the patch Hoseok pointed to, his tail swishing behind him in unbridled excitement. His ears are perked, focused, as he crouches low, belly to the ground.

His body tenses before he suddenly rushes forward, pouncing on the spot of dirt. He starts eagerly digging at the ground, scraping away the layers of soil surrounding the root in a few seconds. Taehyung has the entire thing uncovered in no time, his pointed snout shooting down to gnaw at what must’ve been roots from an old tree. His sharp teeth glint in the sun as he excitedly attacks the wood. A cracking sound fills the air as he chomps down on it, Taehyung's body going taut as he leans back, using his weight to pull it up.

For a second the fox hybrid looks frozen, the root giving him more resistance than anticipated, but then it just gives – and Taehyung stumbles back, pulling out a root as thick as your arm from the dirt.

"Well done, Tae," Namjoon beams, his chest rumbling with pride.

You cheer alongside his packmates, amazed that Taehyung managed to get rid of it that quickly. You shudder to think how many hours you would’ve been hacking away at it if you had to remove it yourself.

Taehyung drops the root, yipping excitedly as he jumps around in the soil. He lets you all get in a few pets and a smooch between his furry ears as thanks before he shoots off, impatient to explore the rest of the garden.

Smiling, you watch him scurry off, a streak of orange disappearing across the garden and into the thicker foliage near the back fence. Taehyung saved you all a lot of work, so now that the flowerbed is tended to and clear of anything that might impede the growth of the new plants, you can finally add in the fresh soil.

"Hobi?" The dog hybrid’s head whips around as you call his name, eyes hopeful.

"Can you help me with that bag of soil? I can’t lift it on my own."

You dust your hands, ready to rise up on your feet when Hoseok jumps up, gently pressing on your shoulder to make you stay seated on the ground.

"I’ll get it!"

"Wait, it’s heavy–" You turn around, warning tapering off as you watch the dog hybrid effortlessly heft the bag up in his arms.

Stunned, you watch as Hoseok carries it over without problem, no trace of a struggle visible on his face. He doesn’t make a sound as he picks up Namjoon’s rake, slashing the bag open before he spreads the soil as evenly as possible over the bed.

Not even Namjoon, with his prominent muscles, looked this unbothered when he carried the bag for you earlier. You could tell he at least felt the weight of it on his shoulder, but it doesn’t seem like Hoseok registers it at all. You know that hybrids, regardless of their species, are genetically modified to be stronger than humans – but even so, the sight of Hoseok lifting a fifty litre bag of soil like it’s as light as a feather leaves you dumbstruck. There’s clearly a lot you still don’t know about the boys, and you have no clue how Hoseok has managed to hide that amount of strength away in his lithe build.

"That’s, um, thank you," You stare up at Hoseok, a little lost, as he crumples up the empty plastic.

"No problem!" He grins, ears perked as he resumes his spot. "Can I have a kiss now, too?"

"Hmm, well, you did help, so …" You kiss the cheek that Hoseok keenly presents to you with a soft giggle, making sure to add another peck to the corner of his mouth in apology for teasing him earlier.

Hoseok’s small dimples are carved into his cheeks when you pull back, the heart shaped smile turning your insides to mush.

He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, subtly brushing his wrist against your neck as he pulls back, making sure his happy scent lingers on your skin. Hoseok knows all too well that you can’t smell it or find comfort in it like the others, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying.

"Y/n, where does this go?" Namjoon holds up a budding flower, the faintest hints of purple showing through the closed petals.

"Anywhere you think it’ll look nice," You smile. "I picked out plants and flowers that all thrive in the shade, so the placement shouldn't matter too much."

Namjoon lights up at that, his grey tail beating up a storm behind his back as he launches into describing where he thinks each plant would look best. He must’ve been thinking deeply about it while he was turning over the old soil. Seeing how enthused he looks as he places them all out, you wonder if he would enjoy learning more about it - maybe it would be possible to sign him up for a flower arranging course in town? Or a few lessons online? You’re definitely going to mention a few options to him later.

"That looks pretty, Joonie," Hoseok compliments as his pack alpha finishes his positioning, small clusters of colourful flowers divided up between a variety of green plants.

You echo his sentiment, already picturing just how lush and beautiful the flowerbed is going to look once everything sprouts and grows.

"Thank you," Namjoon’s shy gratitude is filled to the brim with pride, the wolf hybrid beaming as he begins to dig the spot where the first flower will go.

You hunker down in front of your own designated area, digging up the patches Namjoon marked for each new plant. There’s something tranquil about the fresh soil slipping through your fingers as you carefully pat down the dirt around the new flowers, a gentle calm settling over you as you listen to the welcoming tune of a faint birdsong in the distance.

You joke around with Namjoon and Hoseok as you plant the new flowers, happily listening to the boys retell what they’ve been up to for the past week. Namjoon in particular has taken to exploring the neighbourhood and the surrounding areas more, though you can’t quite figure out why he seems so bashful to admit it.

Before you can even think to ask, you’re interrupted by Taehyung running back over for more pets, the fox hybrid looking like he’s been rolling around in any available patches of dirt he’s come across. You can only watch, amused, as he’s gently scolded by Hoseok for getting so dirty, his whines only growing when Namjoon joins in too.

"Hey!" Namjoon sputters as Taehyung sneezes him in the face, showing off his displeasure before he scampers off in the direction of the backdoor.

Hoseok barks out a laugh at Taehyung’s cheeky retort and you have to cover your face as your snort, muffling the sound to the best of your abilities. You pretend you don’t see the narrowed look Namjoon gives you as he wipes his face, humming as you let your attention drift to the other boys hanging around the garden.

Seokjin and Jeongguk are huddled near some bushes by the fence at the back, arguing loudly about what the correct type is. You just wanted to know if it would flower, but based on how long they’ve been slapping each other’s necks, you don’t think you’ll get a definite answer to that today.

You roll your eyes as Jeongguk wrestles Seokjin into a headlock, the bunny hybrid grinning victoriously as Seokjin lightly punches his stomach in retaliation.

Jeongguk’s smile falters as he glances up, meeting Jimin’s gaze from beneath the big tree in the middle of the garden. You watch as the hand Jimin was carding through his tail jerks, a small hiss carrying over the grass as he accidentally tugs on the delicate hairs.

Blushing, Jeongguk averts his eyes, loosening his hold on Seokjin in order to make the alpha jump back up, blocking Jimin from view as he squeaks about his packmate being a brat.

This new thing between Jeongguk and Jimin is certainly interesting, to say the least. It doesn’t seem like the others have caught on to the strange tension that’s been growing between them ever since that night you found them huddled up on the couch together, limbs and tails intertwined. It has clearly left things between them awkward though, even if you’re not sure why. They seemed cosy enough when you stumbled across them and the friendships between the packs have been improving, but perhaps they need a bit more time to accept the sudden shift between them.

Your gaze falls to Yoongi as he yawns, his dark eyes squinting disapprovingly up at the shade that has fallen over his resting spot. You were surprised when you first came outside to find the cat hybrid in his shifted form, a purring Yoongi wrapping himself between your legs for some pets before he eventually went off to take a nap somewhere hidden from view. He’s been steadily moving his way around the yard as you’ve been working, finding new spots to rest undisturbed.

Now though, you hold back a coo as the fluffy black cat slowly gets to his feet, stretching out his long body before he moves a little further into the garden, plopping down in the first patch of sunlight he finds. He curls into a little ball, delicately tucking his tail under his chin to bask in the pleasant spring warmth.

You watch as one of Yoongi’s ears twitches, twisting towards the house, before you even manage to notice Taehyung yourself; the fox hybrid back in his human form as he quietly moves across the garden.

Taehyung approaches Yoongi’s resting figure carefully, eyes wide with wonder as he takes in his shifted form for the first time. He stops in front of Yoongi, orange tail swishing with interest behind his back as he slowly sinks to his knees.

You can barely make out one of Yoongi’s eyes cracking open to watch him, tail flicking with what you can only assume is annoyance at having his fifth nap interrupted.

Taehyung’s hands are folded in his lap, voice soft as he reverently says, "Hyung, your fur is so pretty."

Yoongi watches Taehyung silently, pinning the younger hybrid under his gaze. He looks at him without blinking and you find yourself holding your breath, mirroring Taehyung subconsciously as the cat hybrid thinks - considers something.

You’re not sure what you were expecting – for Yoongi to hiss maybe, definitely for him to just get up and leave – but he does, well, neither.

After a few tense seconds that feel horribly long, Yoongi simply just slides his eye shut, his tail stilling under his chin as he lets a gentle mrrp fill the silence between them.

"Are you sure?" Taehyung gasps, eyes lighting up as he reaches out, hand hovering over Yoongi’s back for a final confirmation.

"Oh," You whisper, just as Hoseok sucks in a low breath behind your back. The scene in front of you has captured the attention of everyone in the garden, five pairs of curious eyes watching the unusual interaction unfold.

Yoongi lets out another soft sound, something you can only describe as akin to a stuttered purr, to let Taehyung know it’s okay to touch him. To pet him.

Taehyung looks enthralled as he lightly strokes Yoongi’s silky fur, fingertips barely even grazing the cat hybrid at the first few touches. He grows bolder when Yoongi repositions his head to get more comfortable, petting the alpha with a little more intent as he drags his fingers from the top of Yoongi’s head down to his lower back.

He just looks so happy, so content, as he continues to pet Yoongi to his heart’s desire.

The sight truly makes you a little emotional. With how the boys acted when they got to the house, there was a point where something like this seemed more like a distant, unattainable dream than a possible future. Even though they eventually agreed to get along, there was never a promise of friendship, or closeness. There was never anything that alluded to this.

You can hear Hoseok’s tail wagging at the sight, matching the grey blur of his pack alpha's in front of you. Seokjin and Jeongguk have calmed down too, the bunny hybrid resting his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder as he watches Taehyung and Yoongi with wide eyes.

They all seem pleased, at ease, to watch Taehyung take another step towards befriending Yoongi. Like it was just a matter of time before someone took the leap to start bonding between packs.

Well, almost everyone.

Jimin is silently seething beneath the tree, his dark eyes glued to Taehyung’s hand as it touches Yoongi over and over, and over again.

It's his expression that trips you up the most, the intensity there all too reminiscent of the look you saw him sporting earlier. You noticed it as they all rushed to greet you after you came down for breakfast – the way Jimin's face soured as he picked up traces of both Yoongi and Taehyung's scent on your body. He kept throwing odd looks their way, a permanent scowl on his face as he bit into his toast.

His displeasure was clear as day when Taehyung had reached for something across Yoongi's plate, their arms brushing together. The thing was though, Jimin wasn't watching Yoongi. During breakfast, he kept staring Taehyung down, lip curling whenever the fox hybrid touched someone.

You didn't recognize it then, but you do now. You can see it in the way Jimin’s tabby ears are pulled flat against his hair, strained hands clutching on to his fluffed up tail in what looks to be a painful manner. His eyes keep tracking Taehyung as he touches Yoongi, never wavering anywhere else.

It's jealousy, and it's practically rolling off him in waves.

The thing that confuses you the most however, is that while Jimin looks green with envy, you can't quite tell what's actually upsetting him more – the fact that Yoongi is allowing Taehyung to pet him, or that perhaps a tiny part of him wishes that he was the one getting touched by Taehyung.

a/n: Chapters 20 & 21 of "Abundance" are available on ko-fi! You can find them here: https://ko-fi.com/s/e95005a91d

so uhm ... hiii? i know it’s been a very long time since the last abundance update (18 months to be exact *cough*) but better late than never, right? it felt really weird returning to abundance after this long. even though i tried my best to recapture the old ‘feel’ of abundance, i still think i have some ways to go before i get fully used to writing this story again! i hope you guys can excuse any scenes that may feel a bit stilted or off while i get to know my characters again. but all of that aside – i’m so happy to be back. i really missed this story and my hybrid boys, and i missed you guys as well.

how have you all been? did you enjoy the new chapter? please come talk to me in the comments (& remember to reblog, that helps me out a lot)!!

the next chapter will be posted in around three weeks time, but if you can’t wait then you can always read it early on my ko-fi! i would really appreciate the support!! 💖

see you all soon, stay safe! <3

#hybrid bts #hybrid!bts #bts x reader #hybrid au #hybrid jungkook #ot7 x reader #hybrid seokjin #hybrid yoongi #hybrid hoseok #hybrid taehyung #hybrid jimin #hybrid namjoon #bts poly au #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut

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mokulule · 3 months

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Almanac - Chapter 4

DP x DC Dead on Main First | Masterpost Note: I made a new masterpost to subscribe to over on my new blog where I organize my writing @mokus-invenstory. Links on the other chapters have been updated, I will still notify on the old post with updates.

Chapter 4 - October 21-22nd, Orinoids Meteor Shower

Training with Fright Knight was an experience.

Jason was no stranger to harsh training regimes, but it seemed like Fright Knight truly had no other duties to attend to. And maybe that was what ghosts did? Find the one thing they were good at and then do it for all eternity? It was exhausting, unrelenting.

Every day he went to the kitchen to find a plate of breakfast ready, thankfully it wasn’t the same thing every day. He wondered if it was courtesy of the Lunch Lady, but he never saw anyone else and the cupboards and pantry were empty.

The mystery of who and how human food came to be here itched at him but as long as the magical castle felt reluctant to even let him get to the kitchen in the first place (he’d yet to walk a path quite the same there) it was something he would have to leave unexplored.

He ate and then as he was done as if summoned Fright Knight would collect him and drill him until he dropped.

The knight treated Jason as if he’d never held a sword before starting basic at stance and simple attacks repeated ad nauseum, with the occasional cardio and strength building exercises. While Jason preferred guns, hand to hand combat and occasionally knives, it wasn’t the first time he’d fought with a longer bladed weapon. His general training meant he could pick up most weapons and use them successfully so he thought it was rather unfair - not that he was fool enough to raise that opinion, this wasn’t the first stern training master he’d served under.

And arguably he didn’t have much experience with medieval style broadswords. So he sucked it up and did as ordered.

There were no breaks throughout the day, no more food. You’d think it was a form of torture that he didn’t get to eat more than breakfast, but Jason, while he got tired, never got hungry throughout the day. Apparently he got the rest of his needs covered through energy diffusion or some shit - assuming he’d understood the king correctly.

His waking moments were repetitive, but he was not bored as such. Not that he was enjoying himself either, but he was busy, occupied. Training and learning new skills were never a waste - he had to tell himself that. But when he laid in the barren room, which he still considered his prison, in those short moments before exhausted sleep claimed him, horror creeped in; horror that this would be the rest of his life.

Another day another drill.

The weight of the practice sword in his hand felt as familiar as breathing after 9 days of non stop practice.

“You are becoming complacent,” Fright Knights voice boomed as always from everywhere at once despite him clearly looming right in from of him.

Jason tilted his head regarding the knight for a moment. He wondered how much sass he could get away with.

“Well you could give me a challenge instead of this,” he returned evenly.

Somehow Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was smiling unseen in the darkness under the helmet.

“Very well,” his voice rumbled like a storm in the distance, setting all of Jason senses alert at the coming threat. His grip tightened on the practice sword.

The knight turned and flew over to set aside the neon green sword he carried at his side in favor of a practice sword in the weapons rack by the wall. For the first time since Jason had seen the knight kneel before his king, his feet touched ground.

He stalked towards Jason, a weight and realness to him now as the armored shoes clanged against the cobblestone. The hair at the back of Jason’s neck stood on end as the air charged with his approach. Every instinct in his body told him to be afraid. Someone with less combat experience might have frozen, Jason picked his guard up and turned so he made a smaller target.

The cobblestone knocked his breath out and his sword clattered across the stones. His ears rang and he could already feel his left eye swelling from where it had met an armored fist. Above him a couple of shooting stars shot across the clear sky in rapid succession before the Knight stepped close. He loomed above Jason and for one horrifying moment Jason thought he would ram the practice sword through him, blunt tip and all.

Instead the knight held out a hand.

Jason wet his dry lips and took the hand. He was pulled unceremoniously to his feet.

“Did you notice what I did?”

Not only did Jason notice that twist Fright Knight had done that had sent his sword flying, he very much felt the way he socked him in the face.

“Yes.” Jason had not expected he’d be dueling something like a fucking Kryptonian, nobody that size had the right to be so fast. The trick to fighting Kryptonians and people of that speed class was more in anticipating their moves rather than reacting to them, and more importantly coming prepared with something to incapacitate them with. Jason had no clue what might be Fright Knight’s weakness, probably wouldn’t be so easy as to laugh at him.

The knight nodded at his response.

“Good, now to counter.”

He then walked Jason through no less than five possible counters, to what was apparently a rather risky move he’d done - had he been alive at least. The counters were well and good, but as long as Jason had no way to counter the speed, the knight could repeat the move at his leisure.

Not that Jason pointed that out. No, Jason practiced dutifully and found himself seeing the stars multiple times that day. He got very well acquainted with the cobblestone. On the seventh meeting with the ground, he thought he saw a glimpse of light from a window high above the courtyard. He could have sworn it was the king watching, but as he got back to his feet and looked back up the light was gone. Maybe it had just been a reflection, a trick of the light from one of the many shooting stars.

Still, reminded of why he was here, his mood soured. Yes, Jason had put himself in this situation, but he’d expected to die for his sacrifice - and maybe that would have been too easy an out, but he’d certainly not expected to be discarded, like the unwanted possession he apparently was.

Resentment curled in his gut. Poor little king never wanting to have been summoned having to take Jason as payment. It was clearly such an ordeal.

Jason snarled getting back to his feet and for the first time he went on the attack. Fright Knight seemed amused, which only egged him on. Jason reached for the All-Blades but of course they didn’t manifest, because in this stupid place not even someone named fucking Fright Knight counted as true evil.

He let Jason wear himself out, disarmed him again, and punched him hilt first in the stomach. Jason crumpled over the practice sword and slid down to his knees, gasping for breath.

The knight considered him for a moment, waiting to see if he would get up again. When he didn’t, he made a minute shake of his head.

“You have spirit, but your mortal trappings do you no favors.”

Jason couldn’t help laughing at that. What was he supposed to do? Apologize for being alive?

“Blame your king.”

Oo o oO

That night Jason dreamt of Gotham, or more specifically of Crime Alley. Dick was patrolling in Jason’s absence, but he didn’t know the Alley like Jason did. He didn’t know of the small shadowed nook in that building that made for a perfect hidey hole. He didn’t see the gun pointed at him, didn’t move until the shot rent the air.

Jason sat up in bed gasping and shaking.

It was a dream, it was a stupid dream. He fumbled automatically for his phone, before he remembered, there was no way to make sure. He was stuck in the realm of the dead. It was a dream, he firmly reminded himself.

Still he shook and couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep. Dick’s shocked face haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

Gingerly he stepped out of bed. Clearly the order to keep Jason alive hadn’t kept the knight from beating him to hell and back. A particularly spectacular bruise mottled the side of his torso in purples and blues. From the twinging pain with every breath there was probably a few bent or broken ribs underneath that.

He walked to the bathroom, where he’d hung his clothes to dry after washing them in the sink. He reached out to touch them to find them cold and damp, a testament to how little sleep he’d managed. He shivered at just the thought of pulling them on, but he didn’t exactly have anything else to wear.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. He needed to move. That gun had been aimed for Dick’s head. It was just a dream, he reminded himself sternly. He needed to pull himself together.

Taking a deep breath he reached for his underwear first, pulling it on with a grimace. Disgusting was not a strong enough word, he thought grimly. He was cold and miserable by the time he’d finished dressing and trapped his damp socks in his boots and tied them.

Dressed, he left the room for the hallways, expecting the castle to give him a good walk around as usual - expect he’d barely walked down two hallways until a door revealed the kitchen. There was a cup sitting on the table in front of his usual place. Curious he walked over to pick up the steaming mug, he put it up to his nose and sniffed it. His eyebrows rose in surprise - hot cocoa.

He glanced around and like always saw no sign of the presence of anyone but himself. He took a sip and amended his earlier assessment with a hum of pleasure, this rich taste could only be hot chocolate. It sat warm in his belly and he found some of the restless energy leaving him. He sat down and allowed himself to relax. He held the cup with both hands and let the warmth seep into his fingers with a sigh.

Maybe the castle didn’t entirely hate him after all.

He sipped slowly, savoring the treat. The hot chocolate was good, it wasn’t quite Alfred’s but-

A wave of homesickness overtook him and he slumped forward in grief. Maybe Jason would manage to escape some day, but Alfred was not exactly young anymore. People died suddenly sometimes, even when they seemed healthy.

Jason wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t check on his family. Not Alfred, not Dick (it was just a nightmare!) or anyone. A mocking laughter haunted him as if from a distance, a memory wanting to drown him. He clenched his fits tight, he wasn’t back there. He was here, property of the ghost king, safe.

Unlike everyone else.

The Joker was still in Gotham. Still alive despite everything, a threat to everyone and Jason was useless.

He was a fucking idiot. He’d sacrificed himself willingly, but he hadn’t expected to have to live with the choice.

Did that make him a coward too? On top of everything?

He stood. He couldn’t sit here. He had to move. Before he knew it he was walking through hallways, uncaring where they took him. Left, right, nothing mattered. He just had to move. He didn’t know how long it he walked until he found himself, breathing heavily, in front of a stairwell. There was something familiar about it. His eyes were drawn to the path down. He’d never chosen to go down before. There was something down there. He took a step forward.

“Jason.”

He froze and spun around at the echoey voice. It felt like all the breath left his body, sucked into the gravity of the king.

Toxic green eyes flicked from Jason to the stairwell. Dark brows drew together in a frown, and the shadows suddenly seemed darker, deeper, like places you could fall into and disappear never to be seen again.

He floated closer. The pressure increased. Jason locked his knees to keep standing. There was a siren blaring in his mind, a scream lasting an eternity. Cold fingers touched his swollen eye soothingly and Jason gasped, a quiet little intake of breath into his burning lungs.

He wanted to move away. He wanted to lean into it. He wanted- He did nothing.

The gloved tips of fingers became the flat of a palm cradling the side of his face oh so gentle. Jason felt wetness in his eyes and blinked. He couldn’t handle gentle right now. His skin tingled and the swelling fell. The king looked at him, green eyes sad.

“Are you okay?”

Was he okay!? Jason ripped away, fury finally breaking the spell.

“The Hell I am!” In his mind Dick’s shocked face, a second from being shot flashed, “my family could be hurt right now, dying-“ a crowbar dragged across a concrete floor, a terrible laughter skittered across his senses, and every hair stood on end- “tortured.”

Jason took a step forward into the king’s space, snarled, “and I can do nothing!” into his shocked face. Playing at innocence, as if Jason’s words were a surprise. As if he didn’t know exactly what he’d done. He had changed the wording, acting like he’d done Jason a great favor. He chose to keep him here, useless, powerless.

He stepped back. Looked at the king with anger gone cold. “Killing me would have been a mercy.”

Jason braced himself for the worst. He’d said his piece. He expected an explosion, a onesided fight, for his brain to melt out his ears, something other than the hollow eyed gaze only vaguely looking in his direction.

The lights flickered and finally the king seemed somewhat present in his body. He looked at Jason with the most neutral face in existence.

“I shall relieve you of my presence, goodnight.”

He flew casually over to the staircase and went up. It was only then Jason snapped out of it.

No! How dare he!

He ran after him, but of course he was gone. The cursed castle made sure of it. Jason wanted a fight and he would not even give him that! He punched the wall with a frustrated scream that cut off into a sob.

“Shit.” He rubbed angrily at his eyes. He was fucking pathetic. Couldn’t even pick a fight right.

Oo o oO

Fright Knight found him in the practice yard, doing drills, sweaty and shaking from exhaustion.

“You are pathetic human, sit down before you fall down.”

Jason glared. “No.”

The knight promptly pushed him down on his ass. “Do not test me. I was tasked to keep you alive. Drink.”

A bottle of water was shoved into his hands.

Mulishly Jason did as he was told. It was only when he’d taken the first sip he realized just how thirsty he was and he had to force himself not to just chug the entire bottle in one go.

Fright Knight watched him with that detached disgust he had for mortal weaknesses, like the need for sleep or in this case sustenance. He was a fucking annoying, stuck up bastard, but-

“Why are you not evil?” Jason asked in frustration, too emotionally worn to consider whether that was a smart question to ask. If he had been evil, Jason could give him a proper fight. Let the knight try to phase through the All-blades.

When no response of any kind came, he looked up. It seemed he had rendered the knight speechless.

Slowly hesitantly the knight finally spoke, “You speak as if you’d prefer that I was evil, yet I was led to believe you are aligned with so called heroes.”

Jason scoffed and looked away. “Not a hero.”

Fright Knight floated down to sit crosslegged in front of Jason, his glowing green sword drawn and resting across his knees.

“I am the spirit of fear itself, I am neither good nor evil, I just am.”

Jason barked a short chuckle, of fucking course. Then, he explained the concept of the All-Blades to the knight; flaming magical blades fueled by the soul and blood of the wielder, only able to be summoned in the presence of true evil. The knight in turn looked very intrigued.

“I would have liked to match my Soul-Shredder to your All-Blades. A glorious bout that would have been…” the knight said wistfully.

“Soul-Shredder is the name of your sword?”

“Indeed,” Fright Knight chuckled maliciously in a way that ran cold down Jason’s back, an effect that was done on purpose judging by the greedy glow in his gaze. Jason felt fairly certain he feed on fear.

The knight raised the green blade between them and turned it to let Jason see every facet with obvious passion. “One cut from Soul-Shredder will land you in a dimension of your worst nightmare.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. No. He refused to think about it. He forced a half choked laugh, “and you claim not to be evil.”

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe if we had met in the previous king’s rule, we could have had a proper match.”

Jason frowned in confusion. “Why would who the King is matter to your nature?”

“Because human,” Fright Knight began, green eyes boring into Jason, “the King is the most important soul in the Realms. His nature affects the very air from which we get our energy.”

“Pariah’s reign was a dark time,” there was an almost nostalgic tone to his voice as he continued, “he sought to conquer, control and enslave and I was his loyal servant, as is my duty as a knight. But Pariah was so bad that having no king at all was a better option than him, and he was sealed away by the Ancients, even if it left the Realms stagnant and disconnected.”

He paused for a moment to let that knowledge sink in.

“Our Phantom is a king who never wanted to rule, and has actively avoided it. It has been amusing to see him grow into the role.”

“And as long a he doesn’t grow into a power hungry despot he will always be better than the last?” Jason asked bitterly.

The knight barked out delighted laughter at that.

“Make no mistake, mortal, Phantom is a good king now, but he is young, still changeable by nature. These years are crucial. But should the worst happen and my king become a despot, as you put it?”

Fright Knight shrugged carelessly. “I will merely do as I have always done and that is to serve my king. I am the spirit of fear after all. It is only my concern now because my king wishes to avoid that fate.”

Leather creaked as the knight tightened the hold on his blade. He looked straight at Jason. Despite no mouth being visible, Jason had the distinct feeling the knight was grinning.

“We may yet have our bout someday.”

And that was chapter 4... nobody is really in a good place here? Except Fright Knight, he's having fun.

Comments are much appreciated <3

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#almanac #dp x dc #dead on main #warning for bad coping mechanisms #Jason is really not in a good headspace #neither is Danny #but he's not our pov character currently

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melobin · 21 days

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behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau #21

✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate

✧ wc. 700

✧. chapter warnings. half smau, half written. there is writing below the texts !

behind the screen masterlist

“how are you feeling?” you looked at sungchan as you fell back against the couch, letting your body relax into the cushions as he sat next to you, hands resting on your thigh.

“tired, confused, shocked” he smiled weakly at your response, your fingers fingering and lacing through his. he looked down at where your hands connected as he played with your fingers.

“do you want to talk about it?“ he looked up at you, the weak smile still on his lips.

“we should” you squeezed your fingers around his “where do you want to start?”

“i’ve been watching merci, you, for a few months, your account popped up when i was looking through sites. i only looked out of curiosity i didn’t plan to stay there but then i saw you and heard your voice and i couldn’t click off. ended up watching almost every one of your streams after that” he sighed and leaned further back into the couch as he spoke “merci just had something no one else did and i was hooked, found your twitter, kept up with your streaming schedule, never had enough to donate to you but i always watched you. i never pieced together that you were actually her though. your bed sheets were different and lets be honest i never once took my eyes off of you in those streams so i never noticed the background” you took in his words, nodding your head whilst playing with his fingers.

“you liked merci enough to create a twitter account and follow only her?” you laughed at your own question, sungchan sounded somewhat amused as he responded.

“i wanted to try and talk to you and i knew eunseok was sick and tired of listening to me ramble on about merci so i decided to take things into my own hands and try and talk to you, i didn’t think it’d work but it did”

“eunseok knew”

“he knew everything, he thought i was dumb for trying to talk to a twitter famous camgirl and thought i’d never get your attention but i proved him wrong”

“oh he’ll be so proud of you now” sungchan laughed at your response, watching you as you continued to look down at where your fingers were connected “what about me?”

“you?”

“i mean, your feelings for me” you looked at him once you spoke, he seemed nervous.

“they started a little before me and somi broke up, i didn’t act on them then because i had a girlfriend and act we we broke up i didn’t act on them purely out of fear. we’re roommates, you trusted me and i didn’t want to ruin that just because i had a crush, i also didn’t know how you’d react so i just never told you. eunseok told me i should’ve but i ended up talking to merci at the same time i wanted to get over the feelings”

“did you get over them?”

“i thought i did but” he squeezed your hand again and sighed, sungchan had always been open and vulnerable with you but this was a whole new level “the moment i saw you when you opened the door they all hit me again, im sorry”

“why are you sorry?”

“i don’t want things to be weird between us”

“sungchan we’ve already had sex i don’t think anything you say can change the dynamic we have” you smiled softly at him, wishing you could reassure him “plus i don’t want you to say sorry, i never got over you either”

“how did you end up liking me?” you shrugged at his question and sighed.

“i never meant to, i guess your caring nature and the things you always done for me took a toll on me and i ended up crushing on you, i tried getting over it mainly because of somi but” you passed and looked at him again, your eyes gentle yet worried, he squeezed your hand again “i don’t want to get rid of them anymore, if that’s okay with you” he smiled at you, smiled brighter than you had seen in a while. his arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you against him, lips pressing against your forehead.

“that’s more than okay, angel”.

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tag list. @midmourn @svnghan @strayghibli @minnieslover @shortnstupid @palchokitty @ilovechanhee @hikict @wccycc @revehosh @teddywook @hoonieq @glaieuls @kvstjwonnie @starrypen @thinkabt-vivi @kyusqult @nanascupid @professsionalsimp @beomgri @xenkimmie @dinosluver @jaehmarks @hellonikitty @wolfiecaro o @luvyujun @rosesfortaro @zhangyixingxing1 @hrts4tyun @forrds @mamathefifth @wonbinkisser @alwayswook @boogyu @haohoonz @wheatrice e @cvpidxo @soobsfairy444 @nadrs @wonbinfiles @tsumusakusa @chichiuu u @bbgmingyu @outrologist @lilriswife4life @https-yeonjun @emoseob @riizenextdoor @h3lluh @shiannprincess101 @lavscene @iselltulips @w0nslvr @vernonburger r @boopdidoo @planethyuka @joshuawifey @dearmyouth @bludzk1llzyuzu @blvm1ng @reenfluffmarshmallow @jnkthy @luh @au-ghosttype @kaykay11sworld

#✧ melody posts #✧ behind the screen #sungchan smut #sungchan smau #riize smut #riize smau #riize sungchan smut #riize sungchan smau

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bosbas · 4 months

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Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Terms Of Endearment // Bradley Bradshaw

Series Masterlist

Summary: They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

Warnings: Will be allocated to appropriate chapters. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin x Platonic!F!Reader.

~ Terms of Endearment Main Masterlist Link ~

1. Matchmaker // Jake Seresin decides to take your love life into his own hands when an opportune moment falls into his lap.

2. Sunny Side // Rooster picks up your daughter from daycare.

3. Pillow Cases // After looking after your daughter for the afternoon, Rooster questions you about the pile of unwrapped Christmas presents in the closet. Your response? Something he’ll never forget.

4. Branded Father Figures // Bradley stays the night only to join in on a tradition Jake Seresin had been keeping a secret. Learning a few things about your past.

5. Christmas Crisis // Jake spends Christmas with his family and is told an ugly fact. Bradley spends Christmas Eve and morning with you and Dot—enjoying the calm before the storm.

6. The Calm Before The Storm // After Christmas lunch at Penny and Pete’s house, you and Bradley venture home. But don’t make it without a hitch.

7. The Clash // When Jaidyn Dolan moved to town Bradley Bradshaw gears up for the fight of his life. Having your back without question.

8. In Shades Of Terror // Things between you and Bradley and you and Jake reach a boiling point when Jake returns home, he finds himself spilling the beans about how him and Bradley knew about Jaidyn being in town.

9. To Build a Home // You’re finally approved for your own home through staff accommodation. But when you find out who your neighbour is you’re at a loss for words.

10. Biggest Stans // We see just how long Jake Seresin as been your biggest stand for and Bradley asked an all important question. If you’d consider moving in with him.

11. Trifecta // Jaidyn’s on a revenge driven path that’s only just the beginning.

12. Chase That Feeling // An unhinged Jaidyn causes chaos as Jake meets a woman who’s willing to put her front foot forward and Bob plays the hero card.

13. Dammed if you do, Dammed if you don’t // Jaidyn takes the games he playing to a whole knee level while Jake and Bradley do all that they can to get the higher ups involved.

14. Unlikely Savours // Jake and Bradley butt heads over what they need to do when Jake gets a call. Everyone’s racing against the clock, to find you and get to Dot.

15. Bringing in the reinforcements // Bob makes a call to someone he knows will be able to help and Amilia stalls Jaidyn to give Jake enough time to reach Dot.

16. It’s been a long, long day // Jake and Bradley reunite after having gone their separate ways. You need surgery and it’s not a good prognosis.

17. Not So Malice Intentions // When you wake up from surgery to find out Jake wants to keep Dot from seeing you for a first days, all hell breaks loose.

18. Cowboys & Apologists // When you wake up from being heavily sedated to a stranger but familiar man sitting in the corner of your room—you don’t take well to the carbon copy of Bob Floyd

19. It’s Personal // A week passes you by and you’re still in the hospital. You miss your daughters third birthday, Bradley goes in to bat for you against the Secretary of Defense and Jake has a run in with an intruder.

20. Yellow Polkadots // In the aftermath of Jakes unexpected intruder, decisions are made that bring you and your baby girl back together. Bradley struggles with a hard interior design decision & Jaidyn gets comfortable in his finale plot to end your happily ever after.

21. Heaven // (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) Discharged from hospital after suffering severe injuries from a near fatal run in with your ex has you high strung and on edge. For good reason too, you should always trust your instincts because no one around you is safe from the chaos that transpires in our final two part finale.

~~ Complete ~~

Concepts & Blurbs

-> Marked // Jake sees the infamous cattle prod mark your ex left behind.

-> Bobby Bear // Robert Floyd left this world too soon. But does Odette see his ghost when she’s a little girl?

-> Lessons in Love & War // On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

-> Bath-time // Bath time isn’t always an easy feat when your little girl is afraid of baths. But they do make for some core memories.

-> Tunder Storm Sleep Overs // With a heavily pregnant wife and a toddler afraid of a raging thunderstorm outside. Bradley kicks into his favourite mode. Dad mode.

-> Easter Time // You don’t have an Easter Bunny—you have an Easter Rooster.

-> The sex positive couple // You and Bradley are busy getting it on when your daughter wakes up from hearing noises in the night. Afraid you’re hurt she calls for you.

-> Baby R // Riley Carole Bradshaw makes her big entrance to the world when Jakes in Texas and Bradley isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a dad twice over.

-> The Eternal Mark // When at the Abbott Ranch for thanksgiving, the sound and sight of a cattle prod has you feeling like you’d been thrown back in time into the arms of the man who swore blind he was going to kill you.

-> From Tooster to Rooster // The first time Odette calls Bradley Rooster and not Tooster.

-> Dots Promise Ring // Odette forever keeps the promise ring Rooster gave to her as a child. But one day she throws it away.

-> The not so real dad dad // Young, dumb and oh so impressionable Odette Bradshaw freaks out after the police show up at a house party she snuck out to. Calling her uncle to come get her didn’t go according to plan.

-> Sticks & Stones // The one where Rooster finds out about the time you absolutely let loose on your daughter during her teenage hellion years while he was on an eight week deployment. And the one you find out you weren’t the only one who kept parenting secrets.

-> Dots Pot // Bradley knows his oldest daughter smokes weed on the roof. I’m an attempt to stay hip with the youth he joins in—only to be left a paralytic on the couch. Outsmarted and out numbed.

-> Fruit of my loins // Odette Bradshaw is full of existential dilemmas about who she is and where she fits in. In an attempt to figure herself out, she goes to see the man who never wanted her in the first place.

-> Brother & Sister love // The dynamic between the Bradshaw siblings.

-> Uncle Jakes second wedding. // Jake has a no kids wedding and Odette isn’t too happy about the situation. Giving him one hell of an attitude about it.

-> Jake & Amilia // A glimpse into the fuck around that is Jake Seresins first marriage to a woman called Ellie who would never be Amilia.

-> Dot & Chase - The Dagger babies // Odette Bradshaw isn’t the easiest girl to get along with, and doesn’t Chase Fitch know that. -> Dot & Chase 2.0

-> What does Odette do for a living? What Nicky & What Riley Do for a living. The Bradshaw’s siblings go leaps and bounds in their respective careers. From soccer players to aviators to lawyers.

-> The Commanders Daughter // Odettes TopGun instructors.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x f!reader #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin series #Bradley rooster bradshaw series #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun rooster #top gun jake seresin

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damn-stark · 9 months

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Sugar

Geto Suguru x Gojo!fem-reader & Choso x Gojo!fem-reader

Summary- Love is a fickle thing isn’t it? Life isn’t so sweet. People are meant to love, lose, and love again; sorcerers like you more than most. You endure pains that non-sorcerers will never experience a speck of in their lifetimes. So much is expected of you not only because you’re a Gojo; a sorcerer from one of the prestigious sorcerer families, but because you were lucky or unlucky to be born special grade as well. All your life you were taught to be one way and follow a path, but remember that pain you get to experience in order to protect the lives of non-sorcerers? Well, that pain gets to you and deviates you down a dark path with Suguru Geto, a man you love, your hope, and the one who stays. Yet that path is dark and twisty, full of surprises that bring life, and loss most of all. When will enough be enough, and will you be able to find that light in a lifetime of darkness you so crave? Will you change your ways after years of defection and thinking you’re right? Do you believe in second chances after what you’ve done?

Moodboard, fighting outfits concepts

Suguru geto x y/n Gojo moodboard, Satoru Gojo x y/n Gojo moodboard, Kento Nanami x y/n Gojo, Choso x Y/N

Chapter 1 Angelfish

Chapter 2 Just a girl

Chapter 3 The first one

Chapter 4 Live for the hope of it all

Chapter 5 Appeasing

Season 2 (Hidden inventory arc)

Chapter 6 Where you are

Chapter 7 The Ballad of Jujutsu sorcerer

Chapter 8 The world’s a little blurry

Chapter 9 Hearing damage

Chapter 10 I’ll know, I’ll know

Jjk 0 Movie

Chapter 11 It almost worked

Chapter 12 Fallen Angel

Chapter 13 It’s over isn’t it?

Chapter 14 Lost in the darkness

Season 2 (Shibuya Arc)

Chapter 15 The start of something new

Chapter 16 The last supper

Chapter 17 Kill of the night

Chapter 18 Happy birthday, by the way

Chapter 19 I’m sorry for your loss

Chapter 20 Intergalactic

Itadori Execution Arc

Chapter 21 But then I found you

Chapter 22 What never was

Tengen arc

Chapter 23 You’re an angel, I’m a dog

Chapter 24 By saying something stupid like…

Chapter 25 Blood, dragons, curses and black holes

Sukuna v Satoru

Chapter 26 Sweet Gojo

Chapter 27 The sun will shine on us again

Chapter 28 A song for us

Chapter 29 Birthday surprises

Chapter 30 Two can be as bad as one

Chapter 31 All through the night

Chapter 32 Our last goodbye

Chapter 33 Haven’t I given enough?

Chapter 34 Two birds on a wire…

Chapter 35 …One says c’mon and the other says I’m tired

Chapter 36 Be the One Fallen from Grace, be Death

Side stories

Wedding bells (takes place in between chapter 10) takes place in 2008 & 2009

Colors of the wind (takes place in between chapter 10) takes place in 2012

Fun trend not so great (before season 2 starts)

The soul (takes place in ch.17)

Satori info page

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.”

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.

#please enjoy this absolute chonk of a chapter #you guys have earned it!#i loooove you!!!!#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick x you #yandere john wick #yandere

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feelbokkie · 3 months

Text

Let’s Fall in Love, IRL | Chapter 20 (end)

pairing: Jisung x fem reader

genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, Pen pals to lovers, friend of a friend to lovers

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: swearing, mention of food, depictions of eating, depicitons of a panic attack

summary: When she was a child, L/n Y/n was in a horrible accident that left her face disfigured. After getting bullied relentlessly by her classmates for her appearance, Y/n escaped to the digital world where she meets Felix. Now an adult, Y/n has be come a complete social recluse, only talking to her 4 childhood best friends and roommates and her only friends. When Felix goes AFK one day in the middle of a game, Felix’s roommates decides to step in. Is this the start a new relationship or will Y/n’s crippling social anxiety get in the way?

taglist: CLOSED

word count: 7,165

screenshot count: 21

a/n: let's go out with a bang

previous | masterlist

"We can go home if you changed your mind. Just turn the car right around." Changbin suggests from the passenger seat.

"This is exactly why you're not driving the car, Bin." You hear Chan whisper.

"So you would force her to go in if she changed her mind?" Changbin says a little too loud.

You're sitting the the back seat of the car, wedged between Hyunjin and Seungmin. Inuyasha lays across each of your laps with his head in Seungmin's. You're parked in front of the restaurant Jisung told you to come to tonight.

The drive wasn't too long, but it was filled with hushed bickering, much of which Chan tried to drown out with music. Seungmin tried to keep your mind preoccupied with random conversation topics or poking extra fun at Changbin while Hyunjin's hand hasn't left the top of your head.

"Y/n, you must be nervous to meet Felix in person for the first time too," Seungmin says quietly as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"Now she's never leaving this car," Changbin whispers under his breath.

"Why would you say that, Seungmin?" Chan groans, leaning his head against the headrest

"Hey, Seungmin, did your parents give you brain damage when they were smacking you around by any chance?" Hyunjin sighs.

"Hyunjin," Chan warns.

"Yeah, probably. But I'm still smarter than you." Seungmin shoots back calmly.

Oddly enough, you're not nervous to meet Felix in person for the first time. Maybe it's because you've known Felix for years. Maybe it's because when you showed Felix your face for the first time, all he did was give you a bright smile and a soft, "Is that all?" And somehow, those three words comforted you so much that you spent the first 30 minutes of the call crying. Which, of course, made Felix cry. That somehow, you knew right then and there that Felix is someone you can keep in your small circle. And if Felix is vouching for Jisung, then maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

"None of that tonight," You let out the breath that you've been holding the entire week while you undo your seatbelt. "The orphan talk might make them uncomfortable because they won't know whether to laugh or cry. And Felix is already sensitive."

"What am I supposed to talk about then?" Seungmin whines as he moves to take off his seatbelt too.

"Oh, so we're doing this. Okay," Hyunjin hesitantly takes off his seatbelt.

"Just use that dazzling personality of yours," Chan suggests as he looks into the rearview mirror, his eyes settling on you.

"That's my entire personality. I've got nothing else. It's like if I poke out Y/n's good eye." Seungmin pouts, leaning back in his seat.

"Seungmin, please do not touch me or my eye."

"I...don't...think you can compare not being able to joke about our upbringing to being completely blind." Hyunjin finally opens his door.

"Yes I can, it's my sixth sense." Seungmin opens his door, letting Inuyasha out of the car before following suit.

"If you want something to talk about tonight, we can talk about the fact that we technically have a stepmom." Changbin huffs before exiting the car.

It's been an issue for the last few days. You mentioned to Seungmin that Chan has a girlfriend and of course, he would not let it rest. He went out of his way to wake both Hyunjin and Changbin from a dead sleep to tell them. The night ended with all three of them yelling at Chan and huffing off to their rooms. They still haven't moved on from it, despite Chan's long explanation at breakfast the next morning. Even you're a little hurt by the fact that he kept it a secret for so long. You know he mostly kept it to himself because of his abandonment issues, but three years is still a bit much.

"First of all, we're not married. Secondly, I explained to you why I didn't tell you guys. Finally, I apologized," Chan quickly shuts off the car and follows the rest of the guys outside.

And just like that, you're left alone in the car. You can feel every blood cell moving along your body as you stare at the restaurant. Except for Jisung, Felix, and their other two roommates, the building is empty. They promised you that much. Both of them reassured you that you wouldn't have to worry about other people the whole night. They rented out the entire restaurant for the night. They told you that their roommate is a chef who will take care of your meal while their other roommate will work as a waiter. Felix even let you meet the other two roommates, whose names escape you right now, during one of your calls to make you feel at ease.

But Jisung is in there.

Somehow, that's more terrifying than if you were going to a crowded restaurant. At least you know that the other patrons would be mostly focused on their meals to pay you any attention. But with this dinner, all the attention would be on you. All of Jisung's attention.

"Did you change your mind?" Seungmin asks bluntly as he sticks his head back in the car.

"N-no," You clear your throat before taking one more deep breath, "Let's go."

***

Somehow, Felix's voice is deeper in person. At least, that's the second thing you noticed. The first, he's taller than you imagined. Maybe because you're used to seeing him through a computer screen, you thought he would be shorter. But he's practically the same height as Chan and Jisung, if not just barely taller. Still, Seungmin and Hyunjin stand above him, making him as small as you've imagined him.

Felix was the first to greet you, running out of the restaurant to hug you. And then, after greeting Chan and your brothers, he whisked you away to some private section of the restaurant where the two of you caught up.

Now that you think about it, he must have done that to ease your nerves. Because now, as you sit across the table from Jisung, you seem to be hit with an overwhelming wave of anxiety. Chan is off in the kitchen helping Minho, a name that Felix reminded you of while you were talking earlier. Like the car ride over to the restaurant, Hyunjin and Seungmin are on either side of you while Inuyasha is spread across Changbin and Hyunjin's laps while he rests his head on you.

Please don't bark.

Seungmin and Felix are deeply engaged in a conversation about...something. You're not entirely sure what they started talking about or when they even started their conversation. Your mind is too preoccupied with other things. Like trying to keep your breathing level while playing with Inuyasha's fur.

But you're acutely aware of everything, everywhere, all at once. The way the fabric of your jeans is rubbing against your legs. And there is a string in your sock that unraveled so much that it's wrapped itself around your pinky toe. You're certain it'll cut off circulation any second. And there is a singular strand of hair that you swear is a needle that is stabbing your face. And all the microfibers of your face mask are rubbing against your face while you breathe. You're certain your face is red from irritation. And your palms are so sweaty, it feels more like you're using Innie as a towel than for comfort. And how the fibers of your sweater feel too scratchy against your back—

For the love of god, calm the fuck down.

But how can you? Jisung is less than six feet away from you. He was less than a foot away from you last time when--

Do not think about that now.

"Here's some water," Jeongin, the name you did remember because his nickname had been the butt of many jokes over video chats, says as he comes up behind you, balancing a tray with water on it. He places one cup at Chan's empty seat next to Seungmin before passing the rest out.

"Wow, In-ah, you didn't drop one," Jisung teases, finally speaking for the first time tonight.

Ba...badum

Inuyasha lifts his head, looking directly at you as your heart skips a beat. You squeeze your eyes shut as you gently pet his head back down.

"I've been practicing," He smirks as he places the last cup in front of Changbin. "Plus, Lino hyung said he's going to fine me if I break anything tonight."

"So you're not going to have your half of the rent this month?" Felix asks, smirking in amusement.

Jeongin's mouth pulls into a tight smile, his eyes turning into two little half-moons as he tilts his head. "Just for that, I'm going to make sure I drop your plate, hyung."

“Cute and scary at the same time. Reminds me of when Y/n gets mad.” Hyun coos at the younger boy.

“Y/n? Mad?” A smile that would make the Cheshire cat jealous spreads across Felix's face. Almost like his new mission in life is to piss you off.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of scary because she never gets mad but at the same time it’s cute. She’ll just start swearing up a storm, using swear words that none of us were aware that she even knew. And then she makes this face...kinda like that,” Changbin points to you. Just as Felix and Jisung turn their attention to you, you relax your face.

“That might be my fault," Felix says, grinning sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Get better at gaming and you won’t be mad all the time.” Han deadpans.

You can't help but chuckle at that comment. Jisung's attention is back on you, blinking as he’s taken aback by your sudden reaction. His blinks are as long and slow as the smile that’s crossing his face. His mouth is slightly parted with just a hint of his teeth sticking out beneath his top lip. A tender smile that’s so simple and yet, somehow so contagious, you can’t help the small grin that appears on your face. You’ve never been more thankful for your mask.

“But she doesn’t stay mad for long and doesn’t hold a grudge,” Seungmin adjusts himself in his seat, just barely turning his back towards you as he leans into Felix and Jisung.“Unlike Hyunjin,”

“Excuse me? You refused to talk to me for three entire months once! Only referred to me as ‘that guy’ or ‘that thing’ whenever you had to talk about me.” Hyunjin stares at Seungmin, who you now realize turned his back towards Hyunjin and not you, in disbelief. His jaw slack and eyes wide as he fights the urge to start another argument with Seungmin.

Seungmin smirks as he leans back into his chair, amused by Hyunjin’s sudden annoyance. “Did I? Oh well, you must have deserved it.”

"He definitely remembers and is pretending not to.” Changbin waved off, trying to distract Hyunjin.

“Yang Jeongin!”

“Oh shit,” Jeongin mutters under his breath as he quickly retreats to the kitchen, nearly knocking over a plant in the process.

You look around the restaurant, taking in the atmosphere. It’s not a big restaurant. It’s more of a hole-in-the-wall barbecue restaurant that happens to be popular. It’s a bit cramped with only eight tables. Each table is situated with its own grill, except for the table that you’re sitting at which has two. You can only imagine how hot when the restaurant is packed. You’re already feeling a bit warm from the grill in front of you being on. Still, you’re excited to actually be out to eat barbecue. You can’t remember the last time you went out and ate at a restaurant. Was it Chan’s university graduation or Changbin’s fire academy competition ceremony? It was some sort of celebration. Maybe a birthday? You’re not entirely sure, you were too anxious to even eat properly that night, let alone remember why you were there. Inuyasha wasn’t properly trained yet so he came along but wasn’t much help.

The restaurant is similar. A few plants to offset the reds and browns from the exposed brick walls. Low lights and kitchen vents hang over the cool, wooden tables. The wood tables at barbecue restaurants never made sense to you. With an open stove in the middle, it always seemed more like a safety issue. No matter how many times Changbin tries to explain it to you, you will never fully understand.

“Make way,” Minho says as he, Jeongin, and Chan walk into the dining area holding plates of raw meat, vegetables, and side dishes. They bring enough out for both sides of the table.

You’re not sure how expensive all of this is. You know it couldn’t have been cheap. You tried to get Felix to tell you something earlier so you could pay them back. He insisted that it was practically free. The owners of the restaurant owed Minho a favor. Still, you aren’t entirely convinced.

“Innie, time to get off my lap,” You pat Inuyasha’s head as Jeongin lights the grill on your side of the table. Inuyasha hops off your lap and sits between you and Hyunjin.

“I’m…not in your lap?” Jeongin freezes, his face turning pale.

“She’s talking to her dog,” Chan explains, laughing at the younger man’s confusion.

“Oh that’s going to get confusing, isn’t it?” Minho asks as he sets up the food at his side of the table.

“Hm,” Han hums as he scoots his chair back in, “how about we call them Innie and Human Innie?”

“Hey, why am I ‘Human’ Innie? Why can’t I just be Innie? He’s a dog!” Jeongin whines as he takes his seat between Minho and Felix.

Everyone, excluding you, can’t help but laugh at Jeongin’s distress as he pouts. Even though everyone else laughs, Jisung’s attention is still on you. Although, you don’t notice this time. Your mind is too occupied with what to do next. You slowly roll your sleeves up before quietly getting your hand sanitizer from your bag. Part of it is that you want to clean your hands after all the sweat and touching of Inuyasha’s fur. The other part is that you need something to do with your hands.

Badum

You’re going to have to take your mask off soon. It’s inevitable. It’ll end up being more awkward if you don’t or if you withhold from eating altogether. You feel Inuyasha settle his head in your lap again as you readjust your sleeves again. You’re not sure if it’s because of the two grills that are on or if it’s just you, but you feel significantly hotter. You rather take off your sweater right now to cool down than take off your mask.

I didn’t think this through.

“Damnit,” Hyunjin mutters beside you. Your eyes shift over to him and Changbin. They must have played a game to decide who is going to cook. Hyunjin mutters a string of swears as he grabs a pair of gloves, clearly a sore loser.

At home, you and Chan are always the ones in charge of grilling. Occasionally Changbin will take over if he thinks the meat isn’t getting cooked properly. Hyunjin and Seungmin, on the other hand, hate the pressure of being in charge of the food.

“I can do that if you want,” You suggest. Maybe cooking is the distraction you need. You’ll be too focused on cooking to get to eat much.

“It’s fine, I got it,” He smiles, playing with the tongs. “What should I cook first?”

“Meat,” Changbin suggests.

“Y/n, Felix, Jisung, any suggestions?” He asks, ignoring Changbin.

“Meat, cook the meat,” Changbin tries again.

“You didn’t want to cook, you don’t get a say in anything.”

“Hey!” Changbin yells, startling Jeongin on the other side of the table.

Chan, holding the tongs and scissors for his side of the table, leans back over his chair. He silently warns Changbin with the scissors before going back to whatever conversation he was having with his half of the table, partly apologizing on Changbin’s behalf. Seungmin puts his hand on your knee, stopping you from bouncing the leg you weren’t aware was moving in the first place. You mumble out a quiet ‘sorry’ as you focus your attention back on anywhere but Jisung or dinner. Seungmin, noticing you’re starting to freak out quietly flips his hand over, offering you his hand. You don’t hesitate to take it.

“Oh wow, he really is like a parent. Reminds me of how my mom is with me and my—Ah, sorry,” Jeongin bites his tongue and apologizes to the five of you.

All of you are used to it. Less people made fun of the fact none of you had parents than people would have you believe. Sure, there was the occasional asshole who would come along and try to use that information against you. But it hurt significantly less than when people would mention their parents and then freeze, almost like a deer caught in headlights. They’re panicking, you know they are. And then they apologize for committing the sin of mentioning the fact that they have at least one parent in their lives. And then they wait. Like you might spontaneously combust or burst into tears any second. Or the back peddling when a classmate would mention hating theirs over something so mundane like taking away their phones for bad grades. Guilt because none of you had parents. It was the universal look that people had when they looked at the five of you. Teachers would always mention something about parents their eyes would always land on one of you. It’s exhausting. When the four of you moved to Seoul to live with Chan, there was a silent agreement amongst the four of you to just refer to Chan as your dad whenever you talked about him. New place, fresh start. It gave you all a break from the looks of guilt and pity until Chan had to come to pick all four of you up from school one day after Changbin got into a fight.

“What’s a parent?” Seungmin questions him, tilting his head to the side “Is it like a TV show or some—Ow! When did you get so strong?”

“What happened?” Changbin asks, leaning over Hyunjin to see what the commotion is about.

You squeezed Seungmin’s hand as tightly as you could to get him to shut up. It might be all the anxiety pumping through your veins right now, but you squeezed tighter than you intended to, causing Seungmin to look at you in betrayal. All you offer him back is a warning look, silently reminding him of what you said in the car.

“My wings have been clipped,” Seungmin rolls his eyes and leans back into his seat, still holding onto your hand.

Hyunjin hovers his hand over the grill, checking if it’s hot enough before putting some shrimp and pork belly on one side and vegetables on the other. “I mean, we technically have a mom—sorry, a step-mom. So we basically have a full set of parents.”

“Hyunjin, don’t start that right now. I said I was sorry,” Chan sighs.

“Get on your knees and bow down if you really are sorry. For three hours,” Hyunjin’s eyes refuse to leave the grill, focusing on cooking, “One for each year you didn’t tell us.”

“His old ass knees can barely handle squats and you want him to kneel for three hours?” Changbin questions.

“New family drama?” Felix asks, leaning in towards you. Jisung does his best to look busy and not listen in on the drama.

“Apparently, that guy over there has been dating one of the doctors at his job for three years and kept it from us.” You explain quietly.

“Y/n, not you too! What do you mean ‘that guy over there?’” Chan groans. Minho takes the tongs and scissors away from him and takes over cooking.

Seungmin starts grabbing bowls of rice from the center of the table and begins to pass them out to everyone on your side of the table. Your hand instinctively wraps around Seungmin’s as you think about having to take your mask off again. The conversation was a welcomed distraction from the racing thoughts in your brain. But a simple bowl of rice is enough to bring you back to reality. To why you’re here.

Calm down.

You’re starving. You’ve been too nervous all day to eat more than a snack and drink some water. But the smell of all the food being cooked around you that’s seeping through your mask is making your stomach growl. You’re almost certain that everyone at the table can hear it. Even the braised eggplant sitting in front of you looks delicious. You dislike eggplant. You don’t hate it like Hyunjin does, you just dislike it. You’re used to it now after years of secretly eating all the foods Hyunjin doesn’t like so he wouldn’t get in trouble. But now, you’re fully considering eating all of the eggplant.

If only you could take your mask off. If only you could muster up all of the courage in the world and just rip it off. Be normal, for once in your life, just be normal. You’re acutely aware that you haven’t said a single word since you and Felix joined the larger group. You also know that Felix pulled you away to talk to ease you into the group situation. You wish he didn’t have to do that. You wish none of this had to be like this. That you could just have dinner with your friends and family like normal. Like everyone else.

For the love of god, please just calm dow—

*Tap*

Your head snaps up towards Felix and Jisung. Felix, unfazed, continues his conversation with Seungmin and Jeongin to notice you looking at him. Your eyes settle on Jisung, who gives you a soft smile. His eyes, so gently yet so full of concern. It’s almost like he could sense you freaking out and tried to draw you out before you started to panic.

You’re aware that Jisung also hasn’t said a single word all evening. Everyone else seems to be doing the heavy lifting of conversing for the two of you. You’re grateful that dinner is a larger group event. You can only imagine how badly it would have gone if it was just the two of you again. You probably would have stayed home.

“Y/n, ah…” Hyunjin says, turning towards you. His eyes are focused on the shrimp at the end of the tongs as he blows on it.

“Hey, why does she get the first piece?” Changbin whines as Hyunjin has his back to him.

“You know the rules, youngest first. You go last, Grandpa.” Seungmin reminds him.

Badum

“Grandpa?” Changbin cries.

Badum

“Yeah, you’re the oldest one on this side of the table so you’ve been promoted to grandpa. Congratulations,” Seungmin smirks, earning a laugh from Felix.

Badum

“I’m going to push your head in the grill,” Changbin threatens.

Badum

Seungmin feigns shock, holding his hand over his mouth. “Isn’t your job literally the opposite of that? How are you still employed?”

Badum

“Report him to the city. I’ll be a witness,” Felix adds, placing his hand on Seungmin’s shoulder, pretending to comfort him.

Badum

“Y/n, hurry up and take it. I know you’re hungry and the samgyeopsal is burning.”

Badum, badum

Your eyes look at the shrimp, and then at everyone else. They’re all in their own little worlds, barely paying you any attention. Chan, Minho, and Jeongin are busy cooking and talking about something trivial. Seungmin and Felix are too busy talking past you, picking on Changbin together. Jisung is now stuffing his oversized cheeks with rice and taking over the cooking. Inuyasha moves his paw to your lap, almost like he’s trying to comfort you.

Badum, badum, badum

Your hand shakily moves to pull down your mask, pausing as your fingertips brush against the thin fabric. You take a few deep breaths before pulling it down below your chin. You freeze for a second, waiting to hear terrified screams or for the world to stop spinning or for the cops to burst through the doors or…anything.

BADUM, BADUM, BADUM

Nothing.

The conversations going on around you continue, uninterrupted as your heart pounds in your chest and ears like a drum. You squeeze your eyes and let out all of the air in your body before finally taking the shrimp from Hyunjin.

“…Mm!” You hum happily, the corners of your mouth turning up into a small smile.

“Cute,” Jisung whispers under his breath. You almost didn’t hear him. Still, despite the drumming of your heart in your ears and the loud conversations going on around you, you heard him.

“CuTe,” Felix and Seungmin tease in unison. Your eyes move to meet a tomato-faced Jisung who is now scowling at the pair of new best friends.

“Oh!” Jisung shouts suddenly, causing you to jump in your seat. Seungmin gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, turning his attention back on you.

Jisung gets up from the table and runs off to the door near the kitchen. Your heart refuses to settle in your chest as he stays hidden in the room. You know logically that you didn’t scare him off again. He’s seen your face, he knows what to expect, but still, your hand moves instinctively to pull your mask back up just as he reappears in the room.

“Dou demo ii you na yoru dakedo

Doyomeki kirameki to kimi mo”

“I love this song! We should go out and do karaoke after this,” Jeongin suggests as NIGHT DANCER plays overhead, quickly forgetting why everyone is there in the first place. Almost like it’s a normal dinner with friends.

Normal.

You bite your bottom lip before slowly lowering your hand, leaving your mask down. Still on edge, you slowly relax into your chair, trying to calm yourself down. “Hanji sings this song really well,” Your voice wavers.

“Hannie sang for you? Wow, he really is cheating on me, huh?” Minho’s hand goes over his chest, miming his heart breaking.

“Hyung, stop it. She’s going to misunderstand,” Jisung whines, pouting at his roommate.

“You’re breaking apart our family, don’t get mad at me. Just think of the children. Yongbok is right there, this could traumatize him.” He adds fuel to the fire, causing Jisung to get more flustered.

“If everyone’s up for it, there’s a karaoke bar not too far from here,” Felix suggests as he takes a piece of the freshly cut meat that Hyunjin put on a plate.

“Actually,” Jisung turns to face you, catching your attention. “Y/n, can we go on a walk after dinner and talk?”

BADUM, BADUM

“S-sure,” You stutter, averting your eyes.

***

“Oh my god, I’m so full,” Han groans as he stretches.

The two of you walk side by side along the sidewalk. It’s cold and dark. Thick blankets of snow cover the streets. The only things illuminating the street are the yellow-tinted lights from the street lamps that line the street and the soft white string lights from various Christmas decorations. The Christmas music playing overhead is louder than it was when you went out with Chan last week. A haunting reminder that Christmas is next week. If you weren’t already done with your shopping, you’d be panicking.

“So,” You clear your throat, “are you going to visit your parents for the holidays?”

Throughout dinner, the two of you relaxed quite a bit. The music and your brothers help to calm you down. Mostly. There were still moments when you would lock eyes with Jisung and he would have a stupid look on his face. Then you’d turn red or drop something at one point, and you got so flustered, that you accidentally put kimchi in one of the wraps you were making for Hyunjin because he was still too busy cooking. You know he’s never going to shut up about how you 'tried to kill him' for the rest of your life. And then Felix began teasing both you and Jisung after you helped Jisung pick up a perilla leaf while talking to Felix. Jisung stopped fully functioning for about 5 minutes.

“Y/n, Y/n, I’m having trouble picking this leaf up, can you help me?” Felix would ask every couple of minutes after the incident, earning a glare from Jisung.

But now, as the two of you walk side by side with Inuyasha, you’re back to being anxious. Your heart is in your throat, drumming straight into your brain.

The talk.

You knew the entire night that this was going to happen. And still, you mistakenly let yourself get comfortable throughout the night and let your guard down. The two of you have to address what happened on your birthday. When your mask broke and he saw your face without any warning.

“…oh fuck…”

Jisung’s voice replays in your head along with his terrified look. Just like it has been every day since your birthday. The same incessant phrase that played in your mind like a broken record. You were slowly forgetting all the good moments from your date, all of them being replaced by that moment, no matter how much you tried to forget it.

“Not this year,” Jisung sighs. “My brother is doing his military service, my dad is on a business trip, and my mother is back in Malaysia helping a sick friend. We’re doing a makeup thing in February when my brother gets home.”

“So then are you spending Christmas alone?” You ask, turning to Jisung. You can see the white puff of his breath in the chilled air.

“No, Felix can’t go home this year so the two of us are doing something the day of. Minho hyung and Jeongin aren’t going home until the 23rd so the four of us are having a mini-party on the 22nd. You can come if you want. Bring everyone, I think Minho hyung loves not being the oldest.”

Badum

“It’s okay, I don’t want to intrude.” You say innocently.

Jisung stops dead in his tracks. You stop walking too, which causes Inuyasha to stop and turn back to you, confused. He turns his full body to you, lightly tugging on your arm. You turn to face him, giving him your full attention.

Badum

“What if I want you there?” He tilts his head to the side, “What if that’s my Christmas wish?”

Badum

There’s a strange air of confidence around him that takes you off guard. And for some reason, it makes you nervous.

“I-I…”

“Ah,” Jisung suddenly crouches down to the ground, clutching his head. “That was so lame, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that, I’m not like that at all. I mean, I want you there but the Christmas wish thing—I am so sorry.”

“Hanji…Jisung…stand up,” You call softly.

“I just like you a lot. It makes me say stupid shit,” He mumbles. “Sometimes I say stupid shit on purpose to make you laugh.”

Badum

“Why?” Your grip on Inuyasha’s leash tightens.

Badum, badum

“Because your laugh is really pretty,” He scoffs like it’s the most obvious answer and you offended him by questioning it.

Badum, badum

“No, I mean,” You dig your foot further into the snow. “Why do you like me?”

Badum, badum

“You’re kind, funny, caring, and you’re good at a lot of things. And you’re smart as hell. Why wouldn’t I like you?”

Badum, badum

You can count all the reasons why Jisung shouldn’t like you on both of your hands. For one, being you is mentally taxing, you can’t even imagine how tiring being with you will be. You feel bad enough that your family has to take care of you. You can’t do simple things like go to the grocery store without being on the verge of a panic attack. How are you supposed to go on dates? And then there’s your overall family situation. The dysfunction of it all. It works for you, you’re used to it. But letting outsiders like Jisung can be a lot too. The five of you understand each other in ways nobody else can understand. In ways you don’t want anyone else to understand. And even if Jisung can withstand all of that, the highs and lows of your mental health, your family, there’s no way he will be able to be with you. The looks the two of you will get when you’re out together. From passersby who will look at the two of you and question why he’s with you. The whispers that are a part of you. The critical stares. You’ve dealt with all that for most of your life and even you can’t deal with it. What makes him any different?

Badum, badum

“I can name one big reason,”

Badum, badum

“Hm?” Jisung hums, standing up and making direct eye contact with you.

Badum, badum, badum

You press your lips together and squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. Your eyes begin to sting as tears start to fill your eyes. You keep your eyes shut, preventing the tears from flowing over. You take a few deep breaths before pulling your mask off. The cool air nips at your lips just before you slowly open your eyes.

Badum, badum

“How could you like me?” You all but shout. “I scared you off last time, what’s stopping you now? What if you find someone more deserving to be with you? You should be with someone who deserves you.”

Badum, badum

“That’s you,”

Ba..badum, badum

“What?”

“You’re someone who deserves me…You’re worthy of me. There’s nobody else. If anything, I don’t deserve you. I’m not even worthy of your presence, let alone you.”

Badum, badum

“What are you…?”

Badum, badum

Jisung’s hand slowly reaches towards your face, out of habit, you flinch.

“Please?” He whispers softly, practically begging.

Badum, badum, badum, badum

You hesitate for a moment, looking between Jisung and his hand as you try to absorb all of the information you’ve collected in a short matter of time. Eventually, you nod, freezing in place as Jisung starts moving his hand again towards your face. You don’t even breathe as Jisung’s ice-cold hand brushes against your forehead, moving your bangs out of the way, your entire face exposed. His fingers feel like burning fire on your skin.

BADUM, BADUM, BADUM, BADUM

“I wasn’t scared when I saw your face. I mean I was scared—But not of you. I was scared for you. I knew you weren’t ready yet and I was scared of all the terrifying thoughts that racing through your mind. The look on your face scared me. I know that look—I knew how you were feeling and I didn’t want you to feel that way. I hate the way my anxiety makes me feel but I would have gladly taken away your anxiety and felt it for you if that made you happy.”

Badum, badum, badum, badum

Inuyasha walks over to Jisung and presses his nose into his leg. Both of you ignore it. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I love you,” He says simply as if it’s a casual conversation.

Badum, badum, badum, badum

“You…love….me?” Your mouth hangs slightly open in shock.

“I’ve known it for a while, I think, but tonight confirmed it for sure.”

“Why?” Now you’re the broken record.

“Hm,” Jisung places a finger on his bottom lip. His eyes look up like he’s trying to search for an answer. “I could just tell you all the reasons right now. Or I can tell you all the little things I love about you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives?” You parrot.

Your body is as frozen as the ice on the street as your mind swirls with all the information and sweet words coming out of Jisung’s mouth. He’s making your mind swirl. But in a good way.

“Uh huh, the rest of our lives. And you want to know why? Because I love you. I want to be with you. I want to call you cute little pet names and hold your hand. And just sit around and do nothing with you. I want to stare at your pretty face all day. And be there whenever you need me. And, oh my god, I want to kiss you so fucking bad. It’s insane. I think I need to be hosed down.”

Badum, badum, badum, badum

You stand, unmovable for a moment. Jisung loves you. He wants to be with you. He wants to kiss you. You. All you can do is blink slowly as all of your thoughts leave your mind. You want to do something or say something but all you can do is stare at Jisung, specifically the curves of his lips imagining how they would feel against yours. You imagine they’d be as soft as his fingers were just a moment ago. And you dangerously begin to imagine your future together. A future where you can be together without judgment. Without fear.

Badum, badum, badum, badum

“…Then…why don’t you?” You question, almost immediately regretting it the second it came out of your mouth.

Badum, badum, badum, badum

You’re not sure where this new confidence is coming from but you love it. You stand there, waiting in anticipation as Inuyasha makes his way over to you, pressing his nose against your leg now.

“What?” Jisung’s smile drops.

Badum, badum, badum, badum

“You said you wanted to kiss me, then go ahead.”

Badum, badum, badum, badum

You’re not sure why you’re being so bold. Maybe this is the only time you get a kiss. Maybe because it’s Jisung. For the first time, you don’t care. You don’t care about the fact that Jisung might change his mind one day. You don’t care about your face being out while people are walking around. It’s silly to think that this is all because of a man, but Jisung is somehow giving you the confidence you need.

Jisung stares at you for a moment, all of his confidence gone. You’re almost certain you stole it. He runs his hand through his hair before he mutters something under his breath and starts leaning in.

BADUM, BADUM, BADUM, BADUM

You close your eyes, waiting for the feel of Jisung’s lips on yours. Your heart is making its way up your throat. At this rate, your heart might just leap out of your mouth and kiss Jisung instead.

Konk!

You grab your forehead and drop to your knees. Oh course you would bump heads during your first kiss. You can’t just have one moment, can you? You can’t imagine what this scene looks like to even else. You’re both on the floor, holding your head. It was a soft his but Jisung’s head is so hard, it’s like running into a metal bat.

“Ah shit, are you okay?” Jisung crouches down to your level, seemingly unaffected, and begins rubbing the spot he hit.

“You have a hard head!” You whine.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. Here,” Jisung stops rubbing your forehead and places a soft, warm kiss on the red spot on your head.

Jisung pulls away. And stares at you. Your head is throbbing and you’re no longer sure if it’s because of your anxiety or the pain from hitting the bulldozer that is Han Jisung’s forehead. After what feels like forever, Jisung places a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. He remains quiet, thinking about something before he crashes his lips into yours.

It’s a simple kiss, just your lips touching. And yet, it's enough to make your head spin and melt the ice that has been freezing your body the entire time you’ve been outside. It feels like time is frozen and the two of you are in your own little bubble.

Just as quickly as it happened, Jisung pulls his lips away. Concern fills his face as he tries to read yours. He slowly relaxes his face and lets out a relieved sigh when he realized that you’re not freaking out. If your brain was functioning, it would be. You’re absolutely certain that he broke your brain when he head-butted you.

“I want to do that for the rest of our lives too,” The corner of his mouth turns up into a sly smirk, “if you’ll let me?”

“I’m scared,” You whisper, barely audible.

“I’m scared too. It’s terrifying to let someone in. We can be scared together.”

Again, you let your mind wander as you imagine your future with Jisung. Dates the two of you might go on. All the jokes you two can share. A future with a wedding and maybe a kid or two if you two saw fit. And the thought of living a life where he might not be in it because you let your fear and anxieties get in the way causes your heart to race even more.

Inuyasha lets out one loud bark, causing worry to flash over Jisung’s face again.

“I…” Your voice falters, unsure of what words to say next. You know what you want to say, but the words are missing. They’re on the pavement being trampled by everyone walking by.

“If you’re not ready, I understand. I’ll wait for you, you’re worth waiting for.”

“I…” You take a deep breath in before letting go of Inuyasha’s leash and grabbing onto Jisung’s collar. You pause for a moment, playing every possible outcome in your head. The good, the bad, the ugly. But all of that is being overshadowed by Jisung.

BADUM

You just want to be normal.

BADUM

To be happy.

BADUM

Without a second thought, you pull Jisung towards you, pressing your lips together one last time. After a second, you separate from him and rest your forehead on his, hot tears falling down your face.

You’re scared. You’re scared of Jisung waking up one day and realizing that he doesn’t want to be with you. That he’ll turn out like everyone else. That he doesn’t actually love you and that he just thinks he does. But there’s something inside that keeps gnawing at you that you’ve never felt before. You feel it in your chest and the pit of your stomach. It’s so unfamiliar that it scares you.

BADUM

Hope

“I…I want to be with you,” You choke out.

Jisung chuckles, his hot breath tickling your face. He places both of his hands on either side of your face and pulls his face back. A large smile spread across his cheeks, you’re scared it’s going to break his face.

“Okay,” He replies softly before pressing one more gentle kiss into your lips.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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