#*beck comes back with an injury* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukirichi · 9 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒. Zayne blamed it on that cursed hippocratic oath that always made him come to your beck and call. But one look at your smiling — although bloodied — face, he realizes he doesn’t mind being your personal doctor.

𐙚 — Doctor! Zayne x Gangster! Reader

𐙚 — NSFW, MINORS DNI. public sex, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), descriptive smut, explicit sex, curse words, deep throating, unprotected sex, sleepy morning sex, fluff, smut, fucking while the reader is recovering from an injury, unrealistic ending LMAO, minimal angst, violence, attempted murder. 13k WC

𐙚 — this is my first lads work please do not judge me AGHSJKA. divider from @/cafekitsune

You’d been in this state before.

It wasn’t anything new, really, and yet the pain never got any more bearable. Each shot always felt like the first one, and you clenched your teeth hard to keep yourself from passing out in the hallway. It was dark, thanks to the old lights that flickered on and off, and you were sure that if someone saw you in this state, they would probably run away. You can’t blame them, because you were pretty banged up.

Heaving a deep breath from your lungs, you leant against the wall, careful not to leave any bloodstains as ragged breaths escaped your mouth. You shuddered from the pain. Your hand was already clutching your wounded shoulder, putting pressure to stabilize the blood oozing out from the wound while your other arm was wrapped around your waist where two bullets had perfectly been shot at you. Your vision had started to become blurry by now, and your knees were growing weaker with each passing second, but his door was just there. Just a few more steps until you found the comfort you so desperately sought out.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the wall and wobbled to his front door, letting out a whimper when you realized he kept the door locked. Of course. Plucking out a few hairpins from the back of your head, you twisted it into his doorknob before sighing in relief as the lock opened with a click. You fell almost face first to the floor, your weight becoming harder and harder for you to carry until your legs finally gave in, and you fell on the ground with a loud ‘thud.’ You whimpered in pain, chest heaving up and down in discomfort as your shaking fingers pried the material of your tank top away from the wound. Frowning when you saw the white cotton had been stained completely red.

“Who’s there?” A soft voice asked just as the lights flickered open, making you wince in your spot. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

He scurried to your almost passed out form, his dark hair coming into view as his huge eyes stared back at you. You noticed his hands were hanging awkwardly in the air as if unsure to touch you, and you felt a little bad when you saw he was still in his doctor’s coat. He had probably just gotten home after a hellish shift at the hospital, and you ruined the little amount of sleep he allowed himself to have.

You forced a smile on your face as your hands reached up to brush the hair away from his eyes, the action leaving a blood stain on its way. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”

“You’re seriously crazy,” was all he said before his strong arms wrapped around you securely, making you groan as he scooped you up, your head lolling into his chest before you curled yourself into a ball. You felt the warmth of his leather couch hitting your bare legs, thanks to your ripped denim shorts before he disappeared from your side. A sound of several medical equipment clanked through the tense silence, and soon enough Zayne appeared in your line of sight once more. His hand gently helped you to prop your head on the pillow, a frown painting his soft features as the sound of medical gloves stretching hit your ears.

He didn’t look too happy.

“Two months. You’ve been gone for two months without even a phone call or a simple text to tell me how you’re doing, and now you come back all beaten up?” He shook his head, passing you a bottle of alcohol and a towel to bite on before lifting your shirt up. “You’re seriously going to be the death of me.”

Well, you knew you weren’t exactly deserving of a warm welcome, but that didn’t stop you from feeling bad anyway.

Zayne sighed, showing you what seemed to be sterilized medical tweezers and a kidney shaped looking metal bin placed on the coffee table. “This is gonna hurt. I don’t have anesthetics.”

“Just get it over with.”

He nodded, although a look of hesitation crossed him before he peeled your shirt away from your skin. A pained and hesitant grimace was sent your way as he assessed the damage, and you assured him you’d be fine. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of your injuries, but that didn’t make it less painful for the both of you. For you, it was just physical torture all throughout, and your eyes seared with hot tears that threatened to fall as you remembered your most recent stab wound. Zayne had been the one to take care of it as well, and you felt a little guilty that the only times – well, most of the times, anyway – that you spent at his apartment consisted of him tending to your wounds. And fucking. Lots of fucking.

Now that you thought about it, it’s been too long since you saw Zayne, and the sight of him biting his lip in concentration as he pulled the bullets out was enough to turn you on.

Dark bags were under his eyes, eyes lidded heavily and his little button nose scrunched up a little at the stench of blood. In your own dazed haze of admiring his beauty and all his little quirks you’ve learned through two years of knowing him, you momentarily forgot the heated pain you were in through until he counted down from one to three. He pulled the bullet out, making you bite down on the towel placed in between your teeth.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just one more and we’re good.” He cooed, his soothing voice contrasting well with the pained whimpers that left your throat. While he was busy placing the bullet onto the metal bin, you spat out the towel and drank the beer in one go, feeling the burn of it sting your throat. Zayne was looking at you worriedly, but you nodded at him encouragingly to keep going.

“I’ll be fine.” You dismissed with a wave of your hand.

You were propped up on your elbows as he sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time of that night. His hands were cool against your heated skin, eyes locked on yours as his fingers moved to slide the straps of your tank top down ever so slowly that made you hitch your breath. He’d just finished with taking out the bullets from your waist, and now he was staring intently at the blood that flowed from your collarbones to the swell of your breasts. You swallowed.

His fingers – those same fingers that had the skill of fucking you into another realm and saving lives of people – worked skillfully into plucking the bullet out. Zayne’s other hand was placed on your good arm gently for leverage while his minty breath fanned against your face. You shuddered as you realized you were caged inside his arms. His face was so close to yours that you were sure you could count his eyelashes.

You trailed your gaze lower from his eyes to his thin lips, the ones that you learned kissed softly and passionately in contrast to how rough he was in bed, and only then did you realize how much you’d missed him.

“I love it when you’re on top of me.” You purred, a strangled and yet erotic moan leaving your lips as he successfully took the bullet out.

Zayne coughed.

“You are shameless,” He murmured with a shake of his head, feeling incredulous as he patched bandages on your wound. You stared at him with a smirk on your face. “You barge in at what, two in the morning, all beaten up and you flirt with me? Didn’t anyone tell you not to distract a professional from his duties?”

“Can you blame me when you look so fucking hot when you’re concentrated?” You whispered huskily, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear before you pulled away. He was staring at you wide eyed, “Consider it as payment since you’ve been inside me so many times.”

Zayne was now blushing madly as he leaned away to get more bandages from his first aid kit. “Oh my god – are you serious? That isn’t the same... You know what, just keep your mouth shut. Let me do what I need to do. You’re being way too weird right now.”

You grinned, making sure he saw how much of a teasing shit you were. “I know, and you love me anyway.”

Your deal had gone perfectly well that Jenna had rewarded you handsomely. The weight you’ve been carrying for days had now been lifted off, and you were finally free from the anxiety of fucking it up. It wasn’t your first deal per se, but it was perhaps the most critical assignment she’d ever sent you on. You remembered not being able to sleep for days as you calculated the ins and outs of it. Although Jenna had assured you all you needed to do was trade the goods with them at the port and it was all over, the worry hadn’t eased one bit. Sylus was infamous for leading a drug cartel after he killed his own father to precede him, so it was only natural you felt scared you would meet the man himself. Alone.

But… he was actually alright. He went straight to business and didn’t dilly dally further, and once he was sure your goods were fresh and genuine, he gave the promised money and left without a word. You came back to Jenna with a satisfied smirk, and now you were on your way to this bar that seemed a little too vanilla for your liking. The blinking light of the bar sign was red and neon, and you scoffed as it read Pleasure Cave.

Seriously?

This looked more like a brothel than a bar, and you eyed the girls in skimpy outfits and blood red lipsticks waiting in line with distaste present on your face. No wonder Nero recommended this place. He was never after the drinks, he was after the girls. Well, you couldn’t blame him. Living in shabby apartments and doing underground work wasn’t entirely fancy, plus being a full time gang member didn’t allow him to spend as much time with girls as he would like. Well, whatever, you were here for the drinks.

Now that the deal was done and over with, you were going to get absolutely wasted.

Passing by the hundred people waiting in line, you smiled cheekily as the six foot tall and perhaps three hundred pounds of steroid bouncer glowered at you. “Get in line, sweet cheeks.”

“I don’t think I need to.” Pulling down your shirt a little to reveal the tattoo on your collar bones, the bouncer glared at it before he stood back up with recognition. He said something through the crackled intercom of his walkie talkie. There was a pause, then the doors opened with a heavy creak, the thumping bass of the loud music inside faintly heard. Now that worked well. You grinned wider, stepping on your tippy toes to press a sloppy kiss on his cheeks. “Thank you, angel.”

“Anytime, Ma’am.”

You stepped inside, feeling the cold breeze of the air conditioner nipping at your skin, and you were in a state of elation. Releasing a sigh, you maneuvered through the crowd and plopped on the bar stool, smiling confidently at the bartender before ordering something strong. He merely glanced at your smoky eyes that were lined with kohl, and you winked at him before chewing your gum obnoxiously. Sliding down several shot glasses your way, you sent him an impressed look – he knew you’d be here for quite a long time.

And oh, a long time it was. Seven shots later, the bartender sighed when you raised a finger to signal one more shot, and that’s when he came. It was probably because you were intoxicated and desperate to release some stress, but whatever the reason, you didn’t regret any of the decisions you made that night.

The first thing you noticed about him was his smell. The faint aroma of rubbing alcohol mixed with a masculine scent was enough to make you turn your head, and you downed your shot in one go as you watched the stranger order something fancy. Huh. The raven haired man was dressed to the nines; a baby blue shirt tucked underneath a pair of tight fitting black pants that you were sure groped his ass. You raised a brow at the mere sight of his slender waist that had you ordering two more shots. You noticed his hands first – long and beautiful – and the image of him choking you as he fucked you from behind made you scoot closer to him.

“Hey.”

Surprised, he jumped from his seat and spilled some of his drink to his pants accidentally, his crotch now wet and sticking to his skin. You raised your brows as you noticed the large bulge. He wasn’t even aroused yet.

“I’m sorry,” you said, although you weren’t sorry at all. Pulling out the handkerchief from your pocket, you made sure you looked at him under your lashes while you patted down his groin. The man’s eyes widened at the action, but he didn’t pull you away. He swallowed rather audibly, his hands coming up to circle at your wrist. You noticed the tips of his ears had gone red, and you felt a smirk making its way into your face when you saw his arousal constricting uncomfortably against the fabric.

“That’s enough, thank you,” he whispered, his minty breath fanning your flushed cheeks. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, and without breaking eye contact, you pulled away from his grasp and clasped his hand to pull him towards you. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you an idea of what I’m capable of.”

In an excruciatingly slow manner, you wrapped your lips around his finger, sucking the digit into your wet cavern. He let out a quiet gasp at the sensation of your tongue licking the underside, your eyes closed in bliss as you felt the bitterness of sanitizers and the saltiness of his skin. It took almost all your willpower not to grind on his lap right there and then, because even though you were a rather kinky woman, you wouldn’t go that far.

“Stop.” He commanded, and you opened your eyes languidly before pulling him out with a lewd ‘pop’. “Do you think I’m the type of man who sleeps with strangers?”

You laughed. “I think you’re the type of man who can fuck me so well, but hmm… you’re a little boring, don’t you think?” Feigning disinterest, you turned away from him, ordering another shot. “Must be a mistake. I forgot men like you were too up in their heads to know how to make a woman feel good.”

He was practically fuming as you downed another shot, a sign that your plan was working. Next thing you knew, strong arms had wrapped around your waist and you let out a small yelp as he heaved you up effortlessly, until you were on his lap, and boy did he look angry. A choked moan left your mouth as he roughly grabbed your hair to expose your neck, and you felt even wetter at the thought that he could fuck you right here in the bar, out in the open for everyone to see. Public sex was something you’ve never tried, but now it seemed like a good idea.

“You think you’re funny?” He raised a brow, his other hand trailing under your shirt to squeeze your breast through the material of your bra. You felt him pinch your nipple and you bucked forwards, grinding against his hardness. It must have felt painfully good, because he dragged you towards him. His tongue licked a trail from your neck to your ear before he threatened lowly. “Don’t fuck with me, angel. I’ve had a rough week, and I can ruin you.”

“You sure about that?” You replied huskily, palming him from underneath you and feeling his erection grow harder. “Because I’m no fragile thing, and I doubt you can give it to me how I like it.”

He hummed against your neck, and you felt your core getting wetter when he mumbled angrily. “And if I prove you wrong?”

“Then you can do whatever you want to me,” You supplied, glaring at him through the lashes. “Now, are you gonna make me wait, or are we gonna fuck?”

That seemed to trigger him, because soon he’s shoving you off his lap and pulling you outside to the back door. You faintly heard the bartender shouting at you to pay, but you were too clouded by your arousal that you let this nameless man drag you out to the dark alleyway where he wasted no time in slamming his lips to yours. You moaned when your head hit the hard bricks of the dirty alley, the searing touch of his fingers under your shirt as he pulled the cups of your bra down and tugged at your nipples enough to send sparks of fire running along down your centre. You were wet, so fucking wet, and you yearned to feel his touch right where you wanted him most.

Your hands had a mind of his own, and he growled into your lips when you blindly unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down. When you palmed his erection and slipped your hands inside his boxers, you ran your finger against his slit and felt your fingers become coated in his pre cum. The stranger grunted, his tongue slipping inside your mouth before the wet muscle collided with yours in a heated manner.

“Fuck.” You moaned into his mouth, pumping your hand up and down his shaft slowly. He pulled away with his chest heaving up and down to look at where your fingers tried to wrap around his thick girth.

Shit, you knew he was big, but you didn’t expect him to be this big. The thought of his cock stretching you out and filling you so deeply had you removing your hands away from his cock to take off your stupid fucking leather pants that clung so tightly to your legs. He laughed at your obvious struggle, and you glared at him. Soon enough, his laughter died down when you shimmied out of your pants, completely speechless as he eyed your bare pussy.

“You haven’t been wearing underwear all this time?”

“I had a feeling I’d meet you tonight,” You joke, but he doesn’t find it funny because he growled, his hand cupping your sopping cunt that left you breathless.

His roughness took you by surprise that you found yourself clinging to his bicep for dear life. It wasn’t long before he slipped two fingers inside, scissoring his way through to your walls to stretch you out, and your head fell back against the wall as you felt him pump into you in an addicting manner that had you seeing stars at the back of your vision.

“You’re so wet already,” He commented, his head diving forwards to suck harshly onto your neck that has you moaning lewdly. You realized this stranger had his fingers shoved deep into your pussy in a dark alley, and while no one could see you at this place, you were sure someone would see the both of you if they passed by. And shit, how fucking hot that was. “That look on your face,” he noticed, “Are you turned on by the thought of getting caught?”

“Aren’t you?” You shot back, and you pushed his hand away when you felt that familiar coil in your belly.

He made a sound of protest that you ignored, and you pulled him down by the tie to attack his thin yet pillowy lips that were red and bruised by now. Your hand snaked between the both of you as you pulled his cock out and lined him against your centre, his breath coming out in stutters when you wrapped one of your legs around his waist as his tip entered you.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” He moaned against your lips before slamming his hips forward until he’s penetrated you into the hilt, and you let out a small whimper of pain. He was big, bigger than you’d imagined. Ypon seeing the look of discomfort in your face, his hands came up to caress your face worriedly. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You bit your lip, finding it oddly sweet he could be so gentle even when he was tearing you apart. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute, you’re really big.”

“Okay,” He nods, resting his forehead against yours, his hand still carefully holding you by the waist to help keep you up.

You realized you weren’t able to see his face well under the neon lights of the bar, but seeing him now just a breath away, you realized he’s really good looking. His eyes were warm and kind looking despite the evident lust pooling through those greenish-brown orbs, and his gaze was piercing as he seemed to assess your features back. His once gelled hair had now fallen into stray chunks, adding more to his striking features.

You were momentarily lost in his eyes and gentle touches that you forgot he still had his cock deep inside you.

With that thought, you moved your hips forward, your walls suffocating his length. He suddenly shut his eyes in pleasure, murmuring “Oh, fuck” under his breath. You didn’t need to say anything else, the clenching of your walls against him was enough for him to know he could now fuck you senseless. His eyes snapped open, any signs of the previous warmth he held had completely vanished into thin air as his hands hooked behind your knees, silently telling you to jump, and you wrapped both your legs around him.

“I’m not going to go soft and slow with you.”

“Wasn’t asking you to,” You teased, feeling smug at seeing such a composed looking man slowly losing himself in you. He growled at your remarks, and your teasing ceased when he pushed you firmly against the wall, his hands gripping your waist tightly that you were sure you’d get bruises the day after as he rammed into you at a relentless pace.

You were a mess in his arms, your breasts bouncing and slapping your chest up and down as his cock reached places inside you that you didn’t even know existed. He stared at it as if hypnotized before he leaned down, capturing one nipple and lapping at it like a starved man.

Your hair was now sticking onto your skin uncomfortably, uncontrollable moans flowing from your mouth that had fallen open at how each of his strokes seemed to hit everything perfectly. He was stretching you out, filling you so well that each snap of his hips had you tugging at his hair, hard, and he grunted at the pain of you pulling onto his strands. As if encouraged by the action, he pulled out all the way until only his tip was left inside. You stared at him in bewilderment, and he smirked at you arrogantly.

It was just about the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen, and it didn’t help the sweat from his skin made his shirt clung onto him tightly, giving you a teasing view of strong pecs underneath.

You only had a few seconds of rest before he slammed his hips harder than the first, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from screaming. He was good, so good, and your wetness coated him so well as if urging him to fuck you harder. The sound of your moans, his low grunts and the wet sounds of your arousal dripping onto his length was so dirty and erotic that when he hit your sensitive spot, you cursed loudly as your head fell onto his shoulder.

Your back grazed the brick wall rather uncomfortably, but all you could focus on was the sweet torture his cock was abusing your core with. He snapped his hips in a deliciously tantalizing manner, your eyes shut tight as he grunted lowly when you clenched around him, a sign you were close. Judging by the way his thrusts had become erratic, it seemed like he was too.

“Baby, I’m close.” He announced, beads of sweat falling onto his cheeks. He looked fucked out with the way he was gritting his teeth as he continued to slam into you, his hips coming forward hurriedly as if desperate to reach his high. You knew you didn’t look better. Tears threatened to escape your eyes at the way his tip was brushing against your sweet spot abusingly, over and over again. You were so lost in the pleasure you felt that he tapped his fingers against your cheek whimpering at the sensations flooding through.

“I’m close,” he panted, “Where can I cum?”

“Inside,” You breathed out, a moan falling from your open lips.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” You nod tiredly, looking down to see how your pussy engulfed him completely. His length disappeared back into you after every withdrawal, as if your womanhood didn’t ever want him to pull away. And from the way he throbbed inside you, it seemed like he didn’t want to pull away either.

“Oh fuck,” He rasped out, his thrusts stuttering as you felt him release inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you up so good.

“Shit, shit, shit,” You mumbled in the crook of his neck as he spilled himself inside you, feeling your combined essence dripping out of your hole. He groaned, riding the both of your highs before you felt him soften inside you. You were both breathing heavily, and you were taken by surprise when he kissed you again, softer this time. His hands crawled up to the nape of your neck as he nibbled on your lower lip, and you groaned into the kiss, thinking if there’d ever been a time you were taken in a such a debauched manner yet kissed so sweetly.

Your memories came up with nothing.

The contrast of him passionately kissing you like a lover had you feeling lightheaded from how he had roughly fucked you, but you basked in the warmth of him anyway. He smelled faintly of sweat, sex, and his cologne, a scent you think you could get used to forever. His hair was soft as you threaded your fingers through it, and he sighed in content at the feeling of you gently massaging his scalp, his large hand now cupping the side of your face.

When he pulled away from you, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes tired and drooping. The silence of the night engulfed you both as he stayed inside you, and then you both started laughing out of nowhere. He helped you get down safely, his hand still gently placed on the small of your back before he slid out of you completely.

You bit your lip to restrain yourself from fucking him again – the sight of his soft member leaving the warmth of your slick folds shouldn’t have been so erotic. You didn’t want to pull away from him – at least not yet – so you reached forward, tucking his cock back into his boers as you ignored his heated stare at the back of your head. Soon, you pulled your pants back up, wincing at how wet you were down there.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not missing the way he stared at how your tight pants outlined your pussy. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uhm, I’m sorry about… that,” he gestured to your camel toe, and you scoffed in amusement. “I can take you home, if you’d like.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” You shook your head, smiling innocently at how his shoulders seemed to drop in disappointment. “Although I must say, it’s gonna be hard to walk home tonight… Doctor Zayne.”

The sight of his eyes widening and his mouth falling open almost seemed comical to you. “Wh-what? How’d you know my name?”

You grinned, showing him his wallet and work ID card. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish before he puffed his cheeks out instead. He patted his pockets in a frenzy, and at the realization that it was indeed empty, you threw his belongings back to him sloppily, his arms flailing out before it fell to the ground. He mumbled a ‘thanks’ at your way. You nodded at him and walked away, letting the darkness of the night swallow you before he called you out. You paused in your steps.

“Wait!” He shouted, although you failed to hear the sound of footsteps. “Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?”

“I don’t think I need to,” You smirked over your shoulder, mockingly saluting him on your way. “I have a feeling we’ll meet each other again.”

Zayne was left in the dark alley that night. As much as he wanted to run after you and take you home, he had a strong feeling you didn’t want to be followed. Once you’d been completely swallowed by the darkness, he jumped in his spot when the back door flung open harshly, and he was met with the sight of a pissed off looking man. It was the bartender.

“Well?” He huffed, “Aren’t you gonna pay?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your girlfriend left without paying,” He hissed, shoving the receipt into the smaller man’s face who looked lost. His eyes skimmed over the amount you’ve drank, grimacing when he saw the hefty price. “Pay up. Now.” Zayne cursed inwardly, handing over a wad of cash to the bartender’s outstretched palm before going home with a frown.

He should have known you were trouble. One look at your predatory gaze, and the way you sized him up like he was your next meal, he fell right into your trap. He kicked a bunch of pebbles in frustration, hating the way he felt so attracted to you the moment he landed his eyes on you. It didn’t help that you were the exact embodiment of sexiness either. You were confident, and carried an aura that made him feel like you could’ve conquered the world should you wish.

In conclusion, you were the exact image of his desires that came to life, and now he faced the consequences of falling into the trap of a seductive temptress.

He just hoped never to see you again.

Weeks passed by since the last time he saw you, and Zayne refused to admit that he went back to the bar several days in a week in hopes of seeing you again.

But after the fifth night that the bartender sent him pitiful glances, he never came back once informed you hadn’t returned ever since. He didn’t even know why he should care, he didn’t even know your name. And yet… he found himself wanting to know more about you. Call it simple curiosity or just him being plainly attracted to your mysteriousness, he didn’t care. One thing he could admit though, was that he thought you were quite the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The way you held yourself so surely and knew exactly what you liked was enough to bring out the primal side of his being.

But, those thoughts aside, you just screamed trouble.

And Zayne worked hard to get where he was now. He still remembered those hellish nights he was unable to sleep when his midterms were coming up, because medical school was just both a curse and a blessing at the same time. It was even harder since his parents had passed away long ago that he had to support himself at such a young age. His childhood – or lack thereof – had been a blur of working two part time jobs to afford his school fees and stacking his mini fridge of bottled coffees just to survive that night. Because of his hectic routine and his dedication to his dreams, Zayne never got to date anyone.

It wasn’t because he didn’t look good either, no, it was quite the opposite.

He’d received multiple confessions in medical school from wonderful girls who all came from good families, but one look at their preppy attitudes and cookie cutter perfect image, he knew he would never fit in. Sure, they were nice, sweet, and smart, but most of his classmates in the resident school had only gotten in because they were born privileged. They would never understand his struggles. And so, with a polite smile, he turned them all down and focused on his own future instead.

He just wanted to pave a better life himself first. Love could come afterwards.

Zayne just never thought it would come in the form of a leather jacket clad woman with blood red lipstick who hauled a man twice her size on her shoulders, cursing at him for being ‘a stupid fucking dimwit’ into the emergency room, exactly on the time of his shift. Zayne shot upwards from his seat in a flash, rounding the counter and making his way towards you and your friend, who he realized was sporting a gunshot to his thigh.

At the sight of your most recent – and undeniably the best fuck you’ve had – wearing a black button-up hidden under a white coat, paired with squeaky white shoes, a stethoscope hanging around his neck and just looking so damn fuckable, had you laughing with glee.

Never mind Luke who was groaning in pain. It was his fault for getting shot anyway. You told the younger male multiple times not to play around with guns and not to challenge your shooting skills because you’d always be better than him. But he refused to back down due to the fact he was so butthurt over it and dragged you into the shooting fields, only for the gun to slip into his sweaty hands, successfully shooting his own leg in the process.

Yeah, you didn’t care at all.

“Doctor Zayne!” You exclaimed gleefully, pushing Luke’s heavy weight off of you until he fell to the hospital bed. You ignored his screams in pain. “What a coincidence!” You glanced at your friend, “Luke, look how lucky you are. Zayne’s in tonight. I heard he’s the best doctor.”

Luke eyed you both, watching carefully as Zayne only nodded at you in return before he proceeded to pull out several doctor shit you had no idea with, but they did seem familiar. You only recognized them briefly from those times you had to dress your wounds yourself, and it wasn’t exactly a memory filled with sunshine and rainbows.

“Okay, I’m going to inject you with some anesthesia,” Zayne’s voice cut through the air, and you watched in awe as he proceeded to do everything flawlessly.

Soon enough, Luke, who was always a wuss when it came to pain, had already passed out by the time the raven-haired doctor had plucked out the bullets and proceeded with the stitching. Not wanting to interrupt, you jumped up on the nurse’s counter, swinging your legs back and forth with your palms placed flatly behind you before assessing the place.

It was a rather big and well known hospital, so you were confused that Zayne seemed to be the only one around. The only sound that filled the air was Luke’s hiccupping followed by snores, and you scoffed at him, eyes trained on Zayne’s skillful fingers working on the sutures flawlessly. You noticed his brows were furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and you tipped your head to the side in admiration.

You didn’t understand what was so endearing about a professional man concentrated on his work, but you found yourself enamored by the mere sight of him.

Somehow, he managed to look absolutely perfect under the bright fluorescent lights of the emergency room, and you thought it was unfair. He wasn’t even dressed to impress. His white coat was wrinkled, and only now does it make sense when he told you he’d had a rough week the first time you met him. Dark bags were under his eyes, and you squinted at the sight of several headache pills and cups of coffee neatly placed behind the counter where he once sat, waiting for patients who needed his help.

Guilt immediately washed over you.

Here, Zayne probably spent day and night saving countless lives. Maybe people like him would have been able to get more rest had people like you not existed.

Your train of thought was cut off when you suddenly felt a warm hand caressing your face, and you froze under Zayne’s touch. Looking up, you swallowed when you realized his face was close to yours – way too close – that you could see the worry present in his gaze.

“What happened?” He asked softly, concern coating his dulcet voice that you couldn’t help but feel small inside his arms. You blinked. Wait, what? Felt small? You almost wanted to laugh, because you both led different lives. In your world of kill or be killed, you were definitely on the ‘kill’ side. People like you weren’t weak, so you sat up straighter, tearing yourself away from his soothing touch as you flashed him a lazy grin.

“Don’t mind him, he was just being stupid,” you gestured to a passed out Luke.

Zayne shook his head, pulling off his medical gloves before throwing it into the waste bin. “He could have been in a critical situation if you hadn’t brought him here earlier. Your friend got shot in the leg, and it was dangerously close to his bones. A single shot to the leg, especially the thighs, could have been deadly. The bullet could have exploded into tiny pieces until it flowed into his bloodstream, and those little shrapnels could have killed him,” he sighed tiredly, placing his arms beside your body. Even with you sitting on top of a counter, Zayne still managed to be taller than you. “Your friend could have died tonight. He needs to be confined for further treatment.”

Your eyes almost popped out its socket, “What? No! We need to be back by tonight!”

“I can’t allow that,” he shook his head, “He needs proper recovery.”

“But–” you started, pausing in your words when he gave you a look that told you you didn’t have any way out of this. But you had to get Luke back to the base tonight before Jenna woke up. You didn’t want your boss finding out his best asset and the newest fresh meat he assigned you to train to end up with a medical record accessible by your enemies, unless you wanted to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Then, an idea flashed into your mind, and you looked around for the possibility of anyone walking into you. Looking back at the sexy doctor hovering over you firmly, you flashed your most seductive smile, running your hand down his chest before purring, “–you can always have exceptions, right?”

Zayne glared at you, although he didn’t stop you from looping your fingers to his pants. If anything, he’s a little grateful for the distraction. He realized you were much better at waking him up than any of those energy drinks and coffee. No, you set his nerves on fire, and he started to panic when you jumped off the counter and went down on your knees.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” He whisper-hissed, stopping you from doing whatever you were about to do. “My co-workers are just on their break, they’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” You chuckled arrogantly, looking up at him innocently. The image of you looking absolutely cute while at eye level with his now growing arousal was something that would haunt him for the rest of his life. “With how good I am, you’d come undone in two minutes.” And I’d get Luke out in no time, you thought to yourself.

Zayne scoffed when he realized you had a knack for bruising his ego, and you laughed harder when he shoved his pants down until his erection sprang free, his cock bending towards his stomach. You smirked at the fact he was already hard, his head now red and dripping with precum. You felt proud it didn’t take much to turn him on.

Oh, you were gonna have fun indeed.

“Two minutes,” he growled, his hands pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail as his hips thrust forward, his cock slapping against your cheek. The essence of his arousal making your face feel sticky. “You’ve got two minutes to make me cum.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

Not wasting a second longer, you placed your hands on his strong thighs before taking him into your mouth. Zayne moaned at the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock. You licked the underside of his cock, feeling every protruding ridge and vein before you started sucking him. Bobbing your head up and down, Zayne closed his eyes in pleasure, thrusting forward when you hollowed your cheeks around him.

“Ah, fuck,” He grunted, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and your gag reflex clenched around his head. It was a beautiful sight to behold, seeing him lose himself in the feeling of your mouth around him. You sucked him off earnestly until you pulled him out with only his tip left inside, his muscles quivering under your touch.

Feeling that he was close, you took him all the way back in until you’re gagging on his length again. Tears started to fall on your cheeks at how he had completely taken over. Soon enough, you felt him grow bigger inside you until you knew he was about to cum. He pulled away, or more like tried to, because you placed your palm flat on his ass to keep him right where he was. You started choking and gagging on his cock when he harshly thrust inside your mouth, his warm seed spurting on your tongue.

Zayne fought back another groan. He struggled to breathe from the orgasm you gave him, and you opened your mouth, showing him that his cum was all over your tongue before you made a show of swallowing it. Your lipstick had also smeared, the red smudged all over your face. Deciding to tease him further, you wrapped your lips around him one more time, leaving lipstick stains all over his semi hard cock.

“W-wait,” he tried to push your head back, “Sensitive – I can’t–”

Determined to clean him off, you licked all around his member, still tasting the saltiness of his cum coating your tongue before pulling him out with a wet ‘pop.’

You stood up and brushed the dust of your knees, thankful that your skinny ripped jeans hadn’t been stained the slightest. Zayne pulled his pants back up, glaring at you when he saw you trying not to smile at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” you said, “Did it feel good?”

“I came in a minute and a half, what’d you think?” He snapped, and you laughed at how moody he seemed. Zayne rounded the counter before typing something away at his computer, not sparing you a glance as he asked for your friend’s personal information. He looked up at you with a raised brow. “I said, what’s your friend’s name?”

You crossed your arms against your chest. “You know, I blew you off. Let me off the hook just this once,”

“What?” He asked, bewildered, “What part of your friend needs proper recovery don’t you understand? He needs to be under supervision.”

“We have a resident doctor,” you informed, “He just wasn’t around today, but I assure you he can take care of him. Come on, Zayne, it’s only right that you repay me for making you feel good, no?”

“You made me pay for your drinks at the bar. I think I deserved that blowjob.”

“Oh, come on,” you pouted, trying to do the puppy eye method and wishing it would work on him. It didn’t, and you sighed in defeat. “I can repay you next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” he hissed, and you groaned, exasperated.

There would be a next time because you wanted him as much he wanted you!

Desperate to make him change his mind, you tugged your crop top down to show that again you weren’t wearing anything underneath. Zayne’s eyes immediately clouded with lust at the sight.

He scoffed, though he doesn’t tear his gaze away from your perky buds. “Did you think you could bribe a professional with your gorgeous body?”

“Of course,” you replied confidently, pushing your shirt back to its place before walking beside Luke, ignoring the way Zayne eyed your tattoo weirdly. You shook him awake, but he only mumbled and slapped your hand away, and you sighed. Zayne was still watching you both curiously from behind the counter. You gave him an ‘ok’ sign before slapping Luke hard on the face, to which he immediately bolted awake.

“Ow, what the fuck was that for?!”

“That’s not how you talk to your senior,” you scolded him while helping him get up with his arm looped around your neck. Turning to Zayne, you winked, “I have a car, don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’ll get taken care of.”

He hummed with a frown etched on his face, not liking the thought of you alone in a car with a different man. “Will you tell me your name now?”

Luke was halfway passed out again in your arms, and you grinned cheekily at the hot doctor who was patiently waiting for your answer.

Finally, you introduced yourself, “But try not to say my name too much.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re gonna get hurt if you do.”

Just as fast as you appeared and always gave him something to remember you by, you disappeared.

It was starting to infuriate the doctor by now, at how he knew the curves of your body but otherwise had no idea of who you were. He knew you weren’t a normal citizen like him, and he’s pondered several times if maybe you were a criminal. It made him wince; the thought of falling for a criminal out of all people was enough for him to be thrown off balance.

Every morning, he woke up at the thought of your smile, of how adorable and innocent you seemed when you just laughed to your heart’s content and your eyes formed into little crescent moons. He also remembered the way you smelled, a mix of roses and something entirely soft and feminine. He grew afraid of forgetting your sweet scent that he even thought of not showering before he realized how undeniably disgusting that was. And so with a disgruntled thought, a hard on that made him jack off in the shower at the thought of you, and very confused feelings, Zayne decided to throw himself into work and just forget about you completely.

Things were much better that way anyway.

Desperate to ignore how his mind was heavy at the thought of you, of how he craved to hold you instead of touch you, he took on several shifts that absolutely left him drained by the end of the day. He was basically sleeping in empty operating rooms by now, the stench of rubbing alcohol and metallic steel comforting to him. He was so overworked that even nurses and several doctors had become worried for him.

“Zayne,” Nurse Jude addressed the dark-haired doctor who had a clipboard cradled to his chest, well on his way to looking like a zombie right now. “I think you should go home. You don’t look too well.”

Zayne only smiled gratefully, always finding comfort in the quieter nurse’s presence. Jude was a calm and gentle steady energy, and he secretly envied at how he seemed to have everything balanced. If he remembered correctly, he still managed to have the time to take his girlfriend out on dates despite also basically living in the hospital. Jude was well rounded and had everything he wanted and needed, while Zayne just felt left behind for silently chasing (not really, he hadn’t seen you in months) a woman who he was certain was a criminal.

Or worse, a murderer.

He really needed to set his mind straight.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he lied, checking the patient’s vitals while Jude places the suggested meals for their recovery. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Is it a girl?”

He paused on the act of scribbling down the rates, his hand reaching up to rub his neck awkwardly. “Is it too obvious?”

“A little, yeah,” Jude laughed before patting him on the back comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it too much, I’m sure it’ll work out in the end.”

Zayne smiled sadly. The likelihood of even meeting you again was highly unlikely, what even more the possibility of you liking him the same way he liked you. But he nodded anyway, not wanting to make Jude feel bad. “I sure hope so.”

“It will,” he insisted, and the spectacled nurse gives him a small smile before making his way out. “Oh, and I talked to Nurse Jang, she said she’ll gladly cover your shift for you. Go home, Zayne, you need to rest.”

Zayne smiled, silently asking himself why he couldn’t have just been a woman and dated someone like Jude instead. He was smart, attractive, and caring.

He shook his head in disbelief, bidding the patient deep in slumber a farewell before following his co-worker out the hallway to retrieve his stuff and go home. Jude and Nurse Jang both gave him bread in hopes that he would get his much needed rest soon. Since Zayne was feeling like taking a stroll in the night, he pocketed his car keys and walked all the way to his apartment.

The stars were out and bright, and he stared at them astonishingly, wondering if you were looking at the same sky as him; if you saw the stars the way it was now. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling cold and lonely in the empty night as his mind started to get swarmed by thoughts of you.

He really didn’t understand why he felt attracted to you, all he knew was that there was this… spark, or connection, however corny that sounded.

And he knew he just wasn’t after your body – although he would love to fuck you again, in his bed this time if you’d allow him to take his time with you – no, he was completely drunk at the thought of you.

It was weird, how he didn’t even know your last name, your age, or what you really did for a living. And yet, he didn’t care about all those, all he knew was that he wanted to be with you. He wants to spend time with you and get to know you better, and hell, he wants to pamper you with so much love that he doesn’t understand fucking why. Frustrated, he runs his hand down his face with a groan, unable to get his mind off of you. Maybe it was because you had a good sense of humor, and you always kept him on his toes and there was just something about you that let him know he had to cherish each and every moment.

With a sigh, he stopped looking at the stars because it only reminded him of how you were probably somewhere, unsafe. He didn’t have the slightest of how you were and he was worrying for a complete stranger.

Too lost in his own thoughts, he failed to hear the sound of a gun clicking. Zayne froze when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing against his forehead, followed by a gruff voice cutting through the silence of the air.

“Give me your money.”

Zayne gulped, pocketing his wallet immediately at the sight of the man holding him hostage come at eye level with him. He gulped at how his left eye was closed due to a scar that ran until his chin. Obviously, this guy had seen some real things that Zayne doesn’t even want to be involved in, and his heart was picking up a mile a minute. He was about to hand his wallet and cellphone over, making sure he still kept his work ID, when a feminine and a strangely familiar laughter joined in the scene.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Carefully, Zayne turned around, only to see you leaning against the wall lazily with a cigarette dangling by the edge of your lips, somehow looking bored at the scene. If he wasn’t about to piss in his pants right now in fear of getting his brains blown out any moment, he would have admired you openly. He swallowed at the sight of you wearing nothing but a lace black bralette under a washed denim jacket, paired with ripped skinny jeans and untied combat boots. Still so pretty, even when his entire body warned him not to get too close.

Like the first time he saw you, you screamed danger, and Zayne found himself unable to look away.

“Go home, little girl,” the man snapped, “This isn’t a place for youngsters like you.”

You sighed tiredly. “Whatever. Just let the man go, and learn a little lesson from him. If you want money, you gotta work hard like everyone else.”

A tick seemed to go off in him, because soon Zayne was being shoved aside. He shouted your name loudly when the man had his gun pointed at you instead. However, you only grinned at him, cocking your head to the side in pure amusement. Zayne watched as the man lowered his gun, fingers stuttering as realization dawned on him.

“Are you part of the–”

“Exactly, sweetheart,” you smiled sweetly, taking his fingers off from the weapon. “Now, run along before I kill you, okay? Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

Tha man nodded before scurrying away, and Zayne pushed himself up to his feet to place himself beside you. Your eyes were still trained on the offender’s retreating form. Zayne was about to pull your attention to him when you suddenly raised the gun with a squint, the sound of a gun firing echoed through the night. Zayne gasped, disbelief written all over his face as the man fell down.

You turned to him with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t kill him, don’t worry.”

“Didn’t kill?!” he asks, enraged. “You still shot someone!”

“I know Jason, he’s gonna run for a little bit and come back to you. Did you really think I’d risk you getting killed when I could have prevented it?” Your words came out with spite that Zayne didn’t respond to, watching as you stashed the gun into the back pocket of your jeans. “Thought so. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Jesus, Zayne,” you said exasperatedly, “Out of all the places you could’ve taken a detour in, you had to choose a bad neighborhood, didn’t you? I’m taking you home, and that’s final.” Zayne started to protest, but one glare from you had him shutting up. Once sure he had given in, you showed him your trademark carefree smile, bowing down mockingly. “Lead the way, sir.”

“I live close by,” he rolled his eyes, and you fell into step with him easily.

The two of you walked in silence, your hands swinging back and forth obnoxiously as your legs took longer strides to keep up with him. When he realized he considerably walked faster than you did, he slowed down until you were right next to him, and you were taken by surprise when he looped his hand through yours, eyes staring directly ahead. “This is just so you don’t fall behind.”

“How sweet,” you commented cheekily, reaching up to peck him on the cheeks. Zayne, not expecting the innocent gesture even in his wildest dreams, whipped his head so fast to look at you. He looked so ridiculously cute that you couldn’t help but kiss him again, making sure your lips remained to his skin a little longer than the first. “You look so adorable.”

His cheeks burned at the way you looked at him, your eyes completely youthful, innocent, and just looking at him with so much adoration that he thought… he wasn’t going to deny it anymore. He liked you.

Upon rendering him speechless, you giggled before tugging him forwards to walk home. Zayne turned away from you to hide a childish grin.

The walk back was peaceful, and the mere scent of your rose scented perfume was enough to soothe his nerves as well. Maybe it was because he knew he was safe, and that’s why he felt comfortable, but one look at you humming a tune to yourself, he realized he was calm and at peace because you were safe.

You obviously led a life that would be hard to explain to him, and while he wanted to get to know you better, he also didn't want to push you into divulging information you wouldn’t want to.

For now, he was just glad to see you and have you by his side again, and he was going to try to elongate this moment for as long as he could.

And so the stoic doctor walked slowly on purpose, and you, being observant and calculative as ever, knew exactly what he was getting at and walked slowly as well. It was a little chilly, and your lack of clothing didn’t help, so you pressed your body flush against his, your head naturally finding its place into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but his strong arm encircled your waist. You didn’t find it in yourself to complain.

You just missed him.

And he missed you too, although no one would ever say that out loud.

“How was work?” You asked softly, “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping well.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, turning slightly to press a kiss to the top of your head before his apartment came into view and you both walked upstairs. “I couldn’t get my mind off this amazing person, and I had to work a lot to forget her.”

You chuckled breathily from his hold, and Zayne smiled when he felt the vibrations of your chest rumble to his skin. “Maybe it’s much better to forget her. She’s just bad news, you know.”

“I don’t think I want to forget her,” he admitted, now standing in front of his unit. Zayne loosened his hold on you, his hands finding its place on your shoulders before bending down to look at you. “I think… I want to keep seeing you.”

A smile made its way to your face, but it was more confused than sad. Shrugging his hold off of you, you lifted your denim jacket to show him the intricate dragon tattoo that ran until the top of your breasts. “I’m a criminal, Zayne. I’m part of an underground gang, and, well… as much as I want to see you too, I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

“We won’t know until we’ve tried,” he insisted, and your eyes lit up in amusement at how he seemed intent on getting to know you better. It warmed your heart in a way that you’d never felt before, and your smile only grew bigger, perhaps even a little shy when he continued speaking. “Can I – feel free to say no, but please don’t – take you out on a date?”

Your eyes squinted so hard from how large you were smiling, and really, how could you say no? Fishing your phone out from your pocket, you typed in his name next to a heart emoji before handing it to him. Zayne laughed in disbelief as he texted himself through your number and saved his contact information.

“I’ll text you the details. When are you free?”

“I’m a busy woman,” you told him, cocking your head to the side teasingly. “But if it’s for you, I’m always free.”

Zayne’s face flushed. “Wow, okay, I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You rolled your eyes, walking away from him with a wave of your hand. “I’ll see you around, Doc. This is my first date, so it better not be disappointing.”

“It won’t!”

And Zayne really did keep to his word. Only three days after you walked him home, your phone buzzed from its place rather loudly that you accidentally knocked Luke’s gun out of his hold. A shot rang through the air and a scream tore its way from his throat. You rolled your eyes when you saw that he almost shot himself again.

“I swear, Luke, I’m not taking you to the hospital again because of your stupidity.”

He had the audacity to look appalled. “You made me drop my gun!”

“Tough luck,” you teased, grinning as you read Zayne’s text. He was asking if you were available tonight, and you immediately replied back saying you were. “Okay, tell the boss I’ll be out tonight. Don’t ask why. I’m meeting someone.”

“What does that me–hey! You know Jenna will kill me if she finds out you went out again!”

“That was kind of the plan,” you laughed, twisting your car keys into your finger before running away from the younger male who had gone pale in fear. “But don’t die tonight!”

You expected someone like Zayne to take you to a quiet, upscale restaurant for your first date, the kind of place where you could sit across from each other and talk softly about your lives over candlelight. But instead, you found yourself in a small, crowded theater, where the seats were a little too close together and the air was thick with anticipation.

As you settled into your seats, you couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between the setting and the man beside you. Zayne, usually so composed in his button-ups and scrubs, had opted for a simple black hoodie and jeans, his hair down and slightly tousled. The look softened his serious demeanor, and you found it endearing.

“I didn’t expect you to pick a horror movie,” you teased as the previews began to roll.

Zayne’s lips quirked up in a shy smile, but he kept his eyes on the screen. “I thought it’d be...interesting,” he replied, the hesitation in his voice betraying his nerves.

“Interesting, huh? You sure you can handle it?” you nudged him playfully.

“I’m a doctor. I’ve seen worse things,” he said, though the faint tension in his posture suggested otherwise.

As the movie started, you noticed how intently he was watching the screen, his posture straight, his eyes focused. The suspense began to build, and you could feel Zayne tensing beside you. The protagonist on screen was slowly inching closer to the inevitable scare, and you couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Zayne. When the jump scare finally hit, the theater erupted with screams, and Zayne flinched, his grip on the popcorn box tightening. He let out a quiet exhale, his eyes darting to you as if to gauge your reaction.

“Are you okay?” you asked, leaning closer to him.

He gave a small nod, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I’m fine. Just...not my usual choice of entertainment.”

You grinned, finding his honesty charming. “Well, I’m glad you’re here with me anyway.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. He shifted slightly in his seat, and his fingers brushed against yours on the armrest. It was a subtle touch, but the warmth of his skin sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

As the movie continued, Zayne remained composed, though you noticed how his hand eventually settled over yours, his grip gentle yet reassuring. It wasn’t overt or flashy, but rather a quiet sign of affection that made your heart swell.

When the credits rolled and the lights came up, you both sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he turned to you. His expression was soft, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you expected,” he said, his thumb grazing your hand as he spoke.

You shook your head, smiling up at him. “Zayne, this was perfect. I didn’t need anything fancy. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

He looked relieved, and as you both stood up to leave, he helped you to your feet, his hand resting lightly on your back as you exited the theater. The cool night air greeted you, and you felt a sense of calm between you, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

“Do you want to grab a coffee or something?” he asked, his voice low, as if he was still feeling out the moment.

“Actually,” you said, stopping him as you turned to face him, “I was thinking we could just...walk for a bit?”

His eyes softened, and he nodded. “I’d like that.”

As you walked side by side, the city’s lights twinkling around you, Zayne reached for your hand again, this time with more confidence. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I have to admit,” he said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “I was really nervous about tonight.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “You? Nervous?”

He chuckled softly, his eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah. I’m not exactly great at this...dating thing.”

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him, your heart warming at his confession.

When you reached a quiet spot away from the bustling streets, Zayne slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully. There was something in his gaze, a mix of shyness and determination, that made your breath catch. “I know I’m not the easiest person to read,” he began, his voice steady despite the slight flush on his cheeks, “but I want you to know that...I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me.”

You smiled, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I’m glad too, Zayne. Really.”

He hesitated for a brief moment before leaning in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, meeting him halfway. The first touch of his lips was soft, almost tentative, but as you responded, he deepened the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t expected – gentle, warm, and unhurried. It wasn’t about passion or fireworks, but a press of lips where you familiarized yourselves with each other’s taste. When you finally pulled away, you found yourself smiling shyly at each other.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as he gazed at you.

“Not in so many words,” you replied, your voice teasing but soft.

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression that made your heart skip a beat. “You do. You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Zayne held your gaze for a moment longer before he finally stepped back, still holding your hand as you continued your walk. The night was calm, and with Zayne by your side, everything felt just right. He took you to a diner afterwards where you feasted on burgers and milkshakes. It definitely wasn’t anything out of the norm, but it was perfect nevertheless. He refused to let go of your hand under the table, and although you told him he’d struggle to eat with one hand, he just shook his head with a smile and insisted he never wanted to let you go.

You should have known that night would be just one of many.

And it was never easy.

Of course, being a gangster had never been on par with dating a doctor, and even though most of your things are now placed in his apartment, it still wasn’t easy. You often left without a word, only coming back near the verge of dying, and Zayne would always hold back his tears as he took care of you.

It wasn’t easy because you kept coming back to him and your old life, two worlds that never blended well together, because he was the preserver of life and you were the bringer of death. It wasn’t easy when it always felt like you had too little time that made Zayne always had to cherish every moment he had with you. It wasn’t easy for you, and definitely not for him, yet Zayne never asked you to stay.

Instead, he always watched you leave in the middle of the night, silently hoping you’d come back safely.

Today was not one of those days.

Jenna had sent you off somewhere far away to handle one of her deals for her, and it didn’t end up looking pretty when your so called client tried to run away without payment. Needless to say, you got stabbed in the gut, but you came home with bags of money anyway. It was a miracle you were able to drive yourself all the way back without passing out.

Just like when Luke accidentally shot himself, the resident medic wasn’t around, and you found yourself limping to Zayne’s apartment. It was a little ways past midnight, and he was still awake, back hunched over a few papers of his patients. Upon hearing the sound of rapid knocking he knew was yours, he immediately cleared off his table to take care of you. Just like how he always had.

And like always, you looked at him dreamily, because he was the only light in your life. Your heart swelled with your feelings for him, because whether he had you bent over the counter as he fucked you from behind or you were just cuddling him – or moments like now where you were barely breathing and your gaze was unfocused – he always looked at you the same way.

He always looked at you like he loved you, and you knew he did.

“I missed you,” you croaked out, coughing up blood afterwards. He shushed you before proceeding to stitch you up. “I’m sorry I’m always gone and you keep having to take care of me.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his hand momentarily cupping your cheeks.

You looked up at him with so much affection that made him wonder if you were hurt at all, and those were one of the things about you. You had your own demons, yet you always seemed bright and carefree, and he sighed.

Zayne blamed it on that cursed hippocratic oath that always made him come to your beck and call. But one look at your smiling – although bloodied – face, he realizes he doesn’t mind being your personal doctor.

Like always, he was just glad you were safe.

You soon passed out in his dining table, your clothes stained with blood now seeping through and making a mess of his furniture. But he didn't mind, and instead carried you bridal style to his room where he lets you rest. He peeled off your dirty clothes away from your body before draping you his oversized yellow hoodie, his heart stirring with worry and happiness at seeing you in his bed, in his clothes, and in his arms.

To him, that was enough since he knew there wasn’t much you could give him, so he cuddled next to you, careful not to add pressure to your wounds before falling asleep.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been out for, but by the time you’d woken up, you realized you were in Zayne’s bed, dressed in your favorite hoodie of his. Groaning, you covered your eyes when the sunlight streamed in harshly. Zayne stirred from beside you. You let out a little gasp when you felt his erection pressing against your ass, his husky morning voice groaning in your ear.

“Baby,” he moaned, his hands lifting your – his – hoodie up as his fingers trail your skin up to your breasts. “Can I fuck you?”

“I,” you started, pausing when your throat goes dry. “Yes, please.”

Zayne groaned as he scooted closer to you, his hair starting to tickle your neck. You sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers pushed your panties to the side, the tip of his erection teasing your folds before he pushed all the way in. “Fuck,” he moaned lowly, “Tell me if it hurts anywhere.”

You only chuckled lightly as your lips gripped him tightly, because only now do you remember the previous incident you were in. True to his words, Zayne was careful not to hurt you, his hands finding home in your hips instead of your waist. You shuddered at the same time he let out little grunts next to your ear. You wished you could turn around to see how his face contorts in that way when he’s about to cum, but he doesn’t let you. His hand started to grip your breasts under the material of his hoodie, making you close your eyes in the feeling of him filling you again.

It had been too long, way too long, and you missed him.

Your body was sensitive, that even though his thrusts were slow yet deep, the constant action of his cock plunging into your depths had you mewling. Zayne began to whisper your name, and that was enough for you both to reach your peaks. He came inside you with his thrusts getting sloppier by each minute, and you shut your eyes close as his warmth started to drip outside your pussy.

Zayne pulled out, gently turning you to your side to face him. He was looking at you softly, a shy smile decorating his sleepy features as he muttered out, “Hi.”

“Hello,” you greeted back as softly as he did. “Did you miss me?”

“So much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he soothed, sitting up before helping you to do the same. “Just promise me you’ll spend the night.”

Now that you could promise. “Sure. Jenna let me off the hook anyway.”

Zayne’s eyes lit up at the thought of that, and soon you both made your way to his kitchen where he started whipping up breakfast. You winced at the bloodstains you’d left, making a move to wipe it off, but he reprimanded you to just sit down and do nothing. You apologized when he cleaned it up rigorously. He only winked at you, and you moved to plop yourself on his counter as you watched him cook. Zayne let the eggs boil for a while, and you watched him cross legged with your face cupped in the palms of your hands. He turned to stare at you, his face unreadable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, feeling self conscious as you touched your face. “Do I have something on my face?”

He shook his head, walking towards you and placing his arms beside your body before he kissed you. “You just,” peck “look,” peck “so,” peck “cute.” By the time he moved on to peppering your face with kisses, you were giggling in his hold, your legs naturally wrapping around his waist .Zayne laughed at your poor attempts in trying to move away from him.

“Stop!” you exclaimed in embarrassment, “You’re gonna spoil me!”

“Of course I’ll spoil you.” He stated, his hands keeping you in place to stop you from moving. You gave in to the strength of his hold and fall limp, the both of you falling silent as you just stared at each other looking lovesick fools.

“Kiss me again.” You mumbled, hands playing with the collar of his shirt. Zayne bent down to kiss you again.

“As you wish.”

You lost yourself in his lips for what seemed like the hundredth time since you met him, and it was his smell that completely intoxicated you. Zayne smelled like safety and comfort, and you were both laughing through the kiss when he suddenly pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, noticing the panicked expression of his face.

“I forgot the eggs!”

You laughed as he ran to his boiled eggs, whining once he saw the eggs had already exploded. He tried to redo them again after scolding you for always distracting him, and the rest of the day was spent cuddling next to each other on his couch while lazily surfing through Netflix. The day passed by in a blur until the sun had already gone down by the time Zayne noticed you yawning in his arms.

He kissed your cheek, hands lazily making circles at your hip. “You wanna sleep, baby?” You hummed in response, and he carried you effortlessly back to his bed before snuggling under the covers with you.

You played with his hand, a small smile gracing your face as you placed it flat against his, and realizing his hands were bigger than yours. Zayne had several moles in his fingers that you loved, and he watched in silence as you admired his fingers. Moments like this were what he lived for, to see you happy and comfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from uttering his next words.

“Will I ever have you?”

You paused, dropping his hand to the bed. Silence consumed the air as your eyes grew distant and Zayne started to wonder if what he said was wrong.

“One day,” you promised quietly, looking back into his eyes with a kindness you’d always kept hidden as your fingers started to comb through his hair. Zayne closed his eyes at the gesture. “You will. Just wait for me when you do.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

You didn’t answer back.

Zayne wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see you for the next two months.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

“I know, and you love me anyway.”

Zayne playfully glare at you, and you laughed, only to choke afterwards because of the pain that shot down at your body. Groaning, you rested your head back into the pillows, his scolding voice now back. “What happened to you?”

At his question, you closed your eyes contentedly, blindly pulling his hand back to your lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” He snarled, “You got shot–”

You opened your eyes, looking at him with so much happiness that you found difficult to contain. “What matters is that I’m all yours now.”

Zayne stilled, pausing in the act of bandaging you up. You expected him to be happy, but you almost sat up in worry when a tear fell from his eye as he stared at you grimly. “Zayne, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he cried, wiping at his tears before finishing your bandages up quickly and crushing you into a hug, still careful not to hurt you. “I just–are you serious?”

“Yeah! I’m free from the gang.” You pulled away to look back at him, wiping his tears away even as he laughed to say the words he’d always been waiting to hear, “I love you too.”

How fitting, you thought, that Zayne was a doctor, because he had stitched up all the broken and missing parts of you together until he made you whole. And it was his stitches and kisses that brought you back to life.

#zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #zayne lads #zayne l&ds #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fluff #love and deep space smut #zayne x reader smut #zayne x reader fluff #zayne x you #zayne x you smut #zayne x reader imagines #zayne x reader scenarios #love and deepspace x reader smut #l&ds smut #zayne smut

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777bae · 3 months ago

Text

ALL THE LITTLE MOMENTS JACK HUGHES

Summary :: You watch as Jack tenderly cares to your daughter’s every beck and call.

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 3.2k

You’re roused from sleep by the soft sound of little feet padding against the hardwood floor, the gentle creak of the bedroom door as it pushes open. The light streaming through the curtains is warm and golden, signaling that the day is just beginning. You stretch and turn over in bed to find Jack still asleep, his dark lashes resting against his cheeks and his breathing slow and steady. He looks peaceful, almost boyish, and you can’t help but smile. It’s rare to have a morning like this—no early practices, no flights to catch, just the three of you. These moments are your most cherished, the ones you hold closest to your heart.

Before you can savor the quiet any longer, your attention is drawn to the tiny figure standing by the bed. It’s your three-year-old daughter, her tousled curls wild and free, her big, bright eyes filled with excitement. She’s holding her favorite stuffed animal—a worn, floppy bunny Jack had bought her during a road trip to Boston last year.

“Mama,” she whispers, her voice soft but insistent, as though she’s worried about waking Jack. “Is Daddy awake yet?”

You smile and shake your head, reaching out to gently beckon her closer. She climbs onto the bed, her small hands gripping your arm as she snuggles into your side. Her presence is warm and familiar, her curls tickling your cheek as she leans against you.

“Let’s let him sleep a little longer, sweetheart,” you whisper, stroking her hair gently. She nods solemnly, but the glint of mischief in her eyes tells you she has other plans.

It takes only a minute before her patience wears thin. She wriggles free from your grasp, crawling over to Jack’s side of the bed. With the determination only a three-year-old can muster, she pokes his cheek softly at first, then a little harder.

“Daddy,” she whispers, her voice rising to an excited squeal. “Wake up! It’s morning!”

Jack groans dramatically, keeping his eyes closed as though he’s still deeply asleep. You can tell he’s fighting a smile, his lips twitching slightly. His hand shifts under the covers, reaching out to “catch” her as she pokes him again.

“Daddy!” she insists, climbing fully onto his chest now. “You promised pancakes!”

That does it. His eyes flutter open, and he looks up at her with a playful grin, his arms wrapping around her tiny frame to pull her closer. “I did, huh?” he asks, his voice gravelly from sleep. “I don’t remember making any promises…”

“Yes, you did!” she says, her curls bouncing as she nods emphatically. “You said pancakes today! With syrup!”

Jack glances over at you, his expression softening as your eyes meet. He reaches out to squeeze your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin. “What do you think, babe? Pancakes? Or should we just stay in bed all morning?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his teasing tone. “You better get up before she starts bouncing on you. I’m not responsible for any injuries.”

Jack chuckles, sitting up and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Alright, pancakes it is,” he declares, hoisting your giggling daughter onto his shoulders as he climbs out of bed. He looks back at you with a lopsided smile, his eyes full of warmth. “Come on, Mama. Let’s make this a family effort.”

The kitchen is soon filled with the sounds of laughter, clattering bowls, and your daughter’s delighted squeals. Jack moves around the space with a relaxed confidence, his hands deftly gathering ingredients while your daughter “helps” from her spot on the counter. She’s wearing her favorite apron—a miniature version of the one Jack wears when he cooks, complete with a little hockey puck design embroidered on the front.

“Alright, chef,” Jack says, handing her a small whisk and a bowl of flour. “Mix this up for me. We need the best pancake batter ever.”

Your daughter takes her job very seriously, her tongue poking out in concentration as she stirs. The bowl is almost comically large compared to her tiny hands, but she handles it with determination.

“Careful, don’t spill,” Jack warns, leaning in to steady the bowl. His free hand brushes against yours as he does, and he pauses for a moment, turning to you with a soft smile. “Thanks for letting me do this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I know I’m gone a lot… I just want her to have these memories.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. “You’re here now,” you say, your voice equally soft. “And that’s what matters.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, before your daughter’s excited voice pulls him back to the task at hand.

“Daddy! Can I crack the eggs?” she asks, her wide eyes full of anticipation.

Jack glances at you, silently asking for permission. You nod, and he carefully hands her an egg. “Okay,” he says, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “But I’m going to help you, alright? No shells in the batter.”

Together, they crack the egg, and your daughter’s face lights up with pride when the yolk slides cleanly into the bowl. “I did it!” she exclaims, looking up at Jack with a grin.

“You sure did, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her hair. “You’re a pro.”

You lean against the counter, sipping your coffee and watching the two of them. Jack’s gentle patience, the way he encourages her and laughs at her little jokes—it all makes your heart swell. He’s not just a good father; he’s an exceptional one. And he’s your partner, your love, your everything.

The rest of the morning passes in a joyful blur of giggles, sticky syrup, and playful banter, and soon the three of you find yourselves outside, soaking in the crisp autumn air. The breeze carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves, mingling with the distant hum of neighbors raking their yards. Your backyard is alive with the vibrant colors of the season—deep reds, golden yellows, and burnt oranges scattered in piles, creating a picturesque backdrop for the day’s adventures.

Your daughter darts toward the largest pile of leaves, her tiny legs moving with excitement as she shrieks, “Watch me, Mama! Watch me, Daddy!” She leaps into the pile, sending a cascade of leaves flying into the air, her laughter ringing out as the colorful flurry falls back down around her like confetti. Jack chuckles beside you, shaking his head as he takes in the sight. “She’s fearless,” he says with pride, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“She gets that from you,” you tease, nudging him gently with your elbow. Jack grins, but before he can respond, your daughter grabs two fistfuls of leaves and tosses them into the air again, her curls bouncing as she twirls beneath them. The sheer joy on her face makes your heart swell.

Jack sits beside you on the porch steps, his arm draping naturally around your shoulders as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his body cuts through the chill of the air, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly still, like the world beyond your yard has paused just for you. Jack presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a beat longer than usual. His tenderness is so effortless, so genuine, that it makes you fall in love with him all over again.

“She’s so happy,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe. You turn to look at him and see the softness in his eyes, the way they follow your daughter as she plays. “I can’t believe we made her,” he says, almost to himself, as though the thought still amazes him.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “She’s perfect,” you say softly, your gaze fixed on your daughter as she collapses into the pile of leaves with a fit of giggles. “Just like her dad.”

Jack laughs under his breath, a sound that’s warm and familiar, and his hand moves to rest on your thigh. He squeezes it gently, a small but meaningful gesture that sends a flutter through your chest. “I don’t know about perfect,” he says with a playful lilt, glancing down at you. “But I’m trying.”

You tilt your head to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t even have to try,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re amazing.”

Before Jack can respond, your daughter’s voice interrupts, loud and full of energy. “Daddy! Chase me!” she calls, standing at the edge of the yard with her arms outstretched. “You have to catch me!”

Jack stands, rolling his shoulders dramatically like he’s preparing for a big game. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he says, his tone light and teasing as he takes a step toward her. She squeals with delight, spinning on her heel and taking off as fast as her little legs will carry her.

Jack takes off after her, his long strides making it easy for him to catch up, but he lets her think she’s outsmarting him. She zigzags behind trees, dives into piles of leaves, and shrieks with laughter as Jack pretends to just miss her, his hands swiping at the air.

“You’re too fast!” he calls, feigning exhaustion as he slows his pace. “I don’t know if I can catch you!”

She giggles, glancing over her shoulder to see how close he is. “You’ll never get me, Daddy!” she taunts, her voice full of glee.

Finally, Jack picks up speed, closing the gap between them in an instant. He scoops her up into his arms, spinning her high into the air as she lets out a delighted scream. Her laughter is infectious, and you can’t help but join in, clapping your hands together as you watch the scene unfold.

Jack holds her above his head for a moment, her tiny arms outstretched as if she’s flying. “Gotcha!” he says triumphantly, bringing her back down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She wraps her arms around his neck, still laughing, her head resting against his shoulder.

From your spot on the porch, your heart feels like it might burst. You can see how much he loves her in every gesture, every laugh, every moment of attention he gives her. And you can see how much she adores him, how her little face lights up every time he’s near.

Jack walks back toward you, your daughter still clinging to him, her curls damp with sweat from all the running. He sets her down on the porch steps, brushing a few stray leaves from her hair. “Did I do a good job, Mama?” she asks, looking up at you with wide, eager eyes.

“You did an amazing job, sweetheart,” you say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “And so did Daddy.”

Jack sits down beside you again, pulling you close as your daughter nestles into his side. You glance over at him, his face flushed from running and his smile soft and genuine.

He catches your eye and leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s sweet and lingering. “I love you,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours for a moment.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady even as your heart races.

As the day winds down, the warm glow of the living room lamps casts a soft light over the space. The three of you are nestled together on the couch, wrapped in a large, fluffy blanket that smells faintly of fabric softener and home. The quiet hum of an animated movie fills the room, but the real focus is on the way your daughter is snuggled up between you and Jack, her small body pressed tightly against his side. Her head rests on his chest, rising and falling gently with his every breath as her tiny hands clutch her well-loved stuffed bunny.

Jack’s arm is draped securely around your shoulders, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your skin. It’s a gesture that feels like second nature to him now, an expression of love so subtle yet so deeply comforting. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest trace of maple syrup from breakfast lingering in the air.

Your daughter’s eyelids droop, her determined effort to stay awake slowly giving way to the pull of sleep. She shifts slightly, curling deeper into Jack’s chest as a soft, contented sigh escapes her lips. Jack tilts his head to look down at her, his expression filled with quiet awe.

“She’s almost out,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You glance up at him and see the tenderness in his eyes, the way they soften as he watches her. There’s something about the sight of Jack as a dad that makes your chest tighten with love. You reach out to smooth a curl from your daughter’s forehead, and Jack’s free hand covers yours for a moment, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

By the time the movie ends, your daughter is fully asleep, her soft breathing the only sound in the now-quiet room. Jack carefully shifts, his movements slow and deliberate as he gently gathers her into his arms. She stirs only slightly, her tiny fists curling into the front of his shirt before she settles again, her head tucked under his chin.

You follow Jack upstairs, your steps light as you trail behind him. The hallway is dim, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the nightlight in your daughter’s room. Jack moves with practiced ease, cradling her close as though she weighs nothing at all. When he reaches her bed, he kneels carefully, lowering her onto the soft mattress with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

He tucks her in with a precision that comes from years of practice, smoothing the blankets over her tiny frame and making sure her bunny is nestled beside her. She looks so peaceful, her features soft and angelic in the dim light. Jack crouches beside her, his hand brushing a stray curl from her face as he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice filled with love. “I love you.”

Your daughter stirs slightly, her lips forming a sleepy smile as she murmurs, “I love you too, Daddy,” her words so quiet they’re barely audible.

Jack stays there for a moment longer, his expression tender and unguarded as he watches her. His thumb lightly brushes over her cheek, and you can see the depth of his love for her in that small, simple gesture. It’s a look you’ll never forget, one that reminds you of just how much Jack treasures being her dad.

Later that night, the house is wrapped in a comfortable hush, the kind of silence that comes only after a day well spent. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathes your bedroom in a golden light, casting faint shadows on the walls as you settle into bed beside Jack. The warmth of the blankets and the steady hum of his breathing create a cocoon of safety, a quiet space where the rest of the world feels far away.

Jack shifts closer to you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that speaks to how natural it feels for him to hold you. His embrace is strong yet gentle, his hands warm as they press against your back, pulling you tightly against his chest. He leans down, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. The kiss lingers, a tender gesture that feels like a silent promise, one filled with gratitude, love, and unspoken devotion.

When his lips find yours, the kiss is slow and deliberate. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a pure expression of love. He cradles your face with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheek as though he’s savoring every second. The way he kisses you reminds you of every reason you fell in love with him—the tenderness, the care, the quiet passion that never falters.

As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours. His breath is warm, his voice soft and laced with emotion as he finally breaks the silence. “She’s getting so big,” he says, his words filled with both pride and a bittersweet wistfulness. “I feel like she was just a baby yesterday. I blinked, and now… she’s running around, making jokes, cracking eggs for pancakes.”

His words make you smile, though a small ache settles in your chest at the truth of them. You lift your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I know,” you whisper, your voice just as soft. “But she’s still your little girl. She always will be, no matter how big she gets.”

Jack tightens his hold on you at your words, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go. He buries his face briefly in your hair, inhaling deeply, as though he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. His hand begins to trace slow, soothing circles along your back, the repetitive motion calming and reassuring.

“I wouldn’t be half the dad I am without you,” he says, his voice low but earnest. “You make all of this possible, you know that? You’ve given me everything—her, this life, all of it. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

The raw sincerity in his tone makes your throat tighten, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away. There’s so much love there, so much gratitude, that you can feel it radiating from him without him needing to say another word.

“Jack,” you say softly, your voice trembling slightly as you try to hold back your emotions. “You’re an amazing dad. She’s so lucky to have you… we both are.” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his jawline as you smile through the tears threatening to spill over. “You don’t even realize how much you mean to us.”

He shakes his head lightly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leans in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is deeper, full of emotion that words could never fully convey. His lips are warm and tender, and when he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours again, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

“No,” he says quietly, his voice steady and sure. “I’m the lucky one.”

The way he says it, the way his eyes stay locked on yours, makes your chest tighten. You don’t argue with him, because in this moment, you both know the truth: the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created, is a gift you’ve given each other.

As Jack pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, his hand continues its slow, soothing rhythm along your back. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, and it lulls you into a peaceful state.

As you drift off to sleep in his arms, your heart full of love and gratitude, you know with absolute certainty that he’s right. You’re all lucky—to have each other, to share this life, to be a family.

#nhl #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl x you #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jh86 #jh86 x reader #new jersey devils #new jersey devils imagine #new jersey devils x reader #hughes imagine #hughes x reader

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miyukisu · 4 months ago

Text

No Matter What .ᐟ

❤︎ | If Umemiya Hajime promises you something—best believe he's keeping it (1.3k wc) ╰ feat. umemiya hajime (winbre) x afab! reader

tags - reader gets hurt, mentions of violence and injuries, angst to comfort, fluff, happy ending, caring ume, friends to lovers -ish, no y/n

a/n - this was a request on my other blog

MEGA MASTERLIST

"If you need help—no matter what it is—just call me and I'll be there."

Those were the words that Umemiya Hajime told you the first time you met him. And maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he only told you that because you were Kotoha's friend. Sure, he was the head of Furin and Furin's supposed to save the people of this town—but that doesn't mean that Ume would always be at your beck and call.

It doesn't necessarily mean that he'll be there for you no matter what.

Because you were just that—Kotoha's friend. You weren't anyone important that the top dog of Furin would come in and rescue you. But, God, you wished that you were.

You let those sweet words float by you at first, but now it was the only thing you were holding on to. That and your dwindling hope.

How did it come to this? Why did they have to come to the cafe at exactly the time that you were alone? Why did Kotoha leave you alone? Not that you blame her... but you do blame whoever these people are—for being so weak that they would hold a grudge against Furin, going as far as torturing the people that mattered to their leader rather than aiming for him themselves.

They were after Kotoha; that much you were sure of. Though, they figured, you could also be someone important to Umemiya Hajime. So they beat you up for safe measure. Perhaps a consolation that they couldn't get their true target.

You could only watch as they continued to trash the place, trying to send a message to Furin that they were dead serious about this feud—a feud that you unfortunately got tangled up in.

With your back facing the door, you were a witness to their wickedness. As much as you wanted to shout or flee for your life, you were frozen in place. Softly, you could only whisper his name—a futile prayer on deaf ears.

But Ume had a knack for turning bleak situations upside down. Too absorbed in fear, you failed to notice an intense presence make its way into the cafe. A newfound weight was put on your shoulders, a coat which you instinctively held on to. It radiated a masculine smell and it comforted you because it smelled exactly like him.

"Can you make do with my jacket for now? Just gotta deal with these guys first," he says, turning to look back at you with a reassuring smile.

Dumbfounded, you simply nodded at him, allowing him what he does best: saving the people he cares about. He effortlessly plowed his way through his opponents. His face showed no emotion, punch after punch. Part of you could tell that he was holding back; he could do even worse to them than this.

When all was said and done, Ume gave them a warning—more so a threat to be honest. The men almost crawled their way out of the place. Only then did you see a speck of emotion on Ume's face.

He was seething. The aftermath of the gang's actions made his blood boil. And to think what could have happened if Kotoha were there...

But most of all—and the reality is—you were the one that got hurt. You were no Kotoha, but Ume cared about you all the same. He was that type of guy after all.

Once he had calmed down, he knelt down in front of you. HIs face relaxed a bit, hoping it could calm you down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I really am."

You quickly shook your head, still holding on to the jacket he perched on your shoulders a few minutes ago. "No... please don't apologize. I'm just glad that you came at all."

Ume's expression softened, feeling bad that someone like you had to go through such a traumatic experience. He wanted to tuck the lock of hair behind your ear and to cup your cheek at that moment, but decided against it. There were more pressing issues than giving into his impulses at the moment—like getting you to safety for instance.

That's how you found yourself being carried on his back. You insisted that you could walk, but he was as stubborn as you.

"Are you sure the cafe will be alright?"

"Of course! The other guys should be there with Kotoha now—cleaning around and stuff," he says.

"What about you though?"

"Me?"

"Don't you want to be there with Kotoha? I'm sure the other guys would have been able to help me..."

He lets out a short chuckle. "You want someone else to help you? What's wrong with me?"

"What? I didn't mean it like that. You know what I'm talking about so—"

A smile graces his face, glad to be so quick-witted. "Then just get comfortable behind there and let me bring you home."

Not that he could see your face, but you hid your flustered face behind his shoulder anyway.

────────────

Ume carried you all the way inside your house and at this point you've learned that it was fruitless to refuse his kindness. He gently places you down on the sofa before facing you with his usual positive expression.

"Alright. You got a first aid kit somewhere?" he asked with his hands on his hips, looking around as if he'd find it in plain sight.

"It should be in the bottom cabinet in the bathroom... um, first door to your right when you go up the stairs," you sheepishly respond.

He nods. "Got it. I'll be back."

Sure that he was gone, you let out the breath you've been holding for a while. You were glad that no one else was home. Otherwise, you'd have to deal with explaining as well.

And... maybe it would be nice to be alone with Ume even for just a while.

You see him come down the stairs and jog towards the hall leading to the kitchen. The fridge opens and closes, and you wonder what he's up to. Although, soon as he comes back with the kit and ice pack in hand—you understood the quick kitchen detour.

"Got some ice from the fridge. Here," he says, handing the pack to you. "Your knee looks pretty swollen. You'll need that."

You softly thank him for his thoughtfulness and he kneels down in front of you once more. He raises his hands, "You okay with a bit of touching?" preempting you to his care.

"Yeah... though it's a bit embarrassing that you have to tend to my wounds when I can do it myself."

He already had a cotton ball with antiseptic. One hand holding your leg up with the other dabbing the medicine on your cuts, he smiled thoughtlessly to himself.

"Wouldn't let a lady tend to her wounds herself, would I?"

"Knowing you... I guess you wouldn't."

He looks up at you with a grin. "Besides, I told you I'd always be there for you. Even after we get you all patched up and ready to go to the pastry shop downtown to get a sweet treat to lift your mood—I'll still be there. Someone's gotta carry you, right?"

You didn't think it was possible for you to smile, let alone laugh, after that incident. But here you were, giggling while Ume cared for your wounds.

"We're going to the pastry shop after this?"

"You bet."

It was this day that you learned: Umemiya Hajime keeps his promises no matter what.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note I used to post a lot of WinBre on my main blog, like 40% of it used to be WinBre. But this is my first fic about it on this blog. Hope I still ate.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker nii satoru #umemiya hajime #umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #windbreaker umemiya #wbk #wbk x reader #wind breaker manga #wind breaker angst #wind breaker fluff #wbk umemiya #mksu.works

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cindol · 6 months ago

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can you do brat reader x bodyguard mikasa w smut 🌚

brat taming with mika’ . . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ ♱

mikasa Ackerman x black fem reader

cw + — mikasa is a bodyguard (obviously), reader is a pop star, brat taming, smut, modern au, pet names(sweetheart, princess), half baked bad plot kinda, consent given before hand, reader is cocky and witty,

wc : no idea because i decided to say fuck it and write on here instead of google docs .

a / n : just a warning 😭! there’s like six dividers/ time breaks because i fucking yap sometimes. also cliff hanger because im not the best at smut srry 😕

mikasa usually is just your good natured protective bodyguard, always making sure you safely get into your pink honda safely after being at some bustling club with paparazzi surrounding the area. She listens to your complaints about some asshole paparazzi getting too close for her liking and is quick to shove them back but a shove that won’t make them have some major injury.

mikasa’s always at your beck and call, feeding into your bratty popstar personality of wanting any and everything but she doesn’t tolerate disrespect. In any videos you’ve posted on tiktok she fed into the silliness of you wanting to be carried and she even tended to you orally on her own liberty. But don’t be mistaken, mikasa didn’t appreciate disrespect.

anybody who personally knew mikasa knew that she could only be so sweet and serene before she had enough of the bullshit and you learned that on a particular night.

it was a usual sunday night for you at your favorite night club, mikasa at your side in your private section with you as you partied with your girls and poured shots of tequila with the bottle and shot glasses you were given.

it really only took three shots of tequila like usual to get you tispy but bolder than usual tonight. Dancing on tables and singing, then getting some real audacity to sass at her. Mikasa only smiled at her first and brushed it off as you having more fun than usual.

but again, her patience only went so far, even for a pop princess like yourself.

once it was eleven pm the clubs was getting emptier and emptier and mikasa knew you’d soon be tired. You were so tipsy still, just giggling now sitting down with your two girlfriends now that the other three had left. In your section you noticed mikasa getting up and grabbing your pink shoulder club purse.

“whatcha’ grabbing my purse for?”

mikasa just made a simple smile at you.“well i think it’s about time to head out isn’t it? You’ve got a date with a vanity interview tomorrow and i’m sure you wanna be early and awake for that, so cmon.” she lent her hand out for you expecting you to take it like usual but you did the opposite.

instead you giggled and just put both your feet on your section’s table.“hmm, how’s bout nah? I think me and my girl’s can handle just one night without some curfew.”

“not curfew, just a appropriate time that you’ve set for yourself to not be grouchy when morning time comes, sweetheart.”

there were some giggling from your two friends at the petname she used and it made you laugh along too.“sweetheart isn’t making me leave this here seat till it hits midnight, mika and i don’t think you’ll make me even get up from here.” you stating that really just invited mikasa to teach you a lesson with her nerves being pushed with how cocky you sounded.

and thats exactly what broke her.

everything moved so fast, one minute you were giggling and teasing your bodyguard then the next in your bedroom with your clothes discarded and mikasa’s security suit done the same in the corner of your room. The only thing mikasa had on was some grey boxers and a white long sleeved blouse while her palm slapped onto your bottom again and again with you spread on her lap.

this time you had a different tone than your teasing one, now just making out whines and moans at the sensation of her hand against your bottom.

when mikasa had enough of berating your ass she smiled and soothed your cheeks with her hand then pulled your black lace wig to see your usual smiley face have a pout with your mascara running down your face.

“it makes me sad to see your pretty face so sad but you’ve brought me to this point but i have to sweetheart.”

you scoffed with a cheshire cat like smile.“at least it’ll teach you not to be such a softie, mika.”

mikasa let out a breath of air and brushed one hand through her hair at you saying that.“then i guess my work isn’t done if the bratty popstar is still mouthing off even when i spank her.”

abruptly she shoved you off her lap and onto your bed on your stomach before she went to search in your closet where you stored all your toys.

you turned your head to see her searching.“what? Finally decided to get rid of that bad medieval fashion taste and pick something of mine up?”

“if your taste mean a glittery pink dildo with a strap? then i guess pink is the new white for me, princess.” she turned around to show the dildo’s seven inch glory, ready to attach it to her waist, humming just looking at the seven inch silicone dick attached onto her.“but if it teaches you how to behave and not be so mean to the woman who protects you, i guess i’m okay with the sparkly dick.”

you were giggling still, but mikasa was gonna completely rock your shit.

by this time your glossy smirk was gone from your face, instead your eyes were rolled back with your mouth wide and drool seeping from it and moans pouring out.

On the other end of you, mikasa was repeatedly thrusting into you, her right hand holding both your wrists in one and her left hand on your hip to steady herself from the rippling effect your brown ass had at her thrusting.

“mm-mmph! too rough mika!” your hands attempted to break free and slow her rampant thrusting against your sweet spot. That only encouraged her and made her groan with a grin, smacking your flailing hands and continuing to thrusts deeper and deeper and bending her neck down to whisper in your ear and grab a hold of your hands.

“i think not even a minute ago someone was telling me i should toughen up, so i don’t wanna hear any complaints. i’m sure you somehow planned this in your little pink sparkly decorated head to rile me.” she gave a sharp thrust making you gasp out to keep you wide and alert.“so don’t give out just yet, pop princess.“

just to keep you wide awake mikasa made a shift of positioning you and turned so you were now on your back with one leg down and the other laid on her shoulder. Both of you face to face with you seeing mikasa’s pale face have a slight blush and damp here while she had the sight of seeing your face with smudged makeup and a black jet lace wig that just refused to let go from your head.

mikasa had a rare beaming wide toothed grin at that as she looked at your wide eyes and wider mouth while continuing to feed your sopping cunt more thrusts.“whatever hairstylist you paid must’ve used some life binding glue for it to stay this long.”

“guess i should send her another text if it’s being well received then.”

mikasa just hummed.“i think i can sweat it off in half a hour from here.”

mikasa would prove herself right, even if you doubted that with a small eye roll. She knew what made your body tick and your weaknesses. It didn’t take her eons to find what the female g-spot was again and again, with how she repeatedly thrusts into your woman hood she would have your climax coming early.

and she wasn’t hesitating to stop there either.

#mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa x y/n #mikasa x female reader #mikasa x you #mikasa x reader #mikasa smut #mikasa ackerman #aot mikasa #mikasa x black reader #aot x black reader #aot x black y/n #x black fem reader #smut anime #mikasa aot #anime smut

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kenobers · 8 months ago

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tremble & shake | jason todd x sionis!reader

but first free palestine !! Jason doesn't show up for your hook-up. You don't think much of it until he comes barreling through his window in a distressed state. He's desperately in need of your comfort and you don't have a clue why, but you can't stand to see Jason Todd hurting. tw: angst, hurt/comfort, could be read as a panic attack, mental breakdown, slightly dubious attempts to initiate sex, non-sexual intimacy, uhh fear, self deprecating thoughts (i swear, one day i'll write something where neither you nor jason have anything bad to say about yourselves). jason todd needs a hug, reader was previously not very good with emotions. or empathy. fem!reader. a/n: happy batman day! here's jason crying <3 this comes after magic hands & is this love?

Slam.

You jolt awake from your sleep, immediately reaching for a blunt object. Blinking hard, you squint at the door. Jason's door.

That's right, you're in Jason's apartment for one of your regularly scheduled hook-ups. He hadn't shown up, his phone abandoned on his bedside table. You figured he must've had to patrol tonight and forgot to give you a heads up. However, it's been pouring rain all night, so you decided to stay. You must've fallen asleep waiting for him.

"Jason?-"

No sooner does the man's name leave your lips than he practically tackles you on the bed. He's still in his costume, the red bat on his chest heaving heavily. His red mouthpiece hides the bottom half of his face as he looks down at you from behind the white of his domino mask. He's absolutely drenched. Cold clings to him and sends a shiver down your spine.

You furrow your brow. Something's wrong.

"I thought you weren't patrolling tonight," you whisper. He says nothing.

Pursing your lips, you ran your hands along his bare forearms. He's shaking. He'd gone out without his jacket. Jason's tough, almost inhumanely so, but if he'd gone out without his jacket in this rain...he must've been in a hurry.

"Did something happen?" Your eyes search his unbroken skin for injuries. Still, he says nothing and the empty whites of his mask are starting to freak you out.

You push his wet hood back and comb your fingers through his soaked hair until they find the buckle of his mask. You undo it and pull the mask from his face, peeling the domino along with it. His expression underneath is just as blank, like his mind is somewhere else.

Before you can say anything, he's kissing you hard. Almost violently. A shaky hand grips your shoulder with a ferocity Jason hasn't previously had with you, even when you've really gone at it.

"Hey," you say between harsh, wet kisses. "Jason, stop."

As if he doesn't hear you, Jason moves to your neck. The hand on your shoulder drops to your hip.

"Jason."

It starts to paw underneath your satin hem.

"Jay!"

The fear in your voice makes his head snap up. He stares at you with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. You shake your head, "I don't want this. I don't think you want this."

He moves off of you, staring at his lap.

You sit up slowly, mirroring his position on his knees. Panic chews at your insides as you try to assess him. He needs help, needs comfort, maybe. You have no experience with comfort, no clue what to do. You can't do this, you're not the person he needs, this-

This isn't about you. The man that has been at your every beck and call for the past several months looks like he's fighting for his Goddamn life. You don't hate the possibility of making a fool of yourself as much as you hate the sight of seeing Jason Todd in pain.

Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, there's a vague memory of a hand cupping your cheek, wiping away your tears. You copy it, reaching out to him hesitantly, terrified of making things worse.

Your fingertips brush his cheek with an almost non-existent touch, just heavy enough to wipe away the remnants of rain. He leans into your touch and you take this as permission to hold his face in your trembling hands.

His own hands find your hips again, drawing you between his thighs as his head comes to rest in the crook of your shoulder.

"'just wanna feel you," he mumbles against your skin, making your shoulder vibrate.

"I'm not gonna fuck you like this," you card your other hand through his damp hair. "You're going to wake up and realize it wasn't what you needed."

He says nothing, but clutches you as close as he possibly can. You tense as he presses against you. His armor digs into you uncomfortably, the buckle of his holster poking at your thigh. Water from his soggy clothes seeps through your satin nightgown. The hand on his face begins to cramp at this bent angle.

You've never seen him like this. Neither of you ever really come to one another for comfort, sans the time he brought you pads. Or the other time he calmed you down from a fight with your father. Or came to your rescue when your friends got you greened out on some fucked up weed. Okay, so you come to him for comfort, but he is...much more reclusive about his emotions. Complaining to you, sure. He often pulls to your sessions pissed and fucks you until he felt better. Sometimes he's so hungry for your body that he doesn't speak, except to check in with you. This was neither of these things. But this would mark the first real emotional emergency of whatever this relationship is. This was sad, desperate. Fearful.

"Please," he breathes in a broken voice. You...relax.

Without thinking about it, you hug him. You run your hand between his shoulder blades, supporting the back of his head. You cradle him like he might break. The same way he holds you when he sleeps.

"Nothing's gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna let 'em," the memory in the back of your head says.

"It's okay," you soothe, pressing your lips to his wet curls, feeling them tickle your cheek. "I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. Nothing's gonna touch you here, Jaybird."

There's a slight shake of his head as he clings to fistfuls of your dress. Your stomach clenches at the thought of whatever was bad enough to puncture his mind like this. You pull back just enough to look at him. Only the bottom half of his face was visible. His lips quivered, silently forming "no" over and over again.

You momentarily retracted your hand from his back to rest your palm to his cheek.

"Baby, I don't know where your brain is telling you or what it's telling you is happening, but I swear to you, you're safe with me in your apartment. Nothing is coming for us, I won't let anything happen."

His breath shutters and he buries his face completely into your shoulder. You squeeze your arms around him, rocking the giant man back and forth. He defeatedly sags against you with a single sob. Your heart drops even further at the sound. You shush him gently, resting your chin on his head.

"It's okay, you're okay. You're here with me. I've got you, baby. I've got you."

The next however many minutes go on like this. You cradle him, praying he doesn't shatter in your lap. You coo any sweets words you can think of until the tension in his muscles eases at your touch. His weight grows heavier in your embrace. For a moment, you think he fell asleep.

"Jay?" You call out softly. He lifts his head and rests it against your forehead. His gaze is still lost in space, but at least they look exhausted. That's better than nothing.

His skin burns against icy hot yours. Sweat starts to replace the rain. He needs to sleep, but he needs to properly warm up first.

You frown, "Jay, you should take a shower. You'll catch a cold."

He tightens his grip on you, not eager to let you go. You tuck your hand under his jaw, "I'll come with you."

This is a good enough promise to sway him. He nods, reluctantly pulling away from you. You slip off the bed, then shyly grab his hand. He intertwines his fingers with your own and follows you into the bathroom. It hits you that this is the first time you've held hands. Under better circumstances, it would feel nice.

You eye him up and down, taking in the damage under the bright bathroom fluorescents. His cheeks are flushed and newly decorated with tear streaks, but otherwise, he really doesn't look hurt. Just incredibly lost. Like he's not quite sure where he is. Green irises burn holes in you, golden flecks incinerating your skin, as if he's trying to figure out if you're real. The gaze is so intense, you have to look away for a minute. You conveniently make note of how funny of his scuffed up black boots look compared to your pedicured toes, bare against the checkered tiles.

He needs to get out of his wet clothes.

Sliding your hands under the shoulders of his sleeveless hoodie, you ask, "Can I undress you?"

He blinks. You hold your breath, praying you didn't just trigger something else. Then, wordlessly, he nods. You let out the breath as inconspicuous as you can and make quick work of the damp hoodie. His shirt follows. All scars, bruises and beauty marks look present and accounted for. Nothing new in the inventory.

It's when you tug his gloves off that you finally locate any kind of laceration. Pebble-like imprints litter his palms; he must've been clutching something concrete like a stress ball for hours. He hadn't bothered with his usual red wrist wraps either, another sign he'd left in a hurry.

You don't pry, however. Instead, you kiss his reddened palms. Then, as your father taught you to do, you turn his still trembling hands over in your steady ones and kiss each knuckle gently. Unlike his forehead, his skin here is frozen until warmed by your loving lips.

Something about this interaction seems to ground the man a little more. You kneel to untie a beat-up boot, reminiscing about how your father used to let you take his loafers off for him when you were little. However, you've only managed to undo the other knot when Jason stops you.

"I can get the rest."

You're thrilled to hear him speak and nearly pop a kiss on his lips like it's a gold star before thinking better of it. You leave him to it, redirecting your focus on turning the shower on and picking out two fresh towels.

When at last he's naked, you make to shed your own minimal clothing. However, Jason stops you yet again, with time with an unsure hand on your bicep. He takes a moment to simply examine you once more in the good lighting, this time letting his eyes wander from your face. A hint of adoration crosses his drained features as his gaze combs your body, lingering on the curves and swells highlighted in baby pink.

Jason's index hooks around the thin strap of your slip. His thumb skims along the satin material before caressing your collarbone. It's a classic Jason move, but now it feels more akin to the way a child might grip a blanket.

"...Can I?" It's the shyest you've ever heard him speak. You nod and he brushes either strap off your shoulders, watching as the item pools at your feet. You give him a moment to admire the matching pink thong underneath before it joins the fabric puddle on the floor.

The shower is quiet, save for the dulcet sound of the running faucet. Jason winces when the hot water stings his frigid skin, however you can physically see the tension in his muscles melt away. His shoulders are much more relaxed beneath your washcloth, the rise and fall of his chest is becoming less stagnant. You take turns washing each other, like it's some kind of game. You touch him tenderly, still gauging for any kind of pain. He touches you with an intent that doesn't meet his drained eyes, still just gauging you.

When the silence is broken after who knows how long, it's by Jason.

"I don't deserve you."

His voice cracks like a 15-year-old.

"Don't talk like that," you chastise. He doesn't elaborate as his hand continues to rub body scrub along your back. You turn to him, both of your hands finding his face and holding it in place, the way he loves to do to you. "Don't talk like that."

You don't know what else to say. Neither of you are wordsmiths. You're afraid if you try to keep him talking, he'll just be self-effacing. You don't think you could handle hearing him talk about himself that way, not with him being as stubborn as he is. So you press a soft kiss to his lips. It isn't long, it doesn't invite more, but when you pull away, there's more green in his eyes. He envelopes you into his chest and holds you there. You return the embrace without hesitation, arms sliding around his waist while water taps the tops of your heads. You think you could stay like this forever; wrapped in each other's arms under the sanctuary of warm water, as the sound of his heart beat lulls you somewhere far away from the world outside the fogged up glass.

You do stay like that until the shower runs treacherously cold. Until one of you has to shut the faucet off, until the other is swathing each of you in fluffy wine colored towels. It's just a series of tasks you wordlessly complete so you can earn the reward of collapsing into bed, just dry enough to avoid waking up to a still damp pillow. You're both too tired to be bothered with pajamas. You aren't sure you're so wiped. Maybe you're just desperate to hold your lover again. He seems to feel the same way as he wastes no time reaching for your waist once the comforter is pulled up.

He slides down to kiss your shoulder and appreciate the warm scent of your body scrub. Much to your surprise, his head stays there. Even more to your surprise, you find it's because his eyes have fluttered shut. Jason never beats you to sleep, even at his most tired. But the relaxed weight of his body on your tells you he's winning this round.

You stroke the nape of his neck, grazing your fingernails through the tapered patch of hair. You'd been so focused on everything else that hadn't even noticed he'd gotten the haircut you'd asked him to. The request had been a joke really, something snarky to remark when he'd said something too nice about your appearance. It looked good, even from this angle. He must've just gotten it today. He must've gotten it for you.

Not everything's about you.

You try to push the thought out of your head as you admire the way Jason's cheek is smushed against your chest. If you lingered on it, you'd just started ragging on yourself, making it even more about. Earlier tonight had been the first time may be ever that someone with the last name Sionis had dared to consider something might not be about them. But what, did you want a cookie or something? A key to the city for your basic empathy?

Jason's earth rattling snore yanks you from your tailspin. You giggle quietly, no wonder he waits to fall asleep second. Your fingers resume wandering their course through his hair and a tremor runs down his back. He lets out a satisfied snort, his red lips parting. With a deep breath, he nuzzles into you. His usually hardened face is the softest you've ever seen it. Even the scars seem to fade. It's the complete opposite of the stony picture you woke up to. Despite the circumstances, you wouldn't trade the world for the sight before you.

You smile drowsily, ready to follow his lead and doze off when your phone vibrates rudely on the bed stand. You swear mentally, first at yourself for jerking so suddenly, then at whoever the fuck just had to send you a notification right this very second. A string of potential threats crosses your mind as you clumsily reach for the phone, gritting your teeth at the awkward way you bend your arm. It isn't easy to reach when a 225 pound man is slumbering (thankfully) unperturbed on top of you.

It takes you a few seconds to recall how to read as you glare blearily at the too bright screen. Your eyebrows knit when a message from an unknown number at last comes into view.

'Is he okay?'

You inwardly rescind your threats. It doesn't take a genius detective to deduce the identity of the sender.

'He's okay. He's sleeping now.'

The reply is instant.

'That's good. Moderate case of fear toxin, it should wear off all together by the morning.'

Ah, that will do it. You frown at Jason. A sick feeling creeps in at the thought of how terrified he must've been. That's why he seemed so unsure of you; you weren't the only thing he was seeing. Your poor baby.

When you glance back at your phone, there's another text.

'Are you okay?'

You blink.

'Yes, thank you. We're all fine here.'

There is one more response before you shut off the phone.

'I'll check in in the morning. I'm glad he's with you. Get some sleep.'

You're glad he's with you too. You're glad he came to find you. You're glad he wanted your comfort.

You're glad you would do anything for this stupid boy.

Jason sighs into your now dry skin. For just this moment, he knows nothing but peace. You'll fight off anything else.

Finally, you succumb to your exhaustion, knowing better than to disobey the Bat. The last thought you have is how warm Jason is wrapped safely in your arms before dreams of his shit eating grin take over.

#jason todd needs a hug #and who am i to deny him #i'll write something happy soon i promise #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd angst #jason todd #red hood #sionis!reader #jason todd x sionis!reader #kenobers poetics #also yes you keep body scrub in jason's shower

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cod-indulgences · 2 months ago

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I had abdominal surgery a wee while ago and I was thinking of the 141 crowding over the nurses and just babying me,don't gotta lift a finger, oh your water needs filling up lemme do that, oh you need to pee lemme help you to the bathroom so the male nurse doesn't see what's THEIRS and ehen you're back home on base/at the flat they're at your beck and call. Gaz buys a bell you can shake foe help as a joke but as soon as the first bell rings you have 4 massive men filing in at attention.

You know price only trusts either him or gaz with bandage changing since they're more gentle handed as to not rip hair, but soap and simon are peering over shoulders saying it either needs to breathe or needs antiseptic etc etc

Im still on bed rest whilst on heavy opioids for pain so yeah! I'd love me a little feel good comfort if you're able to?

TF141 x female!reader, comfort, non graphic medical injury and healing

Hope you're healing up ok anon!

If you didn't hurt so goddamn much you'd feel bad for the nurses. Simon is in full The Ghost mode, glaring from a corner with the skull plate gleaming in the harsh lights, every inch holding violence. It's a miracle he's not in the full tac gear. Two of your nurses are veterans of their craft and don't flinch, and they get his very grudging approval. The one who flutters her hands and asks you in a stage whisper if you're safe (which....great idea, asking someone that when the perceived abuser is right fucking there...) gets booted out the door and you don't see her again.

Funnily enough, he doesn't care about male nurses as much as Kyle and Johnny do, both of them bristling like guard dogs when it's time to check your catheter, move your legs to avoid swelling, test the incisions over your abdomen. You want to swat them for it, but again, you hurt too damn much. Screw this place and their ideas of "morphine doses" and "let's not cause organ failure".

John is the best of them all, at least while you're in the hospital- he makes sure you have support under your back, talks to the doctors and nurses and takes notes, learns when you need physical comfort and when you are so touched out he needs to get the boys out of your hair for a while.

It feels like forever to leave the hospital, even though you know you got out relatively quickly, no complications- and oh, being home is such a relief. Your own familiar walls and floors, a bed you sink comfortably into, and of course four sweet men doing their best to smother you in love.

The bell is just a joke, but the first time you wake up needing to pee and your phone slid out of reach it ends up being perfect- you clang it and Kyle pops his head in, grinning. "Yes, Princess?" He asks, and helps you stand up and shuffle to the toilet.

John does bandage changing, Simon peering over his shoulder and backseat-driving, and you let Johnny carry you to the couch, kissing him as he settles you into a nest of pillows. You get a kiss from everyone else of course, gentle presses of their lips that settle you better than anything.

Simon hesitates, and then shuffles you around, climbing onto the couch behind you to cradle you in his lap. You hiss a little as your stitches pull, and he murmurs a quiet apology. It's alright, his body heat soothes sore muscles, and you let yourself be cradled and cuddled into a nap.

The bell keeps being useful, you can ring it and within moments any or all of them are coming to you, helping you with everything from wound care to fixing a blanket over your lap. You start making a little game of it, asking for Kyle to scratch your nose, or Johnny to rub your feet, but each time they do it so immediately and sincerely that it just swings around to heartwarming.

You're not sure what the hell you did to deserve this, these big-hearted men giving you kisses and care with every gesture, but you'll take every minute of it.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #captain john price #john price #poly tf141 #tf141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #an indulgence

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sanjisboyfie · 1 year ago

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golden retriever boyfriend ! itadori yuji

yuji x male reader

-> very short but i wanted to show smoe love to this cutie wootie patootie.

- oh my fucking god. the absolute sweetest boyfriend i fear. this guy literally praises the ground that you walk on and is at your beck and call as if you were a deity and he is your servant. your day is just him constantly asking if he can do anything for you to make you happier, usually the response is just his company, which he blushes and playfully smacks you for.

"honey, do you wanna go to the store to buy some more snacks before we binge watch?" yuji asked, a wide grin on his face, "gojo-sensei forgot to take back his wallet he leant me from my last mission, so we can splurge and he won't even notice!"

you laughed at his eagerness, but shook your head. instead, you opened your arms up for him to cuddle himself into and said, "i just want to spend some time with you, i missed you,"

without wasting another second, yuji jumped into your arms and peppered kisses all over your neck, jaw, and face, "i missed you even moreee!! let's turn on your show already, then," yuji contentedly closed his eyes, breathing in your scent as his cheek was pressed against your chest.

he was in heaven.

- constantly thinking of you. he's always seeing things on the street that remind him of you, always wondering if you'd like something he picked out for you from a street vendor, will constantly be talking nobara and megumi's ear off about, "oh, [name] really likes that restaurant! should i buy him something to go?" "haha, me and [name] watched that movie last night and he really liked the main character's best friend, even though i liked the main character more!" "nobara, do you think [name] is more handsome wearing a bracelet or necklace? huh? well, i think he lookes handsome either way, but i don't have money for both so i need someone unbiased to choose."

they think they've heard enough, but they very clearly haven't since yuji always goes above and beyond in talking about you.

you're there to hear the praises he sings for you 50% of the time, but the other 50%...poor nobara and megumi because they gotta deal with his yappin ass. he never shuts up in general (he's just a bby) but when he gets on a tangent talking about you ... it's like this guy doesn't need to breathe.

he's just so happy and content with the relationship you guys have he can't help but make it known to everyone around!!! another thing is he could care less if it annoys the fuck out of everyone around him, he just nods his head at their annoyance and then goes, "well, anyway, haha, as i was saying before i was interuppted!"

literally inumaki probably has had to restraint himself from telling yuji to "shut the fuck up" because he just wouldn't shut up.

- yuji likes to make it obvious to you how loyal of a boyfriend he is. he barely glances at other people on the street if he's with you. he has actual hearts in his eyes when he even sees you in his periphereals, if you are right in front of him, dear lord save him.

the two of you were walking down the street to the conveince store. your pinkies were linked together as yuji listened to you talk about your day and the training you had to do. at one point you were complaining about gojo's antics as an irresponsible teacher and yuji couldn't help but think how adorable that annoyed look on your face was.

the pout on your lips, even you rolling your eyes was so attractive to him. he was enthralled by your story and, of course, you, he didn't even realize that he walked right into the clear glass door of the store.

as he face planted staight into the wall, you immediately are fussing over if he is alright. he turns to you with a grin, nodding his head to show he was fine. but the smallest drop of blood coming from his nose said otherwise.

and as you fretted over his very minor injury, he couldn't help but sigh in content as he thought you tending to him was the most heartwarming thing he has ever experienced.

"you'd be a great nurse, [name]," he says, not minding the subtle glare you threw at him, "your hands are so soft and gentle-"

"they're about to smack you if you don't shut up," you gruffly replied, but yuji wasn't deterred at all in singing your praises even more.

"you're so kind to me," he says with a dreamy look in his eyes.

once again, you sighed heavily at your boyfriend's attitude, pinching his ear, "quit it, yuji! what if you actually got hurt, you're lucky it was just a rush of blood. you need to be more focused, especially if we're gonna be out there fighting curses,"

yuji, unfortunately, doesn't take any of your warnings seriously. as he presses his cheek to the palm of his hand, he just stares at you lovingly, "what do you think? should we buy you a cute little nurse outfit and i can be your sick patient? you'd look so handsome in scrubs!"

another pinch to his ear, "yuji! are you even listening?!"

- has this really adorable habit of just getting lost in whatever you're saying and blinking owlishly at you with a very cute smile on his face. it's a really adorable sight, but when you're actually trying to tell him something, he's just looking at you like ":3" and not at all listening to what you're saying.

"gojo-sensei said to be extra careful because the blades were just sharpened, alright?" you advised, looking at the myriad of cursed tools that you were going to be training with. "hm, what do you think suits your fighting style more, babe?"

yuji only tightened his grip around your waist, burying his face into your neck as he was just too focused on your body against his to even begin formulating an answer to your question. even though it was a fairly easy question to answer.

"itadori yuji," you warn, sensing that he was spacing out once again.

"noooo," he whines, squeezing you tight, "'m your baby, not itadori yuji," he complains, exaggerating his name as if it were the worst sound in the world.

"well, you're going to stay itadori yuji until you answer my question," you say, wondering why you had to disclipline your boyfriend as if he were your child. you soften up though when you hear him whine once again, burying his head deeper into your neck.

ruffling his hair as a way of comforting him, ultimately caving in to his whines and attitude, you softly say, "baby, can you just help me out really quick?"

"kisses after i do?"

"of course,"

yuji is grinning like a fool and is suddenly very intrigued in the conversation on what curse tool works best with his fighting style.

GIVE ME ITADORI YUJI AS MY BOYFRIEND and id treat him like a king, thats all im saying. he deserves so much love, please.

#jjk male reader #itadori yuji male reader #itadori male reader #yuji male reader #yuji x male reader #itadori x male reader #golden retriever boyfriend #itadori fluff headcanons #yuji fluff headcanons #jjk headcanons #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #male reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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lumosinlove · 1 month ago

Text

Vaincre

Finals part i

(It's been a long time coommingg... Thanks for sticking with me everyone <3 Ended up splitting this chapter up because it got so long, so the next update will not be in two months, but around two days...)

[NHL on ESPN theme song plays and we zoom into a studio desk with Sam Levi, Kevin Becks, and Hank Mairier]

LEVI: Welcome back to NHL on ESPN, we’re in Game One, New York Rangers take on the Colorado Avalanche in Denver, Colorado. I’m Sam Levi here with two who don’t need introduction, Kevin Becks and Hank Mairier. It’s a Rangers alumni studio! What are we thinking, boys?

BECKS: This is going to be a fantastic series, I’m calling it now.

MAIRIER: Absolutely.

BECKS: I mean, the Rangers have acquired some serious fire power this season. The Avalanche is fresh off a whole slew of wins. It’s going to be a fiery one, that’s for sure.

LEVI: Yes indeed. Some top news, MacKinnon back in the lineup after a brief scare. As is Alex O’Hara who was being watched for an upper body injury. He will play tonight, and Montague will get the start. We’re going to go down to the benches where our very own Cassie Baker has Percy Marshall. How’s it going, Cassie?

[Cut to NHL on ESPN logo]

[Cut to Cassie Baker on the New York Rangers’ bench. Percy Marshall is on the ice side of the boards, leaning in to her shot and microphone—He’s wearing no helmet, grinning, and chewing gum]

BAKER: Thanks, Sam. Percy, your team has gone through some changes this season, which include the acquisition of you, and, not one, but two of your old college friends and teammates, Logan Tremblay and Will Morgan. What’s it been like to all play together again and especially to make a run for the Cup?

MARSHALL: Well, aren’t you going to mention you were there, too?

BAKER: I—ha, yes I was there, too. Not playing hockey, though. Could we have imagined this, back then, do you think?

MARSHALL: I certainly would have had high hopes. Seriously, though, it’s amazing to be back with Morgy, Tremz. I mean, wrong O’Hara, but close enough. Accidentally call him Finn all the time. We’ve really pulled together as a group, um, and we’re hoping to start this round off—

[There’s a shout that goes up from somewhere on the ice, a blur of motion, and MARSHALL catches a stray puck in his glove]

BAKER: Oh—Oh my God.

MARSHALL: Whoa there, Baker. Careful out here.

BAKER: I—Thanks. Wow. I…

MARSHALL: Wouldn’t be the first time I saved you, though, would it?

[Marshall skates away before she can reply]

BAKER: [Flustered and smiling] Um. Well, that was eventful, guys. Percy Marshall’s reflexes are obviously game ready. Back to you, Sam.

[Cut back into the studio]

LEVI: What do you think, guys, are we gonna get the story of the first time he saved her?

MAIRIER: Can we see a replay of that? My God.

[Cut to a slow motion replay—Percy Marshall’s gaze moves towards where the puck’s coming from off screen. Cassie Baker flinches into Marshall’s shoulder just as the puck finds Marshall’s glove. Marshall grins, looking down at Baker as he offers her the puck]

BECKS: Wow. That’s amazing, that was really coming for her head! Percy Marshall, life saver.

LEVI: All right, but you know what the funniest part of that is? If you look in the background, you can see Tremblay and Deveaux—two very stoic guys—look, let’s look again.

[The clip replays. In the background, Tremblay and Luke go from worried, to looking at each other before laughing hard]

LEVI: Look at them cracking up! Have you ever seen Luke Deveaux make that face?

BECKS: What, smile? Ha, maybe not often.

Logan covered his eyes as he laughed. “Oh God.”

“That was both sort of smooth,” Luke said, then shook his head. “And so awful.”

“Have you met Percy?” Will asked dryly as he slid onto the bench beside Logan.

Logan caught Cassie’s eye through the glass that separated the rink-side media box from the two benches. He shrugged, not sure what else to do, and she held up the puck and mouthed fuck enthusiastically, miming it hitting her head. Beside him, Will pointed at Percy and Cassie discreetly held up her middle finger.

Logan turned back to the ice, smiling. He tapped his glove on Will’s knee. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Where are the boys at?”

“They’re here,” Logan said. “Decided since it was the finals it was safe for them to actually be here.”

Will snorted. “Safe?”

“Not “Lions betrayal” as Finn says.” Logan rolled his eyes. “I told them they didn’t have to, they could watch from the hotel, but…”

Logan raised his eyes to the steep wall of seats that surrounded them. He wouldn’t be able to pick them out, but knowing they were in the building sent a warm pressure through him.

“Probably sitting with my family,” Will said. “Yours?”

“They’re coming to New York for next game,” Logan said. “Because Finn’s family is also there, we’re going to have a big family dinner at some point. Minus Leo’s parents, but they’ll be at the wedding.”

“The wedding,” Luke chimed in. “Like royalty or something.”

“I mean, technically, yes,” Will said.

That really made Logan laugh.

“It’s true,” Will said. “If you think about it, in our world, Sirius Black…”

“Well, I’ll text the King and tell him what you guys think of him later.” Logan took a final drink of water before standing and throwing one leg over the boards.

MCDONALD: Welcome to our coverage of the Stanley Cup Playoff Finals. I’m Sean McDonald here with former Rangers Captain Ryan Connors. What are you thinking, Ryan?

CONNORS: I’m thinking this is going to be a hell of a show. We’ve got big players on both sides.

MCDONALD: That we do. We’ve also got Shay Fanarro between the benches. How’s it looking down there, Shay?

FANARRO: Thanks, Sean. These are two teams who really, really want it. Percy Marshall and Alex O’Hara especially are getting the Rangers bench going. Those are loud individuals—and also leaders. Especially O’Hara. He’s been on this team before, he got his start here when he was just eighteen years old.

[Cut to image of an eighteen year old Alex O’Hara, looking young with his hair shorter than it is now. He’s mid-stride in his first NHL game, wearing number 28]

FANARRO CONT: It’s got to be an emotional night for him, almost like a time warp.

[Cut to a live feed from the ice. Alex O’Hara and Logan Tremblay are stretching on the ice, talking]

FANARRO CONT: There’s O’Hara and Tremblay—of course, not the O’Hara that Logan’s used to! You know, that was such a sudden trade this season from the Gryffindor Lions. And Sean, Ryan, I’ve never been shy about saying that I was not in agreement with that move.

MCDONALD: No, you certainly have not been shy about that, ha! What do you think about that Connor? Trading such a core player mid-season?

CONNOR: I think…I think there must have been a plan. Whether or not that plan paid off or is still in the works would definitely be up for debate—I mean, if we’re looking at it bluntly…Tremblay knocked the Lions out of the play-offs. I mean, ouch.

MCDONALD: Talk about backfiring!

CONNOR: Exactly. The Lions brought in strong D men when they let Tremblay go and that can only make me think that Gryffindor management was thinking about how deep their defensive holes used to run, back in what I know people like the call, you know, the time before Sirius Black came in to captain this team into what it is today. Tremblay was a big part of that turn-around, especially in more recent years. I mean, speaking of old Harvard buddies, you got to know that Tremblay was brought in to play with O’Hara.

MCDONALD: That is, Finn O’Hara, younger brother to Alex.

CONNOR: Exactly, Sean. I mean, those two are magnetic, it almost seems insane to split them up and I think that’s part of the reason why Lions fans had such a strong reaction to losing Tremblay. Feels a bit like a car with two wheels. And it did cost them, I mean, O’Hara—this was not his best season, he looked like a fish out of water for some of it. Tremblay, on the other hand—I mean, he’s fresh off a Cup with Gryffindor so it’s hard to compare but this season with the Rangers has been explosive for him. I’m not saying he was happy about the trade—he’s been quiet about it—

MCDONALD: He’s quiet in general.

CONNOR: He is, he is. He’s been quiet about any bad feelings he’s had towards this trade, but he has played like he can’t lose, it’s incredible to watch. So, great for Tremblay, not so great for the Lions. If I was their GM, I’d be kicking myself quite a bit.

MCDONALD: Indeed. Indeed. All right, we’ll be right back for puck drop, don’t go anywhere.

After the game, Logan hissed as he put tentative weight on his knee in the locker room.

“Fuck,” he whispered, reaching down to unwind the tape around his socks.

“Is it bad?” Alex asked.

“How the fuck do I know?” Logan sighed.

“It looked bad.”

“It felt bad.”

Their 4-3 loss didn’t help matters.

“52 took your fucking feet out, didn’t even get called for it,” Luke said. He was half-dressed, pads unstrapped around his chest and hanging loose. “That sucked.”

Him and Alex both considered Logan’s knee as he shed his pants. It was swollen. Not the worst Logan had ever seen, but enough to make the three of them wince.

“Yikes.” Alex reached behind him for his water. “Hey, at least you’re about to get fucking babied to all hell.”

Logan laughed. “Am I?”

“Please.” Luke threw his sweaty towel in Logan’s face. “You know you are.”

Logan just lowered himself back into his stall, stretching his knee out.

“Want ice?” Luke asked.

“Ouais, think so.” Logan framed the worst of it with his fingers. “Thanks,” he called after he realized Luke had already walked away.

Alex was leaning over to see as well. “What are you looking for?”

“I…” Logan shrugged. “Just looking.”

“Can you bend it?”

Tentatively, Logan tried. It felt tight, but it wasn’t all together as painful as putting weight on it was.

“I think if I ice it…” Logan trailed off. “I don’t want to sit. I don’t want coach to take me out.”

Behind him, his phone began to ring. Finn’s name.

Logan held it up to his ear, prodding his knee with his free hand. “Salut. Be out soon, sorry.”

“Are you talking yourself out of being injured right now?” There was a smile in Finn’s voice.

“You got ice on it, honey?” Leo asked.

Luke reappeared, tossing Logan the bag and looking pointedly at the phone.

“They gonna carry you out of here?” he asked. “Calling to check which pillows you prefer?”

Logan gave him a shove, which Luke only returned with a sharp grin.

“Yes,” Logan said to Finn and Leo. “I mean, yes to I do have ice. It’s fine. It just needs to be left alone for a second.”

“Oh yeah.” Finn let out a ha. “Like you’ve ever needed to be left alone in your Logan Tremblay life.”

“I said my knee,” Logan said. He drew his shoulder pads over his head before replacing the phone. “As in I need to keep my weight off it.”

Luke, catching Logan’s eye, pretending to pick Alex up, who proceeded to pretend to jump into Luke’s arms and nearly sending both of them toppling to the ground.

Logan folded the fingers holding his phone until only his middle one remained. “Where are you?”

“We’re in the lounge,” Leo said. “It’s so nice, I mean, they got an espresso bar in here.”

“D’accord,” Logan said. “Going to shower and then I’ll find you.”

There was a rustle, and then Finn’s voice came much closer, whispering right into the speaker. “Save a shower, ride a—”

“Oh my Lord, Finn, not here. See you soon, Tremz,” Leo said, laughing, and the line cut off.

[NHL on ESPN theme song plays and we zoom into a studio desk with Sam Levi, Kevin Becks, and Hank Mairier]

LEVI: Welcome back to NHL on ESPN, we’re in Game Four between the New York Rangers and the Colorado Avalanche and we are back here in the big apple. I’m Sam Levi here with Kevin Becks and Hank Mairier. This has been a wild sort of series. Momentum has been swinging back and forth like a wrecking ball—but the Rangers after losing game one, came back and won game two and three. We’ll see how this plays out. Becks, who has been the most noticeable to you on the Rangers’ side of things?

BECKS: That would be a few. Percy Marshall and Will Morgan have an old chemistry that’s hard to beat. Like Tremblay and Finn O’Hara had on the Lions, really, it’s fantastic to see two guys so familiar with each other. Saint Montague—Sebastian—he’s just a brick wall. I mean, we can go back and watch that power play save from last game a million times but it still boils down to Deveaux making a solid play in front of him, and yes, fine, the puck sneaked through, but Saint was there when the Rangers needed him the most. And, I mean, come on, boys we can’t forget Tremblay. I mean, let’s think about it—this is a guy who was all but raised—career speaking—in the company of guys like Pascal Dumais, Kasey Winter, and, of course, his former captain, Sirius Black.

Sirius was slightly concerned that Hope Lupin might begin to think he was just a little bit insane. He knew the way he watched Logan play was not exactly normal—especially with the Rangers not being his team and all. He stood without moving until an icing broke the spell. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them when the Avalanche scored and switched to sitting down with his palms pressed to his knees.

From beside him, knitting needles moving in a steady, easy rhythm that Sirius appreciated, Hope laughed.

“Does Logan know how hard you’re rooting for him?”

A TV break began at that moment—which Sirius was grateful for. He wanted to look at her while he spoke to her. He’d been the victim of sentences half-thrown in his direction too many times for his liking.

She looked so much like Remus right then. Sun-gold hair clipped back loosely. Eyebrow slightly arched as she posed a question to him. Sirius glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where he could hear Remus, James, and Lily laughing as they cleaned up dinner.

“I think so,” Sirius said. “It’s not really…I can’t talk to him yet.” He laughed. “I know that sounds stupid.”

“Oh, honey, you’re talking to the wife and mother of Lyall and Remus Lupin. Stupid isn’t the word. Intense, maybe. Faithful. Sweet.” She reached forward for her glass of wine. “Besides, this is quite the series, I don’t blame you. Who’s the handsome one again?”

Sirius frowned. “Ah. Which one?”

Hope laughed. “Oh, yes, that’s true. Oh, there he is—Morgan.”

Sirius looked to where they were showing Will Morgan. “Oh, Morgan. Will Morgan.”

“You know him? He’s playing very well.”

“Not really,” Sirius said. “I’ve never played with him. But he went to college with Logan and Finn. And Percy Marshall, who’s next to him.”

“Well, isn’t that a little class reunion.”

“What’s a class reunion?” Remus had emerged from the kitchen, floor creaking beneath his bare feet. He smiled at Sirius as he crossed in front of the television to fall into the couch cushions beside him. Sirius hadn’t even realized he’d broke his superstitious hold on his knee until his arm was already lifted and Remus was under it, fitting into place.

“Morgan, Marshall, Tremz and Finn—well, not Finn, but sort of.”

“I think it’s funny that Alex is sort-of-Finn to you and all these announcers,” Lily laughed. “If someone called my sister ‘sort of me’ I would actually just drop down a hole somewhere.”

“I mean he’s around, like off the ice,” Sirius said, smiling. “Not that they’re the same person.”

“They’re not twins, right?” Lyall asked, settling beside his wife with a kiss to her head. “They sure do look it.”

“Alex is older,” Remus said. “By…I don’t know, a couple years.”

“Speaking of brothers,” Sirius said. “Where is mine?”

“Talking to some girl on the porch.” Julian came bounding in from the driveway, sweaty and with his roller-blades still in his hand. He thrust them out to Remus. “I think one of the wheels is sticking, what do I do?”

Remus took the skates, spinning the wheels with his hand before setting them on the ground. “I can fix it in the morning, bud.”

“A girl,” Sirius repeated, staring in the direction of the porch.

“Some of us do like those quite a bit.” James, coming in from the kitchen and wiping his hands on his shorts, walked behind the couch. When his hand appeared out of the corner of Sirius’ eye, Sirius couldn’t help it. He flinched, just a little. The second his shoulder raised up, he tried to push it back down again. Remus looked up at him, feeling the way he went tense.

James’ hand, which had indeed been about to tap his cheek, froze. Slowly, he placed his hand on Sirius’ shoulder and squeezed gently.

Sirius turned to look up at him, apologetic, and found an equal apology in James’ face.

“Regulus has a girlfriend?” James asked. “I mean—not to assume anything. Made that mistake before, huh?”

Sirius snorted. “Ouais, you really did.”

When the game came back on, Sirius’ attention kept sliding away. Towards the porch, towards Regulus. Did he flinch like Sirius flinched?

Reading his mind, Remus’ hand smoothed slowly up his chest, giving him time to settle into the motion before it reached his neck. His fingers scratched gently through the hair at his nape, thumb smoothing under his jaw. Sirius closed his eyes briefly, at least until the shouts from the television made them open again to find the Avalanche celebrating. They were about to win this game in an unsettling almost blow out of 5-2.

“Well, damn,” Hope sighed. “New York really is going to make this hard on themselves, huh?”

“Hey, Tremblay,” Finn called from the kitchen. “Captain Sirius Black of the Gryffindor Lions is calling you.”

Logan closed the glass shower door. He’d been standing under the spray for a good ten minutes, trying to will all the aches in his muscles away. At Finn’s voice, he looked up from where he’d been rubbing at his damp hair with a towel.

“What?” he called.

“Sirius is calling you,” Leo answered.

Logan wasn’t sure why he ran, but he did. His bare feet slipped just a little on the floor, still damp and probably leaving footprints. He slipped again when he reached the the kitchen counter and nearly took out one of the stools before catching himself and snatching up the phone that was blinking Sirius’ name up at him.

Finn and Leo were laughing so hard they’d turned silent.

“Why did you—run like that?” Finn put his head down into his folded arms on the counter, shoulders shaking.

“You—” Leo gasped through a laugh. “What?”

“Shh,” Logan said. “Shh.” He pressed answer. “Hi? Salut.”

Leo rested his chin on his hands and grinned in an exaggeratedly dreamy way. “Salut.”

Finn had to crouch down behind the counter.

“Salut,” Sirius said, oblivious. He spoke in French. “How are you?”

“I’m being made fun of,” Logan said. He reached forward and pressed a quick thumb into Leo’s left dimple, then yanked his hand back when Leo made to nip at his fingers. “And bitten.”

He could almost feel Sirius’ eyebrows raise. “Should I call back?”

“Non, non,” Logan said. “I’m—you know. Feels stupid, a game like that.”

“You guys were fine, they just outplayed you at the end. Starting Saint next game, do you know?”

“Think so.” Logan took the phone into the bedroom closet, putting it on speaker as he reached for clothes. Sweatpants. He walked over to where Leo’s suitcase lay open and picked out a t-shirt. “Away crowd—he always gets fired up for those, so.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but Logan could tell he was nodding. Logan waited, nose tucked against the collar of Leo’s shirt.

“How’s wedding planning going?” he asked finally, when Sirius was quiet. He flicked off the closet light, took the phone off speaker, and went back into the living room. Finn was on the couch already, book in hand, and Leo was sitting with his on the floor, back to the sofa, doing something on his computer. Finn’s free hand was in his hair.

Sirius laughed. “It’s good. I mean, for myself, it just matters that Remus is there, but I’ve been told cake and stuff is important.”

“Cake is very important.”

Leo snorted, looking over at him.

“What?” Finn whispered. “What’d he say?” He tightened his fingers a little in Leo’s hair and Leo grinned when he gently pulled his head back to look at Finn upside down. “What?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sirius said in Logan’s ear. “Hey did you tell them about the cabin yet?”

“Cake is important,” Leo whispered.

Finn pulled a face. “Okay?”

Leo turned, kneeling, and took Logan’s bent knee, gently flattening it along the edge of the couch, pressed up against Finn. He held up a silent finger—one second—and crossed into the kitchen.

“Not yet,” Logan replied. “But soon.” Logan met Finn’s eyes when he curled a warm hand around Logan’s ankle. “It’s going to be amazing. Really, I can’t believe you pulled this off so fast. Oh, hey, we hung out with Reg a few nights ago, he seems good.”

A tisking sound came from behind Leo, and then he appeared, still translating Logan’s French. “Don’t gossip to his big brother!”

“Oh,” Logan said. “I’m not supposed to gossip about him to you, apparently.”

Sirius laughed. “Tell Leo I understand. But you’re right, he does seem good.”

Logan jumped when something cold pressed to his leg, then looked to see Leo carefully molding an icepack to sit comfortably on his knee.

“So, I’m actually calling…” Sirius began.

“Hm?” Logan said. He was half-preoccupied with reaching up to pull a smiling Leo into a kiss.

“I said I wasn’t going to say anything until something was actually—like, accomplished, but I was watching you play and thinking about what happens if this season turns out the way the Rangers want, and I’m thinking about how I could get you home again this summer.”

Leo and Finn couldn’t hear him, but they both looked up before Logan even said anything. He’d tensed, or maybe his face showed something, something like pain, or maybe longing, or surprise. Leo started fussing with the icepack. Finn sat up a little and pulled Logan’s other ankle towards him, draped over his thigh, and settled a hand behind his unbruised knee.

“What?” Finn whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“You…” Logan swallowed. “You’ve been thinking about that?”

“Ouais, so. So basically.” There was the sound of a door slamming somewhere in Sirius’ background, and then a soft rustle of wind against the speakers. “So, there’s really not much more this game can give me in terms of—”

“You’re retiring?” Logan burst out.

Leo gasped, then slapped a hand over his mouth.

“What?” Finn hissed.

“No, no, no,” Sirius said, laughing a little. “No.”

“Oh. Merde, Sirius.” Logan shook his head at Leo, who dropped his head back in relief, hand on his chest.

Finn sat up a little more. “Oh my fucking God, what is he saying?”

Leo gave a half-hearted shrug, watching Logan intently.

“I was going to say money,” Sirius said. “I want to see what management says if I tell them I want to take a pay cut in order to allow you to come back. Or at least open up the options.”

Logan wasn’t sure if he heard right.

“We’ve got a lot of big names on our team. Worthy names,” Sirius continued. “So, it’s not enough if it’s just me. But I wanted your permission to ask something similar of Finn.”

Slowly, Logan raised his eyes to Finn, who snapped his book closed and mouthed silently, frustratedly, what?

“Not Leo,” Sirius said. “It’s so early in his career, I wouldn’t ask that of him. But Finn. Finn could be very helpful towards something like this. And he loves you—I mean, we both know how much that—what does Natalie say? That freckle loves you.”

Logan felt his brow furrow, though he knew Sirius had meant for him to laugh. He stared at Finn. Those brown eyes. Helpful. Could he ask something like that of Finn? He already knew Finn would say yes in half a heartbeat, but could he ask? It was his career. It was his life, he deserved every single part of it. Logan had once been willing to give Finn up entirely so Finn could get what he had worked so hard for.

“Okay,” Finn whispered harshly. He looked a truly upset now. “I really can’t do the silent looks while on the phone. I really can’t do it. Logan. Speak English right fucking now.” He dropped the whisper. “Talk to us right now, I can’t do this.”

“Is that Finn, too?” Sirius asked.

“Sorry, yes.” Logan reached out and took Finn’s hand, kissing his palm. He switched to English. “Sorry, I should have told you, not on speaker or anything, but Finn can’t understand me, um…Okay, hold on. Can I…”

“Call me back whenever you want,” Sirius said. “I really didn’t mean to—ah, throw it on you, I just…”

Sirius lapsed into one of his long silences again. Finn and Leo were staring at him, Leo a little nervously glancing towards Finn, whose ears and cheeks were pink, his mouth set into an unhappy frown. He didn’t pull away from Logan, though.

“I just…I want you to win.” Sirius’ laugh shuddered a little. “I want the Rangers to win, I really, really fucking do, because I wonder if that make them see it like they got what they wanted from you…and as stupid and senseless as it sounds, maybe they’d give you back.”

Logan wanted to stare at the phone where the words had came from after Sirius hung up, but he tossed it down, letting it get lost in the cushions, and took both of Finn’s hands in his own.

“Rouge. I’m sorry. Come here, everything’s fine.” He brought his knuckles to his mouth, then reached forward a put a hand against one of his cheeks—he was hot to the touch. “Finn. Everything’s fine.”

Logan set the icepack on the table, drawing his legs in to give Leo more room to settle against Finn’s side. Finn let out a long breath and pushed his face against Leo’s neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Leo said, rubbing Finn’s back. “Jesus, Lo, you gave him a nervous fever practically.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan said. “I didn’t—Sirius surprised me. Finn, I’m sorry. Finn?”

“I’m not mad,” Finn said. “I just…Fuck. I don’t know, I couldn’t understand what you were saying and last time you were looking at me like that and a phone was involved…”

“Here’s what we said.” Logan scooted forward so Finn and Leo’s outer thighs bracketed him. He settled his hands on theirs. “It’s not—Sirius wants to try to get me back on the Lions.”

Finn lifted his head. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but said nothing.

Leo, though, just let out a long, exhausted breath and closed his eyes. “Thank God.”

Leo looked flushed now, like the mere thought of it had set his heart pounding. He rubbed a hand over his chest and looked at Logan. “Fuck. What else did he say?”

Logan, still staring at the pink of Leo’s cheeks set against his blue eyes, fumbled over a few sentence starts.

“Well. C’est—It’s a lot. He wants to take a salary cut.” Logan looked to Finn. “And he was hoping you’d do the same, Rouge.”

“Yes,” Finn said instantly. “Fucking yes. Yes, they can pay me ten fucking dollars a month, see if I care. In fact, I don’t need money actually.”

“Finn,” Leo laughed.

“That wasn’t me asking,” Logan said. “That was me telling you what Sirius said, I—I can’t ask you to do that.”

“But you know we would,” Leo said.

Logan smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Those are your careers.”

“And you’re our life,” Finn said. “Don’t you go telling me I wouldn’t chose you over hockey, you know I would, Lo. You know I would have when I first met you, and you know I would now.”

“It’s not even him over hockey,” Leo said. “It’s a pay cut.”

“And it’s not about choosing, it was never about choosing,” Logan said—then realized what a lie that was. What an old, habit of a lie. “I mean…”

“Yeah-huh,” Finn said. “For a second there, it was.”

“Ouais. Fuck, okay, but I would never have let you do that,” Logan said.

Finn looked at him for a long moment, then nodded minutely. Logan didn’t like that this was still hard for them to talk about.

“Sirius wouldn’t have you be one of the players to take one,” Logan said to Leo. “He said so. And I wouldn’t either, Le, you’re worth a—a contract that is incredible, you’re worth everything—”

“Maybe I want to,” Leo said, chin up. “If it’ll get you home, maybe I’ll tell them to take it all back and give me an entry level salary. What the hell is all that compared to…” Leo sighed. “Lo, I would do anything if you could come back. I know we’re figuring it out and I know we’re better for it, but—I mean, can we make it work if you’re in New York next year? Well, yeah. But that’s not what I want.”

“Of course it’s not,” Logan said. “I know that.”

Leo let out a huff of a breath. “So—then—I just…” Leo’s lip trembled a bit through a smile and he reached out to brush a hand through Logan’s damp hair. “I want you home so bad. So badly. Distance is… Look at your beautiful face, you’re not made for distance. I’m not. We’re not. You’re Logan Tremblay, and I need you close to me.”

Logan caught his hand before it got too far away.

“I know we haven’t done the distance for a whole season yet,” Leo continued. He turned to Finn and passed a hand through his read hair. “And—I know it’s going to get really hard. I mean, it’s a really long time.”

“Don’t say that,” Finn said softly.

“It’s true, honey,” Leo said. He brushed a thumb under Finn’s eye at the high of his freckled cheek. “It’s okay, it’s just true.”

“Compromise,” Logan said. “Okay? Ready?”

“Comprom-ise,” Leo corrected gently. “But you’re right, we should say it like ‘promise’ and, yes, I’m ready.”

“Compromise.” Logan liked the way Leos’s eyes narrowed at the imitation of his accent. That nice, slow ‘I’ sound.“If Sirius even begins to pull this off, and if he needs you, then okay.”

“Deal,” Leo said. He leaned forward and kissed Logan, once and sealing. “Now, cheer Harzy up.”

Finn was indeed sitting very still. He was laid back, messing with the corner of his book, gently ruffling the pages with his thumb.

Logan gave Leo his spot on the sofa and knelt on the rug beside the couch. He did as Leo had, taking Finn’s face gently in his hands and turning Finn’s eyes to his.

“Look at me.” He swiped his thumbs over the warm, flushed parts of his cheeks. “Regarde moi, look at me.”

Brown. The richest brown.

“It’s you,” Logan said. He carded his fingers through Finn’s hair, dropped his palm to rub gently against his back. “It was you in the ocean, when I couldn’t say it, and it’s you now, when I will say it to everyone who will listen to me.”

Finn let that sit for a moment. He closed his eyes like it was sun to bask in. He let the pressure of Logan’s touch tilt his head back slightly.

“I know that,” he whispered. “I just thought something was wrong. I thought you weren’t telling me.”

Logan let Finn’s forehead rest against his shoulder and looked at Leo. He was watching them with a soft expression, his elbow slung on the couch’s arm, temple against his fist. Logan kept his eyes on him, even as he felt Finn’s hand flatted over his chest, like he wanted to touch where Logan felt most. He kept his eyes on Leo as he covered Finn’s hand with his own.

“You know that, whatever happens next season, I’m going to be here for you this time.”

The tips of Finn’s fingers dug into Logan’s chest. he saw Leo’s chest rise sharply with a surprised inhale.

“I don’t care how far away I am,” Logan said. “I would drive through ever single night. I’m going to be here for you whenever you need me.”

Logan knew they needed to hear them. And he’d said it to them before, in different ways. But this, hearing them when he was right here, just the three of them, pressed so close together, felt different. Heavier. True.

“Even if you don’t need me,” Logan said. “I’m there.”

“Don’t need you,” Finn repeated, the words heavy with utter disbelief and so soft that Logan wasn’t even sure Leo heard him. He pushed his forehead harder into Logan’s shoulder, huffing out a breath like something hurt.

“You’re not gonna shut us out again,” Leo said.

Logan shook his head. “Non.”

“When it gets hard,” Leo said. “When we can’t see each other for weeks at a time—”

“You’ll get so sick of your phone ringing, you’ll want to throw it away,” Logan said.

“There…” Leo pressed his lips together and sat up. He put his hands on Finn’s bent knees and Finn straightened them, nearly cradling Leo between his thighs. Logan felt Finn turn his head to look at him. “I was comparing this year’s schedule. Earlier on, there are weeks when both teams are on the road one after another, us, then you—”

“Every morning,” Logan said. “I call you every morning.”

Leo shook his head. “The time zones don’t always—”

“Leo,” Logan cut him off softly. “I promise you.”

Leo’s mouth pulled to the side.

“I won’t shut you out,” Logan said softly. “Ever again.”

“Or Harz,” Leo said. “No matter what happens?”

“Or Harz,” Logan said. He turned down to look at Finn. “No matter what.”

Logan wasn’t sure he could have explained it if someone asked him to. All the ways he’d found a new home, and all the ways he felt like he’d never quite be home again, not until they were in the same city. How he didn’t completely know if he would survive next season without them.

“I’ve been so focused on making it around this year,” Logan said softly. “I mean—non, what is it?”

“Through,” they answered in unison.

“Through this year. And then Sirius just went and talked about how maybe I could…come home. And I realize—I realize that there’s a real chance that I can’t.”

He looked at Finn and he was watching him drive away again from the OKN house. He looked at Leo and he was being yanked back from the elevator and into his arms.

“I could be in New York for the rest of my career, or somewhere even farther, any of us could—” Logan said in French to Leo, then closed his eyes and, in English, “I could be in New York for the rest of my career—”

Finn leaned forward and pulled Logan up the way he knelt in front of them. He pressed his palms to the back of Logan’s thighs, pushing him down onto the couch, his back against Leo’s chest, before leaning forward to hover over him. Logan’s breathing hitched at the easy way Finn moved him, handled his body.

“And you’ll be ours…” Finn settled into the V of Logan’s thighs. Leaning on one forearm, sunk into the cushions, he took Logan’s chin between his fingers and pulled him into a hard kiss, running his tongue along Logan’s lower lip until they could meet. Logan’s world began to tilt in that slow way, especially when he felt Leo’s mouth press to his neck. “For the rest of our lives.”

Leo’s arms went tight around his waist, low on his stomach. Large, warm palms holding Logan’s hips as surely as Finn’s body pressed down on his.

“I’m trying to comfort you,” Logan groaned.

“The rest of our lives,” Finn said again against his mouth. He pulled back with a last kiss, and then Logan was blinking up and watching Finn’s pale throat and jaw move as he kissed Leo. Flashes of tongue, teeth when Leo smiled, and the feeling of Leo going slack and sinking into the cushions beneath him. Logan put a hand on Finn’s jaw, feeling the way he kissed, and then behind Leo’s neck, arching his back upwards until his mouth could reach the underside of Leo’s jaw. The position, though slightly awkward, pressed his chest against Finn’s and caused Leo to break his kiss to catch Logan’s mouth—a lopsided kiss that Logan chased.

“Mm…” Leo mumbled. Because Finn was there, too, bringing his mouth to both of theirs. It startled Logan for a moment—only a moment. And then he was lost in it. He was turned in a way that, had they not both been grasping hands around his back, he would have fallen, and he knew he was doing very little to support himself anyhow. He traded one of their mouths, their tastes, for another without even having to turn his head. It wasn’t even a trade. Both of them, at once. Their warm skin, breath, and teeth, at once. He lost his breath enough that he had to look, had to see. Leo’s fair eyelashes fluttered, brows drawn together at Finn’s kiss—and then he was turned slightly, hardly at all, and Logan found himself lost all over again.

“Fuck,” Finn breathed, and Logan realized his grip on him had been reduced to only his sweatshirt. “Wait, wait, Lo, c’mere—”

Logan was kept from falling from the couch only by Leo’s quick hands. His arms scooped around Logan’s waist again and held fast.

“Ah,” Finn whispered, pressing himself forward to get at Leo’s neck. His arm secured itself around Logan’s waist, too. “Nice save, One.”

Leo’s blue eyes opened from where they’d closed in pleasure, delighted. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“One and ten makes eleven,” Finn said, pulling back to look at them. “Which…I can’t think of a reason for right now because that was…” Finn’s smile was one of Logan’s favorites—sharp, though his eyes held the glass of arousal. “Really, really hot.”

“Why did we stop?” Logan asked.

“You were falling off the couch,” Leo replied, laughing.

“We could have all fallen to the floor and continued.”

Leo clicked his tongue twice, smiling and taking Logan’s chin in his hand. He saw Finn’s smile out of the corner of his eye and let him hook Logan’s leg up around his waist.

“That’s why you are rarely in charge,” Leo whispered. He brushed their lips together, tongue darting out to trace Logan’s lower lip. “And why you have the two of us to catch you,” His eyes went soft, no longer talking about the sofa or the floor or the kiss, “when you feel like you’re going to fall.”

Finn exhaled slowly from beside them. He tilted his chin forward and Leo kissed him gently before turning back to Logan.

“And you for us,” Leo whispered. “No matter what happens.”

“You’re there,” Finn said. “You’re there for us, Lo. You’re so there for us, you sit there and torture yourself when you haven’t been.”

Logan couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of him. He let his head fall back against Leo’s shoulder. He reached up and back, tangling his fingers in Leo’s hair.

“I love you,” Logan said in French, then realized, but Finn merely smiled.

“That one I got,” Finn said.

“Okay, come here,” Leo said, and heaved Logan so that he was on his other side in the stability of the couch and their bodies again. “There.”

“Wanna hear something funny?” Finn asked.

Leo and Logan looked at each other, then laughed.

“Sure, Harz,” Logan said. He sat up a little until he could wrap an arm around Leo’s shoulders and turn his face into his hair.

“Any time a book in school had a character, figure, whatever, that started with L, my essays that I’d turn in would always accidentally have Logan in there instead at least twice.” Finn curled a palm around the back of Logan’s neck. “One class, I did it so much, the professor wrote, okay, who is this? in the margins.”

Leo’s laugh tilted his head back. “Oh Lord, I can see that clear as day.”

Logan on the other hand felt stunned. “I didn’t know that.”

Finn just grinned. He turned his gaze towards Leo “Little did they know, I’d have two Ls. Jokes on them, I’ll never see that letter the same again.” Finn was still smiling as his eyes closed and let his weight go against Logan’s chest. Leo, beneath them both, made a content sound. “That letter…That letter is my heart, that’s what it is.”

We’re back in Colorado boys, and the Rangers look like they’re staging a third period come-back to finish off Game Five of the Stanley Cup playoffs—either that, or we’re in for a very tense over time.

Tremblay—God he’s playing like a man on a mission. Did this somehow turn into a Game Seven when I wasn’t looking? He’s on the puck like he’s going to win it all tonight!

And with a nose he keeps having to get stopped up at the bench. That was quite a fight with Henderson, but that’s what happens when you get into the blue paint. Tremblay’s always been a goalie defender, if I ever saw one. All right, Rangers face-off win and it’s brought around by O’Hara, now to Marshall. Picked off by the Avalanche captain—oh! Back on Tremblay’s tape. Oh, this stadium doesn’t like his skills one bit. Pass up the ice, O’Hara, that was close! Hit the post. Tremblay, racing, step behind, finds the scramble for the re-bound, and he scores!

What do you say? I say come-back complete and I’m ready for a Game Six in New York to close this for good. The New York Rangers are one game away from becoming Stanley Cup champions.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to tell him yet,” Remus said. His voice was a little strained, his hands high above his head as he fastened a delicate row of lights, small bobble ones all spaced out along their dark chord, to one of the posts they’d erected by the dock.

“I don’t know what happened, I was just suddenly telling him.” Sirius rested with one elbow on his knee, looking down at the boards he was laying for a makeshift dance space along one square of the beach. It wasn’t big, but Sirius only had one dance planned. He was half-wondering how much dancing would distract everyone else while he stole Remus away. “I called him to talk about playoffs, if he was as hurt as I thought he was, that hit to his knee…and then I was suddenly saying how I could maybe get him home.”

Remus eased himself down the ladder, jumping the last two rungs. “And he said?”

“He wanted to talk to Finn and Leo.”

Remus nodded. “Well, that makes sense.” He knelt down near Sirius, knocking his knuckles on the wood—or, plastic, maybe. It was a hard, durable material at least. “Lily keeps asking me what I’ll do if it rains.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What you’ll do?”

Remus laughed. “We. But don’t lie, if we could say our vows only to each other and then just throw a big dinner party, you wouldn’t say yes, but you wouldn’t say no, either.”

Sirius straightened a little, elbow resting over his thigh. “You think I don’t want to dance all night with you right here?”

Remus pressed his palms to the makeshift floor, examining it. “I think you want to be with me all night, but I know you don’t want to dance.”

Sirius watched as Remus got up again, going back to his ladder, this time to hang the banner he and Lily had been working on. A painted S & R. Sirius watched him manage the fabric carefully, admiring their initials beside each other. Remus tilted his head back to consider the side of the house. It drew his shoulders back and bunched his t-shirt where they met strongly at the top of his spine.

Sirius could have lived in a loop of this. Wake up. Run. Breakfast with everyone. Swim. Lunch. Swim. Dinner that they all cooked together, too many people in the kitchen, Lily getting lime juice in her eye and James kissing her red cheeks. Harry on Sirius’ hip, babbling into his shoulder and looking at Remus as he talked gibberish to them. Regulus and Julian coming in sweaty from playing street hockey in the driveway, Sirius not quite getting up the courage to ask about any late night phone calls taken on the porch.

Yes. There had been a time when Sirius would have taken something quiet over a party with speeches and audiences watching rings being exchanged. Back when parties meant smiling and agreeing, and speeches meant performing so his parents could boast, and audiences only asked him questions rather than let him talk, and and rings caused cuts that stung for days.

And kitchens were places kept out of sight, and kisses were lipstick to be wiped away, and holding a baby against him meant someone else had to endure his terrible, terrible world, and you didn’t play hockey in the driveway, you went to the rink at five and ran drills until seven.

Sirius rose from the new ground he had lay, and walked across it to where Remus was draping the banner over the top of the ladder, ready to climb. Before he could, Sirius caught him by his hips and stepped closed to him from behind. He set his mouth on the tanned and freckled skin of his neck.

“Yes, I do,” Sirius said against him. “I do want to dance with you.”

Remus leaned back against him. His hand covered Sirius’. “Oh, baby, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean that in a bad way at all.”

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it, I’m just telling you.”

“I mean, I’d marry you in a deserted—uh, desert. I’d marry you in a courthouse or in the locker room, like between play-off games, if that was how this all worked out, I’d—”

“You know, when you’re around your mom, your sentences become twice as long.”

Remus laughed and turned in Sirius’ arms to lay his hands on his chest. “You don’t want to dance in front of everyone. I know you.”

“D’accord.” Sirius put his hands on either side of Remus’ face. “So, yes, it’s not my first choice of things to do in my free time.”

“I just meant that I…I know you,” Remus said. “That’s all.”

“But you want to dance,” Sirius leaned down to brush a kiss to his mouth. “You want banners and lights and a dance floor. Cake, flowers…”

“I want you.”

Sirius smiled, shaking his head. “Yes. But you want banners, lights, dancing, cake, flowers, and all the rest, and so that’s what you’ll have.” Sirius took step back, drawing Remus with him. “You’re never going to miss anything ever again.”

Remus’ eyes fell down to their feet, which Sirius had begun moving in a slow, synchronized circle. “Tall order.”

“Just watch me make it happen.”

Remus put his arms around Sirius’ neck, letting himself fall into Sirius’ slow dance. “Competitive.”

“But you already knew that.” Sirius drew one of Remus’ hands into his own and guided him into a spin, before pulling back against his chest. “Did you know I was forced through dance lessons?” Before Remus’ face could fall even a little, Sirius guided them into a turn, their arms crossed lightly one way, then the other. “I don’t think it ever occurred to them that I’d use it to dance at my wedding to my husband.”

Slowly, feeling his way back to ease through Sirius’ true smile, Remus let himself be spun again, and when his face came back into Sirius’ view, his smile was true, too.

“Best use in the world, I think—oh my God, you can dance? I’m gonna make a fool out of myself, Jesus. But, I don’t—” Remus broke out in a laugh as Sirius spun him again. “Are you trying to disorient me?”

“I’m trying to show you how good I am at everything. Including giving you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

When Remus laughed, Sirius added it to the loop where he wanted to live. This summer, and that sound.

“Shut up,” Remus sighed, putting his arms around Sirius’ neck again. He let them sway. “All I am saying is that I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t care how much I want it.”

“And all I’m saying is that I used to wonder how long I had before it looked weird that I didn’t have a girlfriend. Wasn’t getting married. And now I have my boy who wants to dance at our wedding…”

Sirius thought about dipping him, he could, but he wanted to keep him close. The setting sun cast Remus’ skin in pinks and oranges, and it occurred to Sirius, so suddenly and all-at-once that it nearly made him lose the rest of his sentence, that this was what Remus would look like when he said yes to the rest of their lives.

“You…” Sirius found his voice tight. “You think that I am going to do that?”

“Oh—” Remus pressed forward. “God, come here.”

No sooner had Remus’ mouth found his, than music was blasting through the new speakers—the beginning chords of Back In Black. Remus jumped, nearly biting Sirius’ lip.

“Jesus fuck,” Remus cursed.

“James,” Sirius shouted, looking towards the house.

All he was met with was a cackle.

“Try again!” Regulus’ voice answered them.

#vaincre lumosinlove #wolfstar #hockey au #coops #o'knutzy #sports au #Harry Potter fic #Harry Potter au #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #Leo knut #finn o'hara #Logan tremblay

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months ago

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Broken: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow @trublu2u

Companion piece to

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

The Vet - Rip comes face to face with a nightmare.

Travis isn’t in Montana the night Malcom Beck comes for you. He’s back home on his ranch in Texas, wrangling cattle and trying to forget about the fact the two of you decided to call it quits a couple of weeks ago. It still hurts like a fucker, no matter how much he tries to busy himself.

When he gets the call from Rip he thinks it’s about horses. The Duttons have been expanding onto the rodeo circuit, he suspects they want to talk logistics. He doesn’t expect Rip to tell him he needs to get his ass to Yellowstone right fucking now, because your ex husband has beaten you so badly they weren’t sure if you were going to make it through the night.

He gets on the first plane he can out of Texas, praying to God and replaying that phone call over and over and over again his head. It’s the longest four hours of his God damn life. A living fucking nightmare.

“They’ve moved her to the ICU.” Rip informs him when he lands. “He beat the living shit out of her, if Imogen hadn’t turned up when she did...”

Then they would have found your body instead of you bleeding out across the tiles trying to fend off Malcom Beck.

“Did he…” Travis can’t bring himself to say the words.

“No.” Rip says, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel, remembering the scene he walked into. “But it was close.”

Travis wants to murder Beck. He wants to tear him apart, to scatter his remains into the tar pits in Texas where they wouldn’t find a trace of him. The impulse surges through his body like a wildfire burning him up inside.

“I’m going to kill the fucker.” He snarls, his hands clenching into fists. “I’m going to…”

“You’re not going to do anything but take care of your girl.” Rip says sharply, the harshness of his voice stopping Travis in his tracks. “You’re the one she needs right now, leave Beck to us.”

There’s silence then as Travis tries to rein in his temper. He knows Rip’s right, that he needs to be there with you, supporting you because despite the fact the two of you aren’t a thing anymore, he’s still deeply in love with you.

“He needs to suffer.” Travis says finally, his voice rough. “I’m not talking a bullet to the head Rip, it needs to be fucking biblical.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Rip promises and Travis already knows from the tone of his voice that Malcom Beck is going to die screaming.

When he gets to the hospital, Lloyd is waiting for him near the gift shop. They fall into step and he gives Travis the latest details regarding your condition. You’re in and out of consciousness due to the pain medication. You have a broken arm, multiple fractured ribs, internal bleeding and a concussion so severe they would have refused to let you out the hospital even if you didn’t have the other injuries.

“You need to prepare yourself.” Lloyd tells him, pausing outside the door. “It ain’t pretty.”

Travis’s throat constricts and he nods his head in understanding before the other man opens the door and gestures for him to step inside. His eyes come to rest on you and for a second he doesn’t actually recognise the person lying in that bed. His breath catches and his knees grow weak. Lloyd’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing lightly and that sensation it anchors him. He lets his bag drop to the floor, before he approaches your bed. You’re asleep, a deep exhausted rest that comes with heavy medication. He wonders if you’re dreaming, he hopes that if you are they’re sweet ones, ones of you riding Artemis over the pastures with that pretty smile on your face.

His thumb traces over the cuts on your knuckles, split from defending yourself against that animal. His eyes began to sting because he cannot imagine how scared you must have been in those moments with Beck, how you’d literally fought for your life.

“I’m gonna give the two of you a little time.” Lloyd says, squeezing his shoulder again. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Travis nods his head, waiting for the door to close before he takes the seat alongside of you, his hand clasping yours. The tears, they’re following freely now, salt stains his cheeks as he chokes, the sobs wracking his body with a violence that vibrates through every single one of his nerve endings. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried, his daddy died over a decade ago and he hadn’t shed a single tear for that man.

Your hand slips from his as he tries to stifle the sound but it tears from his chest as his heart shatters into a million pieces. Something soft brushes his face and it takes him a second to realise it’s your fingertips, trying to chase away his anguish.

“You’re here.” You say, your voice barely more than a rasp.

“Yea honey.” He whispers as he kisses the pads of your fingers. “I’m right here.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#travis wheatley #travis wheatley x reader #yellowstone

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certifiedskywalker · 10 months ago

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Three Weddings and Your Funeral (Part 2) - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi certi, how are you ? I love all you're stories and most you do daemon targaryen characterization justice could you do second part to Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen ?

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all. Your dance of stillness stretched across the continent; but you thought you ended that dance long ago…Daemon, as always, had other ideas.

Part One

A twig splintered beneath your foot with a sharp, ear-tingling snap. At the sound, you caught your loud, ragged breath in your throat, careful not to add insult to self-inflicted injury. You let your gaze fall to the split thing under your shoe and cursed it in the quiet of your mind before daring to look back up towards the abandoned fishing hut. The storm-toppled tree branch that split its planks would be a warning realized too late. When you did look, its foreshadowing was the furthest from your attention.

“I thought I taught you better,” Daemon chided, slinking out of the shadows cast by the hut. His dark armor and silver hair glinted in the moonlight. Under its glow, he was alive and rippling like the bay waves that lapped quietly at the shoreline. One step in the wrong direction and you would be overcome: dragged under and drowned in him. It didn’t help that his eyes moved like the tide too: wishing and washing up and down your frame. “You look well.”

You swallowed after a long moment, forcing the caught breath into your lungs. “Sneaking about King’s Landing in your shadow hardly constitutes a lesson.”

Daemon hummed, the sound light and affirming, tilted up like the start of a dear song; and there you were, being lulled into the warm ease of familiarity. No, nothing about being familiar with Daemon was warm or easy. It was sweltering and you had somehow forgotten about the heat. It returned to you then, and the memory stung with vengeance.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice did not waver with the question, which surprised you. Perhaps time weakened Daemon’s ability to drag you under.

“I could ask the same of you,” he countered. The closed-lip smirk etched onto his features was unmoved by your bravery. “You sent word.”

“And you listened, after all this time.” Daemon lingered in his spot in the sand before he stepped towards you, his expression becoming clearer and all the more taunting. It was as if he knew how you, just hours before, had clutched the parchment and traced his lettering. “Did you ever stop listening?”

Nettle-like memories again: endless, stinging flashes of tourneys and weddings spent at Daemon’s side. So many years spent biding by his beck and call like a hound eager to please. What did you have to show for your dedication? A single kiss, before being left entirely to fend for yourself. How you had loathed his silence then; but, with him stood just a pace away, you found yourself unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the truth.

So, you ignored him and asked again, this time through gritted teeth: “What are you doing here?”

Daemon cocked his head, his smirk widening ever-so-slightly, and stepped towards you until he was only an arm's length from you.

“Why?”

“Why did you come to meet me here?” His eyes were dark but not like the pitch night about you. The fire in him shone through as it always had, but it was dimmer than you remembered. At your last meeting, his gaze had been wild, spitting like coals needing air…needing you, however briefly. What had he blamed then?

“Impulse.”

With the word, memory stung Daemon too. His smirk melted into the lines on his face, some old and others new. Impulse made your hand twitch with an itch to reach up and be taken under his current. Then, you could learn those new lines and trace them as you had with his lettering.

You managed to still yourself, curling your fingers into tight fists. Daemon’s gaze flicked your hands before it settled on your face with a gripping cold. His scowl-stuck lips parted, sealed, then parted again, a hesitation that had you almost gleeful. At long last, you had knocked him off balance; though, he eventually found his words.

“You married,” he snapped, his tone icy and startling, and suddenly you were the one careening. He leaned in, his eyes searching yours for…what you were unsure. “Did you not think I heard?”

Your marriage into House Cox of Saltpans had been no great news, hardly news at all. It, like many a marriage, was strategic: safety from dancing dragons seemed a better bet in the far, underfed reaches of the Riverlands.

Saltpans was a quality choice in that regard, having been stymied long ago by men who called themselves River Kings and ruled the Bay of Crabs by boat before Aegon conquered by dragon. Left charterless, the town never sprawled into a city, and trade, while present, was limited to the sweet meat of pygmy crabs and seashell beads carved by those living nearer to the Trident. With such limitations, House Cox, as the town’s stewards, had few arms to provide to the war effort, an insufficiency that left it rather uninvolved in combat.

At most, what you heard of the Blacks and Greens was the distant roars of whichever Targaryen most recently claimed the ruins of Harrenhal. Though, it seemed that relative, personal peace had worn out. The wave of dread that accompanied that realization washed your mind clean enough to clarify the object of Daemon’s searching eyes. How could you?

“I am married,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur, “as are you, thrice over.”

Daemon scoffed, letting his face turn down and to the side.

“Did you truly expect me to wait for you after all that happened?”

“Do not think me so foolish,” he snapped, his head lifting to meet your gaze. In his eyes then, you saw the Daemon so many feared, the worst of the man you had loved for so long.

“I knew you to be so foolish, or at least so cruel as to expect that of me.”

“Yes, so cruel,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, his boots sinking to the sand with such heated anger that you were surprised the grains did not turn to glass beneath him. “Cruel, yet I have kept my promise. You, your Lord, and these wretched reaches of the Riverlands have been spared dragon fire. Do you think that was by fate? By the Old fucking Gods?”

He was close enough to you then that his breath kissed the peaks of your face, just as it had so many years ago, on another beach, when he told you of his intentions with Rhaenyra. The aching depth of feeling then… It welled up inside you and spilled onto your lips. “Daemon-”

“It was me,” he finished, his nose nearly knocking yours as he leaned closer. “Nyke jāhor daor ivestragī ao zālagon, and you have not burned.”

Daemon smelled of dragon and sweat, and there was the swelter again. Perhaps it was that familiar heat that pushed you to take that one, drowning step, or maybe you were just exhausted by a dance you thought ended years ago. As if you were with Caraxes, you reached a careful hand up to test the heat of the air about his face. Your palm was immediately met with warmth and Daemon’s cheek as he pressed his face into your skin.

Your breath hitched at the feeling, but your thumb traced the peak of his cheekbone with a gentleness you feared you had lost when you lost Daemon. Comforted and angling for a different approach, you asked your first question again, gentler than before: “Is that what brought you here?”

Daemon merely closed his eyes and pressed his face harder in your touch. So, you asked another way: “Were you compelled by another impulse to tell me, again, that you have danced about me without my knowing? You have known where I was since my leaving you and, again, shielded me from the hard truth?”

“From war,” he murmured, the edge of his lips tickling your palm.

“The truth,” you asserted, and before he protested, you continued. “How?”

Daemon’s eyes fluttered open and it was as if you were children again, before weddings and feelings and knowing. “When I first took Harrenhal for Rhaenyra. I heard of your marriage from the Strong’s there and sent to have eyes on you.”

“By your own admittance, House Cox is removed from your war. There are no spies here in Saltpans.”

“Anyone can be bought,” Daemon answered, much too simply.

His features went startlingly grey as if remembering a time buried under the sea’s stone bottom, and his eyes fell past you, seeing through the sediment of time. Just like that, Daemon was far from you again. Within your grasp yet entirely out of reach; but there were no arms of another brilliant bride for him to run into. He was, for however long you could stretch this moment, only with you, and how right that felt.

Right, but you knew that, with all he had confessed, you should feel violated, exposed. You should be scathing and demanding an apology. No, you should be demanding that he leave. You and Daemon were married after all, not to each other. Never to each other.

That thought, as it always had, pulled you out from under the tide of him. “You did not answer my question.”

“I did,” he said, his voice alarmingly soft as his gaze flitted back to you. “I have protected y-”

“No, Daemon,” you interrupted, your hand falling from his face. He went rigid immediately, his posture straightening as if shocked by a stabbing blade. The heat of him lingered, but the comfort you had taken in it was gone. “Why are you here, after all this time and everything you have done? If you knew I was here for so long, why not come to me sooner?”

Daemon just stared at you, his sharp eyes and features unyielding. You drank in the sight of his steadfast expression, unsure of how long it would be before you saw it again and too sure that Daemon would leave without giving even a moment’s notice. It was then you saw his armor again, but this time, you saw past the shine of it. You saw the scorch marks, the scratches, each new, like the line in his face. A different sort of heat rushed like a wave against you, nearly knocking you over.

When you looked up at Daemon again, tears stinging in your eyes, he knew that you understood. “I’ve come to take Harrenhal for the last time.”

“The last time,” you echoed grimly, your tears falling freely.

“I wrote to you and then to Green’s own kinslayer,” he winced as if the word struck him before pivoting in his speech. “I am to face Aemond.”

Then, it was your eyes that searched Daemon’s. Your object: fear. When you found no trace, more tears streamed down your cheeks, but Daemon quickly raised a hand to wipe them away. Despite the tenderness of his touch, the pad of his thumb was rough against the apples of your cheeks. Had he ever been soft? You couldn’t recall a time he wasn’t all rough edges.

“He will have Vhagar,” you murmured as the tips of his fingers skimmed the edge of your lips.

“And I will have Caraxes.”

“Daemon, he is swift and fiery, but Vhagar is-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his hand cupping your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and, despite the shadowy loom of a stacked fight, Daemon smiled. “Do you remember our first meeting?”

All thoughts that consumed you were of your last meeting, your parting words a terrible echo in your skull…it will be your funeral. How could he be smiling?

“It was Viserys and Aemma’s wedding,” Daemon pressed on, “and you were waltzing with some hoary goat. Do you remember?”

You stared at Daemon, trying to place his smile and intent. Your funeral. You shook your head as you were unable to think of anything else but Daemon’s doom.

“Old fool kept leaning on you. Too frail maybe, or ripe with lust, I never did know which. All I knew is that I needed y- I needed to intervene,” Daemon cocked his head and leaned towards you. His breath fanned across your face as he asked in a whisper: “Do you remember how?”

The question had you drowning in him as if it were the first time. “You came in like the sea and washed me away into the rest of the waltz. You led,” you sniffled through a bitter smile, “rather poorly, I recall.”

“Yes, well, if you recall, I despise weddings. I never intended on enjoying myself, it jarred me.” Daemon brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair slowly, savoring the feel of those strands of you against his skin. “Though, I do like to think we have been dancing ever since then. Married in our own way, without the garish decor and ghoulish crowd.”

“Daemon-”

“So, if you find it in yourself, I would like to dance a touch longer.” He took a step back and let his hand slip from your face just to let it hang in the air between you. An offering you could not refuse.

The time for words having passed, you took Daemon’s hand and let him lead you until dawn broke at the edge of the Bay of Crabs. When the first rays of Sun kissed the sand, he let the hand holding yours fall while the other remained wrapped about your waist. He pulled you against him until you were sharing the same air, and you could not imagine a day to come where you did share the world with him.

“I cannot turn from you again,” you whispered, your lips brushing against Daemon’s as you spoke. His hand held you tighter.

“You will not have to,” he replied, before kissing you at last. There was no rush to his kiss, despite the distant cries of a battle-hungry Caraxes. There was only Daemon’s last, perhaps only, bit of softness; saved for you. Lips still locked, he spun you in the sand.

When you parted and opened your eyes, you saw, past Daemon’s shoulder, the shoreline castle seat of House Cox. Quickly, you refocused on the man before you, wishing you could drown in the pools of his eyes as you had done in the past, in those moments that stretched just long enough. All steps in our dance.

“I’ll go,” Daemon said, his tone gentle but his words an order. “Then, after a while, you will go.”

“What if I do not listen this time?”

Daemon let out a breath of a laugh, one heavy with knowing but sweet enough to make you hope. Perhaps you were the fool. “We both know that you will.” “Just this last time,” you murmured. “After this, you are to listen to me.”

“Of course, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon leaned up and kissed your forehead. The swelter eased with the act and you felt your stomach twist. He took a step back and smiled. “Of course.”

Then, Daemon Targaryen kept his last promise to you: he turned away.

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

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I Want You to Stay (11) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 23.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii so this was quite the wait! We have come to the climax of the story and I'm both excited and terrified to share this with you. I have nothing more to say other than see you on the other side! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

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

Whenever Jungkook creates some distance between you and him, you often understand it. It’s his default, you think, and after learning about the pain he harbors from his childhood, you’ve come to accept it. You expect it, even.

Recently though, he hasn’t been doing much of it. He often moves closer; sometimes, he lets you do it. Tonight, it’s both - he stands near you, he holds you, and he lets you slowly close the distance until you’re just a breath away. And for a brief moment, you think that he’d eliminate it altogether.

But you’re not in some fantasy world, so when he pulls away, you’re reminded of who you are and who he is and that sliver of hope goes up in flames.

“I—” he mumbles.

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

You grab your bag then rush outside, exhaling the breath you were holding in and letting the shame fill you up as fast as the elevator reaches the first floor. You want to run to rid yourself of the embarrassment, maybe be irresponsible for once and get drunk just to forget. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, you’ll find out it was all a dream - you didn’t actually want to kiss your boss, you didn’t actually think he’d kiss you back, and he didn’t actually pull away, as if it stung him to touch you, as if it hurt him to try.

But the thought doesn’t last long.

You get on a bus and convince yourself that staying sober tonight is a better option than reporting hungover to work tomorrow. You’ll feel embarrassed either way, but might as well be more professional about it, considering that what you’d almost done - and all the things you thought about - was nothing but that. You settle for just cup noodles for dinner; you don’t deserve anything nicer than that tonight.

Sleep doesn’t come until past one later in the evening. You spend much of your time tossing and turning, trying hard to erase the image of Jungkook so close to you.

But nothing works. All you see are his lips. All you can hear is his breathing. All you can smell is him.

You wake up four hours later, exhausted and incredibly anxious for the day. You want it to be over already, and you half think of calling in sick but you know that’ll be too obvious. It could set off alarm bells to Jungkook and he might call and ask how you are, and that’s something you can’t deal with either. So you power through and nap in the car, not wanting to converse with Mr. Ri because you might tell him everything should he ask the right questions.

Your plan of action is to engage with Jungkook as little as you can, in any way that’s possible. You play around with things in his kitchen and make sure you have your back turned when he exits from his gym. The energy drink and glass of water are on the counter and you sense him lingering before he finally walks to his bedroom. You let some time pass before going to his closet to prepare his accessories for the day, then head back out, cooking his omelet as slowly as you can.

The clearing of his throat lets you know he’s done, and you glance at him before placing the dishes on the table.

This isn’t the routine. You always fix his necktie once he shows up. It’s reflex for you, and you know that’s what he’s come to expect as well.

But you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. It’s basically like re-enacting what happened last night and you can’t promise yourself that you won’t want to kiss him again when he’s that close. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t take in his scent, you can’t hear his breathing without remembering how he felt like. You know you can’t have it again, so you won’t even torture yourself even more than you already are.

His tie is slightly off and it disturbs you. He doesn’t move but he doesn’t ask you to fix it.

You sigh to yourself. He’ll live.

You eat quickly and it’s a contrast to him picking on his food. You’re tempted to ask if the dish isn’t to his liking, but you told yourself not to start conversations or engage in anything outside of work matters, and you’ll stick to that for as long as possible.

“___.”

“Mr. Jeon, I’ve prepared your notes for today’s meetings,” you state before he could say anything more. “And I’m meeting with the marketing team about the additional promotional materials you wanted. Is there anything else you wish to add to the ones we talked about?”

“None for now. They can go ahead with my initial request,” he responds, his voice too soft than what you’re used to, but you don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

You ask a few more questions and he responds accordingly. The silence is deafening and though you miss the playful banter that has become part of your mornings, you know you can’t get into that right now. Somehow, this is when you can’t act like everything’s normal. Your stupid mistake and foolish assumption is where you draw the line. You just hope the day ends quickly enough before you give in.

Both of you head down to the car. Before going inside, you hear Jungkook ask Mr. Ri how he looks and if his tie is fixed, and you internally smack your head for being so petty about this. You didn’t think that something seemingly trivial about your daily routine with him would affect you this much, as if it somehow threw things off-balance just because you were so afraid to be close. You realize now that you would look forward to those few seconds because that was the only time you had a reason to touch him.

But he’s everything you can’t desire and given that you almost crossed a line, you know you’re gonna have to slowly pull back. Not just with regards to your feelings but in everything, as you take a peek of your personal phone and see an email notification about an upcoming book launch from Rkive Publishing. You subscribed to their mailing list right after you met their director, and you’ve been sitting on his email address and the application letter you have yet to submit.

Since that encounter, you’ve been occasionally looking at other job opportunities in different fields. You realize that nothing much excites you. There’s not much you think is worth slaving your way for in this corporate jungle, and that while you’re currently part of that machine, the only thing that got you going these past eight years was the debt you had to pay.

You had your reasons to stay but being at this point when you’re ready to let that go, you’re realizing that there wasn’t much else about the job that got you truly excited. Sure, it was also the people, but they’re why you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until the planning for the Arts Center that you felt you could truly be invested in a project and have impact on it, too; it just so happens that the man behind it is the reason why you have to step away. You know it’s the only way you could finally choose yourself and pursue what you want. At 31, you owe it to yourself to do that.

Your thoughts are disrupted when the familiar building comes into view, and you exit the car and head to your floor, trailing Jungkook this time instead of walking by his side as what you’ve come to do. You can tell that he notices the distance but you don’t want to address it. Being terrible at any form of confrontation, you don’t really want to acknowledge anything that happened. You’ll deal with him if he brings it up, and for all the times that you screwed up, you wish to the heavens that Jungkook lets this one go.

You head to your desk while he heads to his. You make him his coffee then ask him to sign some documents. You focus on his hands as he flips through the pages, preferring to look at those instead of his face. But it’s those fingers that pressed against you last night, and you shake your head at the memory, even if all you want is to feel them again.

You retrieve the papers, your heart stopping when he doesn’t let them go right away. Your eyes widen and you still don’t look at him, even as you anticipate him to say something.

“___.”

“Mr. Min asked to meet with you after lunch,” you cut him off again before he could say more.

“I know. That email was sent to you and me.”

“Yes, sir. I was just making sure.”

He lets go of the papers now and you bow before quickly heading out. You just know he had his eyebrows scrunched at you. He’s probably trying to make sense of how jittery you seem and though he may know why, you’re not sure if he knows why.

You get through the morning in one piece. You attend your meeting while Jungkook attends his own with his father. You grab a quick lunch with Do-hyun, whose narration of her love life takes up the whole half hour, then you return to your tasks once you finish.

Hyper-focused on the file you’re reviewing, Yoongi’s usually unenthusiastic greeting catches you off guard, causing your lips to miss the hot tea that you’re about to drink. You jerk, spilling all of it on you. You subsequently hit the saucer that’s on the edge of the table; it falls on the floor and breaks.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, as you feel the drink pool on your skirt.

“Shit, is it burning?” Yoongi asks worriedly.

He immediately rushes to your side and grabs some paper towels from the cabinet, placing them on your lap and on the floor.

“Don’t move so you don’t spread the broken pieces,” he instructs. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just uncomfortable,” you groan, with your knees awkwardly touching each other and your thighs squeezed to keep the liquid from spreading.

You’re at least in a black skirt but you know the stain will still be visible. That’s the least of your problems though, as Jungkook arrives from his meeting and heads to you with a folder, only to find Yoongi kneeling on the floor next to you. Jungkook’s eyes widen, seemingly scandalized at what this looks like, and they flit from you to his friend, whose calm face quickly turns into one of panic.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi explains, raising the soiled paper towels as evidence. He tells you to move back so he can place them over the shards while Jungkook looks on intently. “Are you good? Do you have spare clothes?” Yoongi asks you.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” you manage to say, hating how frozen you seem to be. With the tea having been absorbed, you grab your bag from your cabinet, the one you’ve started to keep and bring with you during trips in case you get stranded again, then throw the towels in the trash bin. “I’ll just go get changed.”

You scurry towards the washroom and leave the men alone, knowing that Yoongi will hold the fort for both of you.

Back inside, Jungkook eyes Yoongi as he calls for maintenance to clean up the mess.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi says again. “She couldn’t move and I just cleaned up.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jungkook states.

“Just making sure, so your mind doesn’t think of whatever it thinks about,” Yoongi shrugs. “But is she okay? She seems a bit out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook looks away. “Don’t you usually know those things?”

“Well, I assume that since you’ve gotten closer, you would know. Unless it’s about you… Were you mean to her again?”

Yoongi’s unusual scowl is one that Jungkook is secretly terrified of but he acts unaffected, merely shaking his head in response and to dismiss the assumption. He’ll admit that his friend’s statement is quite bittersweet, though. Yes, you and Jungkook have both gotten closer and there hasn’t been an incident in months where you could’ve had a reason to be down because of him.

Unless last night counts, which is something he’s still wrapping his head around.

He thinks back to that moment right by your desk. You were so close. And he was so close to doing something more than just holding onto your waist. He saw you eye his lips and he did the same but the realization of where you both were - in a semi-open space in the office - reminded him of his limits. Sure, it was after-hours and no one would have any reason to be on the floor at that time, but it still felt too exposed and he didn’t want either of you to be put in such a compromising position, even if every part of his body was aching to kiss you.

He wouldn’t have known you were talking about him if it weren’t for the way you held him close and that unfamiliar look of yearning in your eyes. At that moment, he let himself hope that he’s who you wanted, even if he’s also the same man you believed wouldn’t cross his boundaries for you.

Even then, you had been so bold, so honest. He wished he was as brave and as capable to express his desires as you were. He never thought you’d feel anything for him - him, the one who made your life miserable for weeks, the one who treated you unfairly because you made him feel - and want - things he couldn’t understand and control. Your calm and warm nature made him think he wasn’t anyone special. He dismissed whatever part of him that thought otherwise because he couldn’t hope for something he couldn’t have.

But last night, the way you looked at him also made him feel like all he desired was within reach, like you were within his grasp. Your lips were everything he wanted all over him. Your soft breaths were what he wanted to take in. You were all he wanted to taste and touch and hear, and he’d been so, so close to crossing a line that he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid it would push you away and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He was overwhelmed but he was just as scared, believing that there’s no turning back if something had happened. He almost stepped over the line but pulled back just as quickly, and now it seems that that’s what’s keeping you at a distance. Because as you return to your desk, you merely bow at him then go through the folder of documents he’d given you.

“Yoongi and I will just meet for an hour,” he says. “Please be ready with the Arts Center opening event budget that I’ll go through with Hoseok later.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

Jungkook sighs in disappointment as you don’t spare him a glance. He just wants to see those eyes again, the ones that yearned for him last night, the ones that asked him - almost challenged him - to get closer. But he’d been the coward who let you go, and now he doesn’t know how to turn back from this.

He enters his room then turns around to face Yoongi.

“I feel so much and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” his friend hums, feeling relieved that Jungkook can now acknowledge something he’d known for a while now. But Yoongi also knows that it’s not that simple, and while he knows of the possibility that you feel the same, reciprocated feelings don’t always mean happy endings. “Just don’t… just don’t hurt her,” he adds.

“Why do I feel like whatever I do, it’s what I’ll end up doing anyway?”

“She’ll know when you mean it and when you don’t. And you know what helps?”

“What?”

“Letting her know that hurting her isn’t what you want to do. You’ve got a lot to say, Jungkook, I know it,” Yoongi remarks. “Just be brave enough to say them.”

Yoongi’s words linger in Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the day, especially during the times that he peeks through the window to get a glimpse of you. You seem determined not to look his way, as you don’t even attempt to look at his direction all afternoon. There is a lot he’s got to say, he just doesn’t know what they are or how to say them. It’s always been that way when it comes to you - he feels so much, but he's unable to let you know.

Despite your avoidance all day, he feels your absence even more when you leave at 6PM, on the dot, without sparing him a glance. He could run after you and ask to talk. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation though, but if it would bring you to finally look at him or say his name, then it would be enough.

He just wants to know what last night meant for you. And if it means what he hopes it does, then maybe it isn’t about turning back but moving forward. He knows it will be complicated, but he wants to figure it out with you. He’ll choose the path where he gets to be around you, close to you. Always.

Jungkook pulls out the bottle of whiskey he keeps in his drawer to momentarily drown out these thoughts. For some, liquor gives them courage. For him, he drinks it because he’s afraid to be brave.

As he replays the way you looked at him last night, he wonders to himself what he’s more scared of - never having you close enough, or losing you completely.

The three films you watch in the cinema that Saturday afternoon are a good distraction to all the thoughts in your head. You occasionally do this because watching other people’s lives play out in film gives you something to ponder about. Sometimes, you let it inspire you to live differently. Other times, it allows you a peek into a life much more exciting than the one you have. In some instances, it gives you a sense of relief that yours is uneventful, lacking in drama and intrigue.

At this moment, you’re not quite sure what you want out of it other than to forget. What exactly, you’re not sure. Is it the way you felt when Jungkook held you? Is it the way he seemed to want more and then nothing at all? Or is it the hope you had that you’d found someone you were willing to give a bit of yourself to, only for the glass to shatter because that’s not what you do - you don’t desire for things not meant for you; you don’t open yourself to heartbreak like that.

Jungkook has always made you feel a lot of things. This time is no different. But this time it also means more. You could lose him completely or have something with him that could be beautiful. One would hurt right away and the other could hurt you down the road. You don’t know which one you’re willing to suffer through.

Suddenly you wish you didn’t get to this point at all. You could’ve left when you had the chance. You could’ve let him not mean to you this much.

You continue to wallow in the sadness. You eat dinner at a ramen place before going home and settling in bed with your best friends on video call. You tell them about the past two days and narrate your moments with Jungkook during the team building that you left out when you spoke to them about it. Looking at them through the screen, you see a mix of understanding and frustration on their faces.

“Why are you avoiding him, hun?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and comforting.

“Because I’m so embarrassed,” you groan, burying your face on the pillow. “I was so… shameless. I don’t even know what got into me. He just looked at me and I… lost all sense. Who was I to assume that moment would end well? That he’d reciprocate that honesty?”

“And you think not talking about it will rid you of that embarrassment?” She wonders.

“No. But it’s at least better than facing it,” you frown. “I’m not good with words nor feelings. And I’m sure that neither is he. I’m just trying to be professional now because I obviously wasn’t.”

You leave out your fears about meeting his eyes and hearing what he has to say. Even if he returns whatever you feel, there’s so much burden tied to that and you don’t think you’re ready for it. You don’t think you’re ready for any of this.

“It doesn’t seem sustainable though,” Soomin points out. “You’re together all the time. You’ve created a routine and a dynamic that you’ve gotten so used to. It takes more effort to avoid the whole thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess but… we’re all busy with the Arts Center opening. And I plan on tending my resignation right after,” you explain. “There’s no time to talk about feelings. I’ll just let it die down. It’s stupid to have them in the first place.”

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn towards her. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

“I just don’t think it’s stupid to be feeling what you’re feeling,” Soomin replies. “You spend so much time together. You’re bound to form some attachment and develop affection for him, regardless of how things started. I mean, through all the late-nights and early mornings and stresses and comfort in between, there’s something only two of you share and understand. That’s not stupid. That’s how connections are formed, hun.”

Attachment. Connection. They terrify you but they’re things that you desire as well. You don’t know how deep they are when it comes to Jungkook and you don’t know if they’re something he feels towards you, too.

“Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that it isn’t that serious,” she adds. “Maybe it’s because you know that it is, and you don’t know if it’s worth pursuing, if it’s worth finding out if he returns it and if being with him is something that can happen.”

You look away, knowing the truth in her words. You turn to Jimin, who’s been unusually quiet all evening.

“What do you think Jimin?” You ask him. “I mean, it’s one thing to feel something and another to act on it and risk everything for it, right?”

“There’s always something you risk once you acknowledge what you feel for another person,” he says after pondering about it. “For me, acting on it just depends on two things. Is it good for me, and is it good for them? In your case, it’s something to really think about. You’re you and he’s him. And you know what I mean. You’ve been wanting to walk away from this company for years, ___. You wanna be something outside of it. How does being with your boss help with that?”

Jimin’s words remind you of something else you’ve been yearning for - that search for who you are outside of your work, outside of all the years you spent working for this family that have become a core part of who you are. For people like you who have to work extra hard for the things you have, it becomes natural for your job to define you as a means of survival. It doesn’t give you power nor influence; it just gives you a means to get to the next day and to give back to the one person who sacrificed everything for you.

As the years went by, it became more difficult to pull away. This family trusts you, and your confidence has only ever increased as an employee of this company, but not as a professional. You’ve been wanting to learn who you are without the burdens you carry, without the need to constantly prove yourself to the people who helped make you, and Jungkook ties you to all this. Whether it’s pursuing him or working for him, you’re afraid you’ll never be brave enough to do things on your own.

You weren’t supposed to be this attached. You weren’t supposed to be this invested. You weren’t supposed to want to be wanted back.

But Jungkook made you care. He made you feel. He made you be brave. And he’s now the one you have to pull away from.

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Maybe in a way, I needed this to happen. I needed this… moment to remind me that I have to leave and I can’t let him be another reason for me to stay, not when I feel what I feel, and not when I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“What if he does, though?” Soomin asks. “And what if he asks you to stay?”

“Thinking about it now, I hope he doesn’t,” you say. “It’d be much easier for me if he just lets me go. I can finally walk away from all this. And I can get over what I feel.”

“Is that what you really want?” Soomin adds.

You nod in response. “At least I know I’ll be happy outside of working for the company. Who knows what having him in my life would bring me?”

The book cafe in Mapo district boasts of an elegant yet comfortable design. It has three levels that consist of a library and working spaces, but it’s on the first floor that you find yourself in, tucked in one of the corner tables at the back with your iced coffee and fruit tart.

You listen in awe as the author reads excerpts from her newly released book, which she narrates with vigor and emotion. She answers questions about her purpose for writing this specific story, the inspiration for the characters, and interesting things like who she’d cast if it were to become a movie and what the playlist would sound like. It’s the first book launch you’ve ever been to, and despite not being an avid reader, you have a feeling that it won’t be your last.

There’s something about the storytelling and the process of creating something that captivates you. There’s not much of that in your world. It’s all numbers and profits. It’s soulless, if you’re being honest. It doesn’t give you time to feel or live in the moment or actually bask in the work that you do. You’re there to support, to assist, and while that used to be something you were proud of, the past year has made you think that it’s truly time to move on from it. It’s made you desensitized to things like joy and hope and love, which prompts you to realize that those are what have been missing. Working on the Arts Center gave you a taste of it. You’ve come to the point where you want to know how those truly feel like, and the job has hindered you from fully finding it out.

All your emotions for Jungkook take a backseat the more you think about what your life could be, especially while you watch Namjoon gather what seems to be his team, as he congratulates them for a successful launch. They’re all in casual clothes, looking relaxed, relieved, and fulfilled as the event comes to a close and several people approach the author and ask her to sign their books. You can imagine the stress leading up to all this, but there’s satisfaction in putting together something this intimate and meaningful.

“You made it,” the man with the soft smile says, the child-like innocence of his face, a contrast to his very masculine build. “I’m glad those newsletters and email invites work.”

“I think they’re the only ones I actually read,” you say, earning you a brighter smile from him. “But honestly though, it helps that a book cafe is something I wouldn’t mind being in on a Sunday morning.”

“Exactly!” Namjoon beams. “It’s easy to make it a part of your weekend. Whether it translates to immediate sales isn’t the whole point, although that’s great, don’t get me wrong. But as long as there’s foot traffic and increased interest, then it’s a success. Our launches have been gaining traction on social media. And the—shit, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he chuckles. “I doubt you came here with the intention of listening to me talk about what we do and stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you assure him. “I don’t actually go to things like this but I thought it might be a good way to have a feel of what it’s like working for your company without inconveniencing you. I mean, I haven’t applied yet but I just wanted to see if this is something I’d enjoy doing.”

“And?” He asks in anticipation.

“It kind of is,” you admit. “I don’t know. There’s just something so personal about it.”

“There really is,” Namjoon nods.

His face turns serious now, something that happens when he’s about to go on a speech about whatever it is he feels strongly about. He’s expressive and it’s quite captivating, which is refreshing in a colleague, you realize.

Sitting across from you in your little nook in the cafe, he talks about the journey of this whole process, how he reached out to the author who turned out was trying to contact him as well. He was hoping to publish one of her manuscripts that was shared to him by a friend, but she offered this one instead, a very personal story that she trusted his company would do justice.

“I sat the whole team down and told them what this means for her as an author and as a person, and what that in turn could mean to the readers,” he continues. “There’s so much responsibility but the return is worth more than you could imagine. Of course, it’s not always easy. We have a relatively small team for the amount of things that we have to do but it works. Communication is smooth, accountability is shared, and we build our trust and respect in each other that way. I think that makes it even more worth it in the end.”

“You’re really trying to lure me in, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles. “I just think our meetings are serendipitous. There were two people who were supposed to take on the role but they backed out last minute - on both cases, I see you the next day. The universe probably has plans.”

“It probably does,” you nod, slowly believing him. “The only reason why I haven’t applied yet is because this is all so new to me and I may not be what you’re looking for.”

“But it could be that we’re what you’re looking for,” he counters. “Even if the industry is new to you, if it’s a place you’re comfortable in and that you think will help you grow professionally, then you become what we need. It’s give and take, really. Your approach to the work impacts how you do it. Yes, it’s still a job but it also means a lot more.”

“You’re very good at this,” you say, feeling more at ease as you speak with him, a stranger who has no idea what you’re going through but is somehow saying the exact things you need to hear. “I just have a timeline I’m working around. My company has an important thing coming up in several weeks and I don’t want to leave before then. It’s also why I’ve been delaying applying.”

“Hey, if we see that we’re a good fit for each other, then we can work around your timeline,” he says. “To help with that, maybe we can chat more casually to relieve you of the pressure. I have some things to return to the office not far from here and you can tell me a bit about the work that you do. What do you think?”

It’s a suggestion you take up, so you both start walking a few streets down to a mid-rise building, a structure that sits amidst cozy cafes and small parks.

The Rkive Publishing office is spacious. Instead of solo desks, there are large tables so there are more opportunities for collaborations, but there are small meeting rooms and private spaces as well. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves that are lined with hundreds of books, and quirky art pieces that give the place a unique yet personal touch. It’s leagues different from what you’re used to, and as you appreciate the way the sunlight makes the whole place glow, you start to think that Namjoon may be right - this might just be what you’re looking for.

You disclose who you work for then tell him your functions, narrate how a usual day looks like, and mention the types of people you usually engage with. But you share how you’ve felt lost in the chaos of everything and that you’ve been trying to find purpose in it but have been unable to.

Namjoon purses his lips, attempting to hide a smile, but you call him out on it.

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” he reasons, giving in and chuckling now. “We need organization, a sense of urgency, a kind of professionalism that someone of your caliber could bring. I don’t want to get my hopes up and yes, there’s a process, but I hope you give us a chance.”

It’s easy to think that this man has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s been talking about going with his gut feeling all morning - he’s said as much that following his heart and doing what feels right for him allowed him to turn the company into what it is right now. Maybe meeting the first time was just a coincidence, but the pull of the universe - of you to this environment and him to you - is just too strong that you can’t help but think that maybe this is the next step for you. For all the challenges you went through all these years, maybe you deserve something a little more smooth sailing this time.

You don’t make any promises but you do assure him that you’ll send him an email. There are obviously other pressing matters that you have to deal with but this has been a good distraction, one that you allow to preoccupy you for the rest of the day.

After saying goodbye, you walk around the neighborhood and spend the afternoon by the river where you wonder about the people surrounding you.

What dilemmas are they facing? What heartbreaks are they trying to move on from? What new adventure are they preparing for? Or maybe, who are they trying to forget? Who’s waiting at home for them? Are they watching the sunset because they know it’s beautiful or because they’ve forgotten that it is?

You let out a breath once the sun has dipped and the sky has turned a dark shade of blue. You feel a mix of awe at its beauty and disappointment because the day has come to an end. You once more have to face the person you’ve been trying not to think about all weekend.

Giving yourself a pep talk, you go to bed that night with the plan of continuing what you did last Friday, which is avoiding any moments and any chances of talking about what happened. If Jungkook brings it up, then you’ll just have to face it and ask him to forget about that night and then deal with the consequences after. But there’s no way that you’ll say anything first; you’ll ride this out for as long as you can.

Avoiding talking to Jungkook about non-work matters - which is really what you only intended to do - is much more difficult when you have to pretend you don’t care about him.

That Monday morning, you stop yourself from asking how he’s doing after spotting the empty whiskey bottle and beer cans in his kitchen bin. While you give him the usual hangover remedy, you stop short of suggesting that he get some rest or buying him his favorite lunch dish.

During the meeting that you accompany him to in the afternoon, you watch him helplessly as his father hounds him with questions about the other projects, adding even more pressure than what he’s currently under, and you look away when he tries to meet your eyes. You used to send him encouragement through your gentle nods and soft smiles but you’re scared you’ll fall into your feelings once again if you do them, knowing that any sign of him needing you is all it would take for you to give in and talk to him, maybe comfort him.

You’ve become so weak for him, you realize that now. His detachment used to put you off and frustrate you, but knowing him the way you do, it’s what makes you want to be there for him; it’s what makes you want to assure him that you’re just there.

But you aren’t, because you’re pushing him away. You’re making him go through his confusion and stress and exhaustion all on his own because you’re a coward, too. You’re scared of your own feelings. You’re scared of them being rejected and you’re scared of them being returned. You didn’t realize just how much you are because you never actually felt something this deeply for anyone, and that terrifies you even more.

Watching him from your desk as he pores through documents on his laptop is hard, too. You’re done for the day but he’s said earlier that he’ll be staying late to finish a few things because there are many distractions at his place. You want to tell him they can wait, that he’ll need to rest and regain his energy for the week ahead, or that some fresh air could help clear his mind.

But you don’t. Instead, you pack your things and head out, knowing that much as it’s your decision to force this distance between both of you, it’s still something you wish you didn’t have to do. You don’t know how long you can sustain it, but somehow you know that once he gives in, so will you, and so all this might as well just be useless or even worse for you.

Mr. Ri picks up on the change the next morning, as he asks if you and Jungkook had an argument on the way to his penthouse.

“There was no argument, ” you answer. “There’s just a lot on my mind and he’s a big part of that. I just… I just don't know how to deal with things, you know?”

“Things like what?” Mr. Ri asks.

“Feelings,” you sigh. “I mean, you said they can’t be helped. And you’re right, I can’t. That’s my big problem right now.”

“Oh, ___,” he says, softly smiling through the rear view mirror.

You can tell he’s trying to comfort you, something he’s told you before he’s unsure how to do. You brush him off, saying you’ll figure it out, and he assures you that you could talk to him and that maybe, you need to just let it out to someone who knows what you’re battling against. You express your appreciation then inhale deeply once you arrive at Jungkook’s building.

The clanking sound of plates surprises you when you enter the penthouse. You walk cautiously towards the kitchen and find Jungkook already dressed in his work attire, placing the basket of toasted bread in the middle of the dining table where you spot the two plates with eggs in each. You wonder if you’re late, given that he’d gone ahead and made breakfast for both of you already.

“You’re on time,” he says after seeing you check your watch. “I was just up early. I couldn’t really sleep. I think I have too much on my mind.”

“I still could have made this for you,” you say so softly, Jungkook almost misses it.

“I didn’t mind,” he answers, wanting to say more, like that he thought it would be nice to make something for you for a change, or that he hopes you could see the effort.

But he keeps them to himself, just like the many other things that he doesn’t feel ready to verbalize. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since Thursday night, and he thinks that the distance you’re creating has made his desire even stronger, but so has the fear.

He spent the weekend downing alcohol and then boxing for hours to get rid of the hangover. The lemon ginger tea he made didn’t really work. He placed the bandage on his beat-up knuckles incorrectly, not like how perfectly you’d done it once. And the chicken noodle soup he ordered when he wasn’t feeling well last night didn’t taste as good as yours.

His mornings aren’t the same without the briefest touch from you from fixing his tie, or from the casual conversations during breakfast or in the car. There’s not much of your voice or your laughter that he hears, and definitely none of your smile that always encouraged him, that always assured him. This continues for the rest of the day, as he barely feels your presence unless he asks for it. And even then, it almost feels like you’re not there at all.

He feels so lost without you, unable to focus and function properly without your guidance and your care. He doesn’t know how or when he’s allowed himself to need you this much but it all feels so new yet familiar. All he wants is to be near you again but he admits that seeing you consistently pull away hurts him more than anything.

It’s why that Wednesday, he settles for only minimal glances at you in the car, why he conducts his morning meeting in a cafe instead, why he has the blinds on in his room all afternoon, and why he stays to work late and informs you that he’ll go straight to the Arts Center the next day so he’ll just meet you in the office.

He does all those so he’s forced to be around you less, so he doesn’t look up from his desk to find out that you don’t look his way anymore, so that it’s less difficult when you don’t do your usual routine with him. He at least won’t feel as bad when you don’t ask how he’s feeling if you don’t see him look terrible in the morning after not being able to sleep, or when you don’t fix his necktie for the fifth time this past week if he’s not around you in the first place.

You’ve been going out of your way to avoid him and if he had a bit more courage, he’d probably be able to ask what Thursday night was about and if you’d really wanted to kiss him like he did.

But he’s afraid of two things - that you’d ask him to forget all of it, or that you’d both have to figure out how to move forward if the feelings are indeed mutual. There are so many things that could go wrong but just as many that could go right - he’s scared to hurt you either way. And like he’s always said, he doesn’t know how to handle all of this; he doesn’t know how to talk about what he feels.

Thursday morning comes and while you’re relieved that you don’t have to tiptoe around Jungkook again in his own apartment and feel suffocated by the tension, you won’t lie and say that you deeply felt his absence. You also won’t deny that seeing him walk towards his office without sparing you a glance hurt you a little. You know him enough that he’s probably giving you the space that you’ve insisted on, but still, a part of you wonders if he’s just accepted it, too.

And when you hand him his notes for his late afternoon meeting then when he leaves for the CEO’s office without a look of acknowledgment, you worry that he’s become impatient, that he’ll keep pulling away for as long as you are, and that you’ll be so far apart that you’ll start to wonder if you’d come close to him at all.

But you did this, you remind yourself. You’d been the one to get close, to expect, and then to detach because you were so afraid of what would happen next, and what that would mean for you. He’s probably the last thread you’re holding onto, connecting you to this world that you’ve been planning on leaving for so long. Maybe you’re also scared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and the last thing you want is for him to be the reason why you can’t let go, and then resent him for it.

You sigh in your seat as the various thoughts plague your mind. You decide to go to the pantry for a cup of tea, knowing you have some time before Jungkook’s meeting with his father is scheduled to end.

The support team’s office is unnervingly quiet at 7PM with only Mr. Ri around, shaking his leg against the chair while browsing on his desktop. He greets you when you enter and then joins you to make his cup of coffee - his fourth for the day, he says - before you both head out the pantry and sit by the meeting table.

There aren’t any words said as you both blow away the steam from your respective hot drinks, merely letting the tranquility of the evening envelop the two of you. A few minutes pass and Mr. Ri finally looks up and asks why you’re still here, to which you reply that you wanted to be around when Jungkook’s meeting finishes in case he needs you to do something.

“There’s no need to drop me home,” you tell him. “I can manage on my own.”

“You know Jungkook won’t like that,” Mr. Ri responds. “He has strict instructions to drive for you whenever you stay out late. I can’t and won’t disobey those orders.”

You know this, which is why you sit in silence with your hands on your lap as if you’re being scolded, and you nod.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“He’s worried, you know?” Mr. Ri says after a while. “He’s been asking me how you’re doing, as if you’re not at the point in your relationship where he can directly talk to you. But I’ve actually been worried about him this past week. He stays up late to work, then goes home to work out. He’s not himself lately, always out of it and just… sad.”

“Did he… did he say anything else? About us, specifically?”

“He didn’t tell me if anything happened but I’m guessing something did, something serious enough that you’d avoid him for days and personal enough that he won’t confront you about it.”

Your face falls, guilt painting it, something Mr. Ri picks up.

“It’s about your feelings, isn’t it?” He asks. “You like him and you can no longer deny it.”

You nod in confirmation, unable to verbalize the words that your heart has been screaming for weeks.

“Is it so hard to admit? Is it so hard to talk about?” The older man asks. “I mean, he doesn’t tell me anything but I’ve known that man his whole life, ___. I’ll bet a lot and say that he feels the same way about you. Why are you both putting all your effort into avoiding each other instead of talking it out?”

“Because you know us, Mr. Ri. We’re the worst at these things,” you shake your head, choosing to disregard his statement that Jungkook may be reciprocating the feelings, knowing you’re not ready to think about it. “And you know this, too. It’s not just about what I feel. It’s about who he is and who I am and what those imply. It’s this complicated situation that I wouldn’t even be in if I just… if I was just strong enough to leave the first time. Or the second time.”

“Hey, you know it wasn’t about that,” he says. “You were always strong. You held on even when things were difficult—”

“Yeah, I just held on and now I’m here, caught in between liking my boss and wanting to stay away from him, from his family,” you groan in frustration.

But you utter the thoughts that you only rarely entertain, only because they’re what held you back all those years ago.

“Am I being selfish, for wanting to leave after everything?” You ask. “They’ve been so good to me. And now that I crossed the line and fell for their son, I want to let everything go.”

“Is that really why you want to resign? Because you like Jungkook?”

“No… it isn’t just about that,” you sigh. “Or it is. A big part of it, but also not. I… you know I’ve been thinking about this since the whole thing with Mrs. Byun happened, and that was six years ago. But then CEO Jeon asked me to help Hoseok and I stayed. And it was even more important for him that I be there for Jungkook. And I am but now what? How can I continue knowing that I like him? And how can I find myself and learn who I am outside of this when I’m here, when this is all I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever given myself to? They’ll always be good to me. I feel selfish by staying, but I also feel that way if I leave.”

“None of that makes you selfish, ___. You always had a reason to leave and you could have, but there was also always gonna be a reason for you to stay,” he says. “But they were their reasons, not yours. Whether you stay despite what you feel for Jungkook or leave to find yourself and seek the happiness you deserve, you’re not being selfish.”

You look at the man whom you’ve known for years and he sees in your eyes a woman who’s just asking for any kind of comfort, of any kind of assurance because no else is around to do that.

“We do what we can at every moment, and we can live with our choices if we know they’re the best one we can make at that time,” he continues. “Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you do it for you. You’re the only person you have to look out for.”

Right outside the door, Jungkook remains unmoving as he processes everything he’d heard, while you continue to talk inside, completely oblivious to how you’ve rendered him paralyzed.

Jungkook’s meeting with his father ended much sooner than he expected. They merely discussed some happenings with the Board and the lunch that they’ll be hosting on Saturday to welcome some of their family’s long-time friends who are flying in from Europe.

He headed to the support office immediately to tell Mr. Ri that he plans to go home soon but hadn’t known you were there as well. But then again, you and their trusted aide - who’s been his father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and personal assistant for decades - spend a lot of time together, so it didn’t feel off to Jungkook that you’d both be talking. He’s asked the older man to look out for you, too, especially with regards to things that he feels isn’t really his place.

Jungkook didn’t hear much at first, initially deciding to just walk back to his office and call, but once he heard Mr. Ri asking you about resigning, he stopped in his tracks. He felt foolish to be listening in on a conversation he’s not a part of, especially since it’s also because of him.

It should’ve delighted him to hear you say that you like him. Jungkook could’ve only dreamt up that reality and it still feels surreal. You didn’t have a reason to lie and the fact that he isn’t the only one seemingly overwhelmed by his own feelings should be a good thing.

But that also seems to be your reason for wanting to leave, and the thought breaks his heart in ways he can’t explain. You’ve apparently been planning on leaving for years but never got around to do so. If you stayed when his father asked you to, would you do the same if he asked? And he believes that up until last week, your relationship had become the most comfortable it’s ever been. You seem happy here, but why did it also seem like you just wanted to get away?

The thoughts make his head hurt, and while a part of him wishes he hadn’t heard anything, he at least knows you plan on leaving. And that’s something he absolutely cannot bear.

The sounds of the chairs being fixed disrupt his thoughts. When he hears Mr. Ri suggest that you should start packing up, Jungkook quietly walks back to his office and nonchalantly calls the older man to inform him that he plans on staying up late and that he should drop you home already. If Mr. Ri notices the odd tone of his voice, he doesn’t say anything. He merely expresses his confirmation and not long after, Jungkook hears some shuffling outside his closed door.

“Is there anything you need from me before I leave, Mr. Jeon?” You call out, the walls in between both of you feeling higher and thicker than ever before.

He knows that you know that he no longer asks you to do anything at this hour, and he comforts himself by thinking that it’s your way of letting him know that you’re still there. But the thought is short-lived, as he once again plays the conversation he’d overheard in his mind.

“There’s none,” he says pointedly. “You may leave.”

It takes a while but he eventually hears you walk out. Jungkook feels himself breathe for the first time in the last 15 minutes, before he feels suffocated once again.

Maybe pulling away last week when he’d been so close gave you the idea that he didn’t want you at all, and maybe that had affected you more than he expected. Maybe him, creating more distance that you’d initiated, made you think that that’s what he wanted after all that. Perhaps his being a coward in facing his own feelings had pushed you away, too, and if you’re scared of what you feel for him, maybe letting you know that he feels the same way is what will make you stay. He could be the happiness you’re searching for, Jungkook convinces himself. He could be what you want and need.

And he already knows that you’re all that for him. Whatever rules he created for himself and the limits he imposed are all pointless if he doesn’t have you around at the end of it. If his life after all this doesn’t have you in it, there’s no happiness for him. A new job for you could take you anywhere, maybe far away from where he is; it could lead you to someone, someone who isn’t him.

He hates that an overheard conversation about you resigning is what will take for him to finally be honest about what he feels for you. And that potentially losing you by his side is the push he needs to let you know that he wants you, that he wants everything with you, and that he hopes you want the same.

It’s 9:30 PM by the time he enters the car, his head hazy from the two glasses of whiskey he had. Mr. Ri calls him out on another night of him drinking in the office and orders him to get straight to bed like he’d done a few times before when Jungkook had been too stressed and too stubborn to rest. He merely nods though but he follows through, skipping dinner then mindlessly taking a shower before falling asleep in bed after finishing a bottle of beer.

The ringing of the alarm causes Jungkook to grunt and turn off his phone for the peace and quiet that he needs, given the throbbing of his head. But in the silence, he hears the soft knocks on his door, so consistent that he decides to just open it and ask the person on the other side to stop.

But of course, it’s you, and the way you quickly turn your head away reminds him that he’s got nothing but his sweatpants on and he’s too sleepy for anything else to register.

“It’s 7AM, Mr. Jeon. You have an executive meeting at 8,” you tell him, voice so soft and so far away.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his temples to massage the pain away. “I’ll just take a shower. Don’t make breakfast anymore. We leave in 20 minutes.”

“Noted, sir,” you say, then walk back towards the kitchen.

It’s 15 minutes later when his bedroom door opens and he nervously walks over to you. Unable to still remove the image of his half-naked form in your mind, you focus your gaze elsewhere, but he forces it on him when he asks you to fix his necktie, the first time he’d ever done so.

“I was rushing,” he explains.

You nod and head to him, hating how your hands slightly shake at feeling so close to him again. You can feel his breath as you watch the rise and fall of his chest. He probably feels as anxious as you, perhaps no longer used to this routine after you stopped it days ago. But you manage without sparing him a glance, keeping your distance and your eyes focused on anything else but him from the walk down to the car and throughout the ride to work.

It’s difficult for you to look at him, not only because you’re ashamed but because you’re afraid of what you’ll see. Maybe his eyes will tell of his acceptance of this new dynamic. Maybe they’ll reflect anger and frustration at how you’ve disrupted his routine. Or maybe they’ll show sadness - which is what you’re most terrified of - because that’s your weakness. Any time he looks like he needs comfort or he needs you, you know you’d give in, you know you’d want to be there even if you’ve spent the past week staying as far away as possible.

You know you don’t have much time left here. The Arts Center opens over a month from now and you’ve decided to tender your resignation soon after. You know you should be savoring whatever moments you have with him and perhaps that’s what saddens you the most because you don’t know what will come after.

Your happiness isn’t here, and staying to find out if it’s with him isn’t worth it, not when there’s baggage you carry; not when your own past and insecurities weigh you down.

Arriving in the office, you rush to your desk then walk to his room to give him the notes he needs for the meeting. You turn towards him slowly when he calls you, your name in his voice suddenly sounding foreign.

“Can you prepare me lemon ginger tea? Please?”

His voice is soft, as if he feels burdensome for making such a request. You want to give in so badly and ask how he’s feeling. But you stop yourself. It’s not the place nor time.

You accompany his tea with pastries, your own request for him to have breakfast, and you get your own, in response to him instructing you to do so. You see from your periphery that he’s trying to catch your attention as the meeting starts, but with this, you hold back. You don’t want to see what you now know would be sadness in his eyes.

Jungkook has entered the deepest nook of your heart, you realize. You don’t know how you let him get there, and you don’t know how to push him out.

“Another night of drinking, huh?” Hoseok’s unusually somber voice disrupts Jungkook’s thoughts as he zones out during lunch. “The Arts Center getting you that stressed and anxious?”

Jungkook looks at his cousin questioningly.

“I know how you look when you’re tired and this isn’t it,” Hoseok responds. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs, not wanting to get into this with a man who would know when he’s lying.

“You should be, Kook. There’s a lot going on these next few weeks and we need you at your best. Your team has worked so hard for the Arts Center,” Hoseok reminds him. “So trust them. And don’t let them down.”

As always, his words hit Jungkook where they should. Whatever’s going on in his personal life - even if it involves you, his assistant - he has to be professional first, and that means making sure that everything is ready for the launch in six weeks. There’s a lot he has to meet and prepare for, and he doesn’t know how you’re able to do it. You may be distancing yourself from him but you’re still able to focus and carry out your tasks accordingly. You’ll be fine without him, he thinks. But if you’ll go on thinking that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, he knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll regret it even more if he doesn’t ask you to stay.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jungkook assures his cousin. “I’ve been out of it but I’ll get my shit together.”

“Good. I don’t have to remind you that there’s a lot riding on this. But ___ is there to help. I’m here, too. You’ve got people who believe in you, okay?” Hoseok smiles, a slice of comfort that Jungkook didn’t know he needed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jungkook nods and heads back to his office after a full morning has passed, tricking himself into thinking that things will indeed be okay. He just needs to find the courage to face you, finally talk to you, ask you about that night, and tell you what he feels.

But even getting you alone proves to be difficult, as you have your own lunch plans that he didn’t want to interfere with, and your own deadlines that he set that he knows you’ll make sure to meet.

Jungkook gets caught up in the afternoon in another meeting with some of the Board members who came to visit. Biting his lip in frustration, he manages to not lose his mind as he sits through it, merely hoping to the heavens that you haven’t left yet despite the late hour.

He speed walks down the hallway once he gets to his floor and almost panics when he sees your work space empty. But he spots your unfinished cup of coffee and he knows you won’t leave without cleaning up. He briefly sighs in relief when he hears shuffling from inside his room, walking closer to find you standing by his desk, with your back facing the door. You place a folder on his tray for signatures and a bound manual for review, then turn around and jerk in surprise when you see him standing there.

“I didn’t know your meeting had ended, sir,” you say, the formality grating his ears. All he wants is to hear you speak to him casually again, for you to call him by his name once more.

“It just did,” he hums. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I wanted to see you before you could leave.”

His words catch you off-guard but you try to look unaffected.

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” You ask, knowing that he’s past giving you work at this hour on a Friday, but you’re too nervous to think of what else he needs you for.

“No. I…” he stutters. “You, uh, you’ve been avoiding me,” he manages to say, his eyes pleading for you to look at him.

But still, you don’t.

“I’m with you everyday, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your tone cold. “I can’t possibly be avoiding you.”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

As if in reflex, you glance at him, then shift your eyes on the couch to your left.

“That doesn’t count,” he says, his voice oozing in desperation for you to just spare him some time, something you’ve never heard before.

So you give in, as you slowly meet his eyes, and you’re reminded why you didn’t want to do it in the first place. They’re so sullen. Tired, it seems, but just lacking in light. They were always so expressive, even when they’re angry, and even more when they’re sad.

“I just…” you start, knowing that with all that’s happened and with all the stress and pressure he has to endure, you can’t be another one in his list to have to try to figure out. You at least owe it to him to be honest.

You look at the door, suddenly conscious of who might wander in your area, and Jungkook takes your cue, closing it once you nod.

“So, why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again, his voice gaining a bit of life now that you’ve given him a chance to talk.

“I was just ashamed,” you admit, looking away as the scene from last week plays in your mind again. “I said things I shouldn’t have and they made you uncomfortable and—”

“How do you know that?” He interjects.

“Because you pulled away!” You say too loudly, lowering your head in embarrassment at the clear frustration you’re expressing. “I thought you wanted to… uh…”

“Kiss you,” he finishes, earning him the slightest of nods from you.

“But you didn’t and I just felt so embarrassed,” you say, your lips quivering now at how much you’re saying, at how much you’re baring yourself to him, unsure if he’ll do the same. “That was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” he almost whispers as he slowly walks towards you. “About what I wanted to do. You seemed to want that, too, but we were out there and I… I was scared that if I’d done anything you weren’t ready for, then I’d push you away. I still did anyway. Because you’ve spent the entire week avoiding me, talking to me formally, not fixing my tie…”

You stop the giggle that you almost let out, but you can’t help your tiny smile as he whines about what you’ve been purposely doing.

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you after that,” you explain, knowing there’s so much more to say but that you’ll start with this. “But you avoided me, too,” you suddenly pout.

“What did you expect me to do?” He exclaims. “You did it first! You know I’m not good with these things.”

“Neither am I.”

Jungkook controls himself from kissing the frown off your face and instead, he walks closer. He gets to appreciate you now as he shamelessly eyes your form, the pastel-colored long sleeved blouse tucked inside your white skirt making his heart race.

He spots your shy smile as you try to turn away, and he steps closer, wanting to see more.

“You still aren’t gonna look at me?” He asks, the soft desperation in his voice prompting you to be bold again.

“I can’t. I might lose my mind,” you admit, groaning right after at your own honesty.

“I’d quite like that,” he hums. “I… I was actually losing my mind all week. It didn’t feel right to have you feel so far away. I wanted to fix things but I didn’t know how.”

“That makes both of us,” you sigh, allowing yourself to finally gaze at him in his black suit, the classic look taking your breath away every time. “But I guess it’s the same with me. I didn’t know how badly I wanted you close until you weren’t anymore.”

You hesitatingly reach out your hand, an attempt to let him know that close is what you want him to be, but also to see for yourself if this is real, if he really is just breaths away from you, and if he could be even closer.

“I’m not pulling away this time,” he assures you, his boyish smile sending your mind in a frenzy.

Your fingers graze his chest, the way it quickly rises and falls telling you that his heart is probably racing as fast as yours. You fiddle with the neck of his tie before pulling it to bring him closer. He follows your lead, stepping forward and meeting your eyes, seeming like he doesn’t want his off of you.

“So uh, are you losing your mind now?” He whispers teasingly.

The way he utters the words with such yearning is a contrast to the shy look on his face. It’s a side of him you’re not ready for, but it’s one you’re thoroughly enjoying. It’s also pushing you to be even more shameless, as you nod and take his hand this time, placing it on your waist so you could feel his touch again. He’s gentle, trailing his fingers up and down your sides.

“I am,” you manage to say, and you wish he could tell by the way you’re panting that his effect on you is way beyond your control now, and that it’s something you want to embrace. You mirror his smile, soft and warm yet full of desire.

He makes his move, placing his hand on your cheek as he eliminates whatever distance is left. And he stands there, just one breath away.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about that night, wishing I’d done things differently,” he heaves, his eyes flitting to your lips constantly, “wishing I had been brave enough to do what I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

You lick your lips in tandem with his, and once you feel him thumb your cheek, it’s all over for you. With a whisper of his name, you hold your breath, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

He kisses you deeply, expressing just how much he’s been wanting to do this. You smile as you return his desire, suddenly feeling like you’re floating, as if he’s some dream that you’re able to reach, like he’s that beautiful thing that’s tangible, that you can touch, that you can taste.

You moan once his tongue gains entrance, entangling with yours and dominating you immediately until he’s all you can breathe in. He cups your face, directing it where he wants, while his one hand trails down your back to knead your ass, as if to keep himself steady as he loses himself in you. Your breathing quickens even more as the pleasure rises, and with your fingers palming his chest and gripping his collar, he pushes you against his table.

He cages you and keeps you in place while he devours your lips, and you feel him all over you just as you wanted. You’re hypnotized by his scent, by his warm breath, and by the large hands that now grip your waist and lift you to sit on the edge of his desk.

Your mind is hazy, high on the drug that is his kiss, lust-filled and passionate and relentless. You yearn for him even more the longer you taste him, feel him, and there’s no part of you that wants this to end. Your moans push him to kiss you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess and with a mind that's truly unable to think a single thought outside of this trance-like feeling. His arms now wrap around you, and his hands, seemingly desperate to touch every part of you that he can, trail up and down your back, as if to caress you, as if to say that he won’t stop, that he won’t let you go.

Finally needing air, he removes his lips from yours only to travel to the most sensitive parts of you - on the shell of your ear that his tongue grazes repeatedly, and on your neck that he licks and sucks vigorously. You feel the chills all over your body, and you grind against him to try to satiate that growing need of yours, as you start to feel the dampness in your underwear. His hardening length makes you want everything he can give you, rules and boundaries be damned.

This isn’t like you but you’ve never felt this much pleasure and desire in all your life. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ecstasy that kissing and feeling him would give. You feel his desperation and desire for you, as he grunts and moans your name, aching to feel more, to do more. You want to live in this moment, and then live it everyday, just take him in and take everything and give him everything.

But you should’ve known that some things are too good to be true. And much as you hope and imagine for things to turn out a certain way in belief that you deserve good things in this world, they don’t. Those don’t happen to people like you. There’s always something underneath it all, as the fantasy shatters like a glass ceiling breaking at his words.

“Stay, ___. Don’t leave,” he hums against you, the tip of his nose gliding against your neck as he takes in your scent. “Please don’t resign. I can’t… I—”

You feel frozen as you process what he’s said. “Wha-what?” You manage to ask, your mind slowly waking up now.

His lips take a pause at devouring your skin and he faces you, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy and pleading as he repeats his words.

“Don’t leave, ___. Don’t resign. Stay with me. I need you next to me.”

“Where is this coming from?” You demand, your heart racing now for a different reason, your anxiety building at how he could’ve known of your plans. You pull away to get a better look at him, with guilt now painting his eyes.

“I… I overheard you and Mr. Ri talking last night,” he admits shamefully. “I didn’t mean to. I was going to just walk away but you talked about leaving and what you feel about me and I just… I froze. I don’t want you to go anywhere, ___. I need you here.”

The silence drags on as you let his words settle, words you thought you wanted to hear. But not like this, you realize. This isn’t how you imagined he’d tell you he wants to be with you.

He attempts to cup your cheek again but you pull yourself back, the rejection breaking him this time.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you last week,” you start, your voice shaking as the pieces fit together. “You knew yet you pulled away. You let a whole week pass with this distance, with no attempt from you to talk to me about it, or to even tell me what you feel but then you learn last night, after listening to a conversation you had no part in, that I like you. And tonight, you kiss me because suddenly you need me? Because you want me to stay next to you?”

“I—” Jungkook starts, unable to say anything as you put it the way you do.

He’s wanted you for so long and always had reasons to keep his distance. He tried to gain the courage to talk to you this week, even as you avoided him, but he didn’t. There was just so much fear, so much worry about what he should do, about you asking him to forget about it, about possibly pushing you away even more. He didn’t intend for things to happen this way but for you to think that he’s only doing this in an attempt to keep you from resigning is all kinds of wrong, even if in hindsight, that’s exactly what it looks like. He could’ve said something earlier, he could’ve told you what he felt, and he would’ve been brave enough if he really wanted to.

“You knew how I felt and you kissed me so I’d stay,” you repeat. “You hate change and me leaving will change everything for you and this… this is how you make sure I don’t.”

Stepping down from the desk, you realize how much you’d lost yourself in him, with your skirt bunched up and your blouse all creased. You fix yourself, suddenly ashamed, and suddenly unsure where you stand. It took so much of you to admit what you felt for him and now it seems that he hadn’t been into you the way that you thought.

You want him with you, but he wants you here, that’s the difference.

“I… want you,” Jungkook says, the words suddenly hard for him to say, as he gets choked up at the distance you’re creating. “I guess I always have. I just couldn’t do anything because I had to be professional and there were boundaries I couldn’t cross. But I couldn’t help it. Those don’t matter to me anymore. Only you do.”

His pleading eyes ask you to believe him, to understand him this time. But your silence and the way you look at him in disappointment tell him it’s not something you’re able to do.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way,” he continues. “And now I know that you do and that just means we can figure it out, right? Staying means we get to be together everyday. We… we get to have this everyday. Don’t you… don’t you want that?”

This is when you realize that much as you want to believe in his sincerity, it’s hard when he thinks of you as a necessity. You make his life easier. You’re his assistant, after all. And that makes you unsure if he only wants you because he needs you, or if they’re just the same thing to him.

He didn’t even ask you why you wanted to leave. Maybe that should tell you enough.

“___, please. I just want to be with you.”

It’s also at this moment when you realize just how much you’ve fallen for him. You’d feared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and that means putting another person’s needs ahead of yours again, just like what you’ve done all these years. Staying would mean that you’d be unable to find yourself outside of all this, and you’ve given up too much not to choose your own happiness this time, even if it means saying goodbye to the person who also makes you happy.

Finding what little strength you have in you, you turn to him. “I don’t want to stay, Jungkook,” you say, your heart breaking as you utter the words, even more when you ask him to forget about everything that happened tonight. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Not like this. I’m so sorry.”

With your smashed heart in your hands, you do the hard thing and walk out the door, leaving in your wake a man whose broken pieces that you’ve put together all shattered once again.

Walking down the block to get to the bus stop feels like a marathon, as the street feels so long with the heavy burden you’re carrying weighing you down too much. But you manage to get there, only to decide that you’d much rather spend the ride home on your own. You turn to a street to hail a cab then realize once you get in one that it was the spot where Jungkook had seen you, drenched under the rain with a sprained ankle.

He healed parts of you that night, with his quiet assurance that you didn’t have to go through your struggles on your own. You’d hold on to that thought months later, though you’re unsure about now - much as things hurt at this moment, all you want is to be alone.

You get off two stops early and mindlessly walk towards the convenience store, thinking that some snacks for dinner would do. You don’t really feel like eating but your body’s needs are greater than your own desire to eat. Walking down the aisles, you decide you’re only good for some cup noodles tonight. You don’t even deserve boiled eggs that you suddenly craved, nor honey chips, and you definitely don’t deserve dessert after what you allowed to happen earlier.

You stop your movements once you realize you’re sitting on the same spot where you and Jungkook had eaten when he drove you home that night he took you to the park. It had been a terrible evening after that incident with your ex, but Jungkook was the protective one who helped shoulder all the anger that you were too exhausted to feel. He was a reliable and comforting presence, familiar yet new with his warmth. During the occasional moments in the weekend after when your mind would go to that night, you’d think of Jungkook and how he made you feel safe.

It feels too much, so you take your noodles and finish them on the bench outside. You walk home after, letting the crisp evening air envelop you as your mind replays what happened.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to feel someone the way you wanted to feel him, but you suppose that’s why it hurts as much as it does. You wanted him to want you as much as you did, and you were perhaps foolish to think he’d have the same reasons as you. Maybe you were really just stupid for feeling anything in the first place, knowing your place in his world. You’re everything convenient and easy and familiar and despite the week of walking on eggshells around him, you gave in so quickly. He knew what to do when it came to you.

And maybe that’s on you. You allowed yourself to feel so much for a man whose life is so intertwined with yours that it’s hard to know what’s real. Yet you know that despite all that, your desire for him is still too strong. It’s why you had to leave right away.

Another moment of him pleading for you to not resign and you might’ve given in again. Another second of hearing him ask you to be with him and you would’ve believed him - that there was sincerity in all that, that he’d be with you regardless if you stayed in the company or not. Now you’re left with the thought that the convenience was what he wanted, that as he crossed the line, it was all or nothing for him. And that you’d be the weak one, willing to give up what else you could be outside of all this just for him.

Perhaps you’re also asking for too much. He’s used to a life without much consequences to his actions. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, especially what you had to endure and give up to be here and what you want out of life now that you’re old enough to take control of it. Maybe for him, asking you to stay was that declaration and proof of his feelings; doing so took so much out of him already that thinking of what life would be like without being with you everyday was too hard of a reality to accept or work around.

You’re too out of it that you don’t realize that you’ve been standing outside your door. You’re thankful for the weekend at least. You’ll spend half of it in bed, and the other half preparing yourself for how you’ll face him again, and how you’ll finally say goodbye.

You enter and sigh at the warmth inside. Dropping your bag on the floor, you stand by your tiny dining table and take a bite off the apple you find in your fridge. You gaze at your shelf, the one filled with photos of your family and friends and a few more of different sceneries that you took using the disposable camera that Jungkook had gifted you for your birthday. It’s another reminder of how much a part of your life he’s become, how, of all the people in the world, he’d been the one to show you that capturing moments is a gift you shouldn’t take for granted.

You often wondered what moments he liked to capture. He doesn’t have photos in his penthouse other than those of structures and buildings that are artistically taken. There are framed old blueprints and historical pieces but nothing of him and the people in his life.

Maybe he doesn’t have good enough memories he wants to keep. For a short moment, you wished that the times he shared with you are ones he’d like to hold onto. But maybe the idea would hurt more - you’ll just be a memory like he would be to you.

You always wanted to keep only good ones of him, but the sight of him rooted in his spot and in shock as you turned him down is far from something you want to remember. He’s something you didn’t know you wanted, but he stands between you and the life you’ve always wished for yourself - one where you get to decide, to be free, to be happy.

He’ll let you go and forget all this, you think to yourself. You’ll be the one who walked away. And he’ll be the one who didn’t run after you.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches your retreating form. The sounds of your heels against the marble floor disappear as he remains unmoving from his spot in his room where he’d kissed you just moments earlier. You felt and tasted just like he imagined, and the moment his lips touched yours, he knew he’d want to keep kissing you over and over again.

It was the first time in a long time that he allowed himself to be honest about how he felt, giddy emotions included. It felt freeing to be able to admit all of that to you after all these months of denying it and walking around eggshells when it came to you. He’d been sure, after last night, that you felt the same way, even more when he felt how your body reacted and how your heart raced, aching for him as much as his heart was yearning for you.

You sounded hypnotizing, too. The way you’d moaned his name ignited something in him that none of the women he’d slept with had ever done before, and he knows it’s because he’d never felt anything genuine for them. They were good for the moment but he knew, especially the instance that he felt you close, that he wanted you for more than that. He wanted the soft touches and the gentle whispers, the longing looks and the intertwined hands. He wanted more than he thought he would, but during his most vulnerable state, he uttered the words he’d been dying to say since last night when he learned of your plans.

He asked you to stay. He told you he needs you, that he wants to be with you.

They sounded like pleas and maybe that’s what they were. From the deepest and coldest nooks of his heart, he was pleading for you to not leave. He’d finally admitted what he’d been so scared to accept, but all his words did were hurt you.

You insisted that all he cared about was the convenience of being together everyday, that you staying meant he’d get to keep all that was familiar. And he doesn’t know what would be taken away from you if you did.

You wanted him, too, didn’t you? Wasn’t that enough? And wasn’t being with him all that mattered?

Sure, there’d be complications, but those are things he knows you’d both be able to face, they’re things you can navigate around and figure out together because this isn't just a one-time, spur-of-the-moment type of thing. He wants all of you, everything with you, whatever it takes.

He hadn’t realized it until that second he held you in his arms. And then again when you pulled away, looked at him with glassy eyes, and told him you couldn’t stay.

He’d been too hurt to run after you. He didn’t know what to say then. How would he, when you’re the one who couldn’t commit to what you felt by staying around? He felt that betrayal, of that feeling of inadequacy, of his feelings for you not being enough. He bared his emotions to you after being so scared of doing so, and then you crushed his heart just like that, with his broken pieces that you’d just put together, scattered on the floor.

This isn’t like him. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to feel so much for another person, to care for them, to want them in a way that scares him. But you showed him a life where it was possible to open himself up again, to find out what happiness could feel like this time, and in that same breath, you took it all away.

He’s not sure where to go from here. But he decides he’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to forget. Tonight, he just wants to wallow in his sadness, erase the memory of your touch and the feel of your mouth against his, and let it all go.

Jungkook instructs Mr. Ri to go home. He’ll drive himself, he insists. There’s just no one right now he wants to be around.

He drinks a glass of whiskey for the road and manages to get home in one piece. He settles on the couch as he finishes another half bottle, then chugs down a few cans of beer after. The image of you gets blurry. His mouth numbs and he starts forgetting your taste on his lips, too.

His head falls on the pillow and his hand mindlessly reaches out. There’s no heartbeat that he feels; he’s forgotten how fast yours was already. The sound of your laughter and then of your moans is replaced with a buzzing in his ear as his mind starts to fall away.

The warmth of your body is gone but somehow he feels hot, so hot but he can’t get his clothes off. He struggles a little, his fingers aren’t doing their job so he gives up instead, curls into the corner of the couch, and for the briefest moment, he sees your smile so clearly. And then his mind drifts away completely, taking his confusion and yearning for you along with it.

At least for now, there’s not much of you he remembers. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that’ll all change when he wakes up in the morning and searches for you, knowing you won’t be around to tell him that everything is gonna be okay.

Hoseok massages his temple as his sixth call to his cousin in the last half hour remains unanswered.

“He’s still not picking up,” he groans, the unusual feeling of annoyance bubbling inside him at Jungkook’s irresponsibility.

It’s Saturday morning and some friends of their family flew from Europe last night for lunch at the Jeons’ estate. This gathering was scheduled in time for their grandfather’s death anniversary today, and it’s an event that Mr. Jeon was adamant that Jungkook and Hoseok attend as their respective families’ representatives and as heirs of the company. Those friends had been there when their grandfather built Jeon Corporation from the ground up, and welcoming them is a sign of respect for that friendship and for the memory of the man they’re celebrating today.

Jungkook had informed Mr. Ri that he’ll be driving himself to the estate and promised to be there before 11 AM, as what his father had requested. It’s half past that and he’s still nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been picking up his phone and his friends claim they don’t know where he is. Knowing how important today is, Hoseok wanted to accompany Mr. Ri in going to the younger man’s apartment to pick him up and find out why he’s late. When the elder Jeon asks, which he will, Hoseok would at least have a reason to give. It just better be a good one.

They both arrive at the building and are informed that Jungkook’s cars are still in their respective slots. He’s not in any of the amenities and the guards report that they haven’t seen him since he arrived on his own last night. He may not be a fan of these types of events but Jungkook always shows up. He knows what today means for their family; if not for his father, then at least for his grandfather, a man he respected and looked up to. If, for some reason, he failed to wake up, then he must be in a bad condition, and Hoseok either has to scold his cousin, or cover for him.

With no one answering the door, Mr. Ri uses his access and enters. It’s dark and quiet inside, with the blinds all closed. When he and Hoseok find Jungkook passed out on the couch with an empty whiskey bottle and beer cans on the floor, it’s the same moment that Mr. Ri’s phone rings, and it’s your name that lights up the screen.

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you groggily say. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I had a late night and just woke up. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, as he watches Hoseok pull Jungkook from his cowering form in an attempt to get him to wake up.

“What do you mean?” You ask, standing from your bed now, suddenly awake.

“I was calling to ask if you knew where Jungkook was. Their family gathering is today and he was supposed to be at his parents’ house 30 minutes ago but he wasn’t. He wasn’t picking up our calls either.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know where he is,” you say softly, the mention of his name reminding you of what transpired last night, the image of Jungkook’s dejected look appearing in your mind. You worry about him though, wondering what time he got home. “Have you found him? Is he okay?”

“Hoseok and I are at his apartment and he’s passed out drunk,” Mr. Ri states, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes and mumbles some words that the older man has to walk closer to hear. “What happened last night, ___? Why is he calling your name? And why is he asking for you to come back?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Jungkook had spent last night drinking his feelings away. You know enough from your time with him that it’s what he does when he’s stressed or mad or frustrated, and then he wakes up the next morning and hits the gym to deal with his hangover. There’s none of that today, apparently, and you stop yourself from instructing Mr. Ri to prepare him some lemon ginger tea.

“What happened last night, ___?” He repeats. “Did you fight?”

“We…” you start, knowing that if there’s anyone who has to know about last night, it’s the man on the other end of the phone. “We, uh… we kissed. And then he asked me not to resign then I pulled away.”

Walking towards the kitchen to hand Hoseok a glass of water, Mr. Ri asks if you’d told Jungkook of your plans, stating that he hadn’t told him about it.

“He overheard us talking last Thursday,” you respond. “He knew what I felt about him, kissed me, then asked me to stay. He said he didn’t want me to go, that he wanted to be with me, and that we could be together everyday. It didn’t feel right,” you continue, your voice shaking now as you recall the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to talk about it. He wasn’t supposed to use my feelings against me like that.”

“Did you tell him why you’re planning on leaving?”

“No… He just went on about needing me to be with him and I… I couldn’t bear it,” you say, feeling the tears dance around your eyes. “You told me that I could always leave but even then, I’d always have a reason to stay but it would be their reason, not mine. I finally built the courage to decide on this because you know I need this. I don’t want him to be my reason this time. Or else I’ll never be able to let all of it go.”

“I know,” Mr. Ri sighs, knowing more than anyone what you mean.

He’ll never be brave like you, but he understands that burden, that desire to just be free; he knows what it’s like to be held back even if it’s your own decision. Because at the end of the day, you’ll always think you have a debt to be paid. He knows he does, but he’ll always believe that you don’t. Surviving was always enough.

“But I think he has to know, ___,” he continues. “He wouldn’t let himself go through this kind of suffering if you don’t mean that much to him. You have to tell him the truth. And I mean everything. You owe it to yourself, too. I know he means a lot to you but you can’t move forward in any way, with or without him, if you’ll just keep him in the dark.”

You let Mr. Ri’s words settle. You told yourself the moment you entered the company that you won’t let your past define you, including your relationship with this family. You’ll work hard and everyone else will know you for that, and not for any other reason. You also knew that you’d spend every second of being here trying to prove to yourself that you’re capable, despite the irony that you were the one defining your time here based on your past that you just somehow couldn’t run away from.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything for Jungkook. You could’ve gone on with your plan of resigning without feeling bad that you were leaving him behind. And even in that alternative reality where he’d ask you to stay, it would’ve been easy to say no. What makes this difficult is that you started to care. You got scared that if he asked you, you would stay. And now that he did, you have to be stronger than your desire to be with him.

Leaving would be hard, but staying would be much harder.

You wish it was easy to make him understand. But you suppose without him knowing the truth, he wouldn’t be able to.

So you give Mr. Ri permission.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say. “You would. Make him understand. Maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll still come after me. And maybe he’ll forgive me, too.”

Mr. Ri hums and drops the call. He returns to the living room where Jungkook is now seated upright on the couch, downing his second glass of water and taking medicine to deal with the hangover. The blinds are now up, causing him to squint his eyes. At least he looks alive now.

“That was ___,” Mr. Ri says. “She was wondering how you were.”

“Did you tell her I look terrible?”Jungkook asks bitterly.

“I did. She also told me what happened.”

“What… happened?” Hoseok wonders. “Did you have a big fight?”

Knowing he has no way out of this, Jungkook tells the truth. “We, uh, we kissed,” he answers, earning him a gasp from his cousin, who clarifies that while he’s not that surprised, he’s curious as to why both of you aren’t together right now.

“___ plans on resigning. He asked her not to,” Mr. Ri answers. “But you… you have to let her go, Jungkook. She needs to learn who she is and what she can do without anything holding her back.”

“If that’s her reason, then she has to know that she can keep learning who she is and what she can do here, with me,” Jungkook insists, slowly gaining clarity, as all the words he couldn’t say last night suddenly come out so easily. “There’s so much she can do. If what we feel for each other is the issue and that means she can’t directly work for me, then there are other departments where she’d fit well in. This isn’t just about convenience for me. I want to see her everyday but having her around means I get to make sure she’s taken care of, that she’s treated well.”

“And then what? She’ll feel indebted to you because of that?” Mr. Ri counters. “This is more than just developing her skills or building her career, Jungkook. This is about being someone outside of this company. It’s about doing something without feeling like she constantly has to prove that she deserves what she has.”

“And she does. Who does she have to prove anything to? We’re beyond that. Everyone knows she’s capable.”

“She has to prove it to herself. It may be hard for you to understand but she… she won’t get to accept all that she is until she’s ridden herself of the burden she carries. For as long as she works for your family, she’ll always feel it.”

The words feel a little too personal, Jungkook thinks, as Mr. Ri talks about your insecurities as if he’d seen you live them, and perhaps he has. The older man witnessed those first few turbulent weeks, and having known you since you started working here through the CEO, perhaps Mr. Ri had seen how your spirit broke a little because of Jungkook.

But still, something about the way Mr. Ri looks sullenly at him says that there’s more to what the older man had seen, as if he himself is pleading for Jungkook to let you go this way, as if the care runs deep and the words carry so much more emotion.

“She needs this, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri continues. “She’s planned on leaving a few times before but her gratitude towards your family always pulled her back. If you really care about her, you won’t let that happen this time. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to do it without her being here. Regardless of what she feels for you, she needs this more. You can let her go without really letting her go, you have to know that.”

It all feels too much and Jungkook’s mind is filled with so many questions. What do you owe his family? How does proving yourself have anything to do with leaving the company? How does he fit into all this? What do you need time away for? And how can he be with you at the end of it? Would you still want that, given that he didn’t even ask you why?

“How are you sure that’s what she needs?” Jungkook asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I’ve known her for 20 years, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I know it’s what she believes.”

Jungkook may still be dealing with a hangover, but he knows his ears didn’t betray him. Twenty years, that’s how long you’ve known the man he trusts with his life, the man his father trusts with his family’s life.

The tale is an open secret. Ri Byung-hun was a kid who grew up in the streets. He tried to steal from Jungkook’s grandfather, whose construction business then was slowly taking off. The elder man took pity on the young teen and sent him to school, and Byung-hun showed his gratitude by working for the family, eventually becoming Jungkook’s father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and closest confidant all in one. The loyalty goes both ways, and it’s stood the test of time.

Jungkook doesn’t know all the details but he knows enough. What he doesn’t know is who you are in Mr. Ri’s life, and why Jungkook hadn’t heard of you before.

“How do you know ___?” Jungkook finally manages to ask. “Who is she to you?”

“I know ___ because of her mother. And over 20 years ago, Cho Hye-soo was your father’s assistant.”

“She— what?”

Jungkook can’t hide his shock, and neither can Hoseok, who looks just as surprised about the truth as he is. His cousin would’ve been in his early teens at that time, and as it was when it came to their family’s children, training to become company heirs starts early, but they don’t get immersed until during their late teenage years.

“I… I know Mrs. Cho,” Hoseok says. “I’ve met her several times but I… I never knew. They never said anything.”

“It wasn’t something they wanted people to know,” Mr. Ri explains. “Other than both of your parents, I’m the only other person who does. Too much time has passed for people to make the connection. It was just better that no one knew.”

“What else did they not want people to know?” Jungkook asks. “What did ___ and her mom do? What… what do they owe our family?”

The elder man knew that at some point, Jungkook was going to have to learn the truth. He just didn’t think it would have to be under these conditions, and that he’d be the one telling the young man about how your lives are intertwined, that whatever pain you both carried growing up, those would always lead you back to each other.

“Your father and Hye-soo were no different to how you and ___ are,” Mr. Ri starts. “He’d just been appointed President and he was under a lot of pressure - from your grandfather, the Board, the rest of your family… He was always stressed and it didn’t help that he was a perfectionist, just like you. That obviously affected your family, but it also affected those who worked for him, especially Hye-soo, who felt that she had a lot to prove.”

She didn’t have a Seoul education but she was smart and resourceful, incredibly hardworking and devoted, something you inherited from her, the elder man shares. The similarities are striking, and Jungkook braces himself, hoping that they end there.

“She always had to work overtime, including weekends, and that took a lot of time away from being with ___. Hye-soo would leave her daughter in the library where her friend worked, and that seemed to be enough. But of course, it wasn’t easy, especially with a partner who lost his job and started drinking to cope.”

As Mr. Ri continues, Jungkook starts to fear something else, and so he asks.

“Did… did he hurt them?”

“He yelled a lot,” Mr. Ri answers. “I’d hear it sometimes during breaks when she’s on the phone with him and it crushed me every time. Hye-soo wouldn’t say much, just that he was a good guy who just didn’t know how to deal with hardships. She never justified his actions until of course, that piece of shit started hitting her.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words, unable to imagine growing up in a household like that - feeling afraid, unsafe, and unfree.

“Hye-soo assured me that Kang-ho never hurt ___. She was good at that, at protecting her child. One time, she was called to work on a Saturday and that didn’t go well with him, but she… she always puts her daughter first, and that meant work would always be her priority because it’s what pays the bills and what sends her to school,” Mr. Ri narrates, his eyes growing more dejected by the second as he recalls those times.

“She was rushing and couldn’t properly conceal the bruise on her face. She was worried that’s why she took ___ with her. Hye-soo kept crying as your father asked her what happened. She apologized for being late and for bringing her daughter to work, and she asked to stay in the office for the night until she figured out where they could go. I had never seen her break down like that,” he says, his voice shaking now. “And I won’t forget how scared ___ looked. She was just 10 years old then, clinging to her mother and not wanting to let her go. We were all strangers to her but somehow, she knew that we were there to protect them.”

The silence goes on, as both men take in Mr. Ri’s words, but it’s Hoseok who asks what happened after, and eventually, what got you here.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon didn’t hesitate to help,” the older man shares. “They had Hye-soo and ___ stay at the staff house in their estate for a few nights until they got a new place to stay. I helped them get their stuff after Kang-ho figured out what was happening and ran. The police had a warrant for his arrest but they couldn’t find him for days.”

Turning to Jungkook, he adds, “your parents paid for all the legal and medical fees. Because Kang-ho knew they were helping, you all had to go away until he was found. Hye-soo and ___ went to Busan where he couldn’t trace them; your parents stayed in one of their houses in Gwangju while you and your brother were in Gwacheon.” Mr. Ri sighs at the memory as he recalls those days. “The reason why you were in that cabin was so they could protect you. I know you held a grudge against them for years because you thought they just left you there but they couldn’t stay with you, Jungkook. You were all in danger and they had to keep you and Jeong-sik safe.”

Jungkook looks back at that night when everything changed for him. Things already weren’t going well with his brother; the three-year gap and the way they were always compared kept them from getting along. His parents knew that, yet they still left him with Jeong-sik, who abandoned him in the woods when they played hide-and-seek. That’s where Jungkook was left alone, lost and scared under the rain, the thunder roaring as he yelled for someone to come. He’s always lived with that fear, always carried that memory of anger and blame within him that transformed into a habit of just pushing people away, of keeping them out because that was better to accept than the knowledge that people he trusted left him on his own.

But there’s a reason, he learns now, one that his parents kept from him to protect you and your mother, too. It’s all too much, but he thinks now that maybe there’s a reason why you were so patient with him, why you didn’t judge him that night at the guest house, why you somehow understood what he was so scared of. He doesn’t know if you know that the night at the cabin had anything to do with what you and your mother went through, but regardless, maybe that’s why he always felt so strongly about you. The connection he was yearning for was always there, it’s tied to something, and he realizes it’s tied to your shared past.

“Did the police find the man?” Jungkook asks now, his headache somehow worsening from all the things he’s learning. But he just wants to know that you weren’t even more hurt, that there was a way that his parents kept you safe.

“I did,” Mr. Ri responds. “I still had contact with people in the streets, and I left Gwacheon once I got a call that they knew where he was staying. I hunted him down and I handed him over… with a bloodied face and a few broken bones. They charged him for domestic violence and a few other crimes, including drug possession that would keep him in prison for years, long enough for Hye-soo and ___ to recover.”

“And what about you? Were you charged?” Jungkook wonders.

“No, I claimed self-defense and I—”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Jungkook counters, knowing there’s more to what Mr. Ri is saying.

“It wasn’t,” the old man admits, turning away as he says the words. “I could’ve done more but I… I couldn’t lose myself to the anger even if it was all I felt. I knew Hye-soo wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Jungkook says, dawning on him now that everything Mr. Ri had done was so he could protect your mother and you. He realizes that all the times that the elder man looked out for you was because he was looking out for someone he truly cared about, someone who mattered the most to the person who mattered the most to him.

“I did,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I still do.”

Jungkook recalls the night during the team building and the elder man’s words, about the woman he’d loved for so long, and that moving on from her meant expending all that love to those he cares about, and now Jungkook knows that he was referring to you.

“Did she know? And did she love you back?”

“She… she asked me to move to Busan with her and ___,” Mr. Ri answers, his eyes faraway as memories of that conversation come rushing back, how he’d wanted to just run away and build a life he never thought he could have with the woman he’d fallen so hard for, but how he had to make the hardest decision then, knowing it was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Why didn’t you?” Jungkook wonders.

“I owe everything I have to your family, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri explains. “They gave me a second chance. Your grandfather got me off the streets, your father taught me everything I know, they… they had my records cleaned. They did it when I was a kid and they did it again when I was an adult. The only way I could ever pay them back was through my loyalty. I couldn’t leave, not after everything they’ve done for me.”

“But you loved her. She was your second chance,” Jungkook argues.

“And that love caused me to commit a crime I shouldn’t have. I was going to pay for it one way or another,” Mr. Ri responds. “That’s how I chose to do it, by letting her go, knowing that I’d be able to look after her and ___ better that way. Your father would protect me, and I would protect them. That’s… that’s how things go.”

It’s a tragic love story, Jungkook thinks. Two people who feel so much having to let each other go, their own pasts pushing them towards opposite directions. Decisions were made and that pulled them apart. He supposes that reciprocated feelings aren’t always enough.

“What happened after that?” Hoseok asks now, wanting to know as well how you and your mother managed, and if there’s any more danger that you face.

“They stayed in Busan for a few years. They only returned to Daegu after they learned that Kang-ho died in prison after acquiring some respiratory disease,” Mr. Ri replies. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon helped with the move, too. They had me check on Hye-soo and ___ almost every month, just to make sure they were doing well. It was hard, of course. Hye-soo wasn’t earning the same as she was so she took another job just to keep ___ in a good school. Mr. Jeon knew that, so he kept offering to pay for her education but Hye-soo always turned him down. That continued until she got to college, and knowing that her mom won’t accept help again, ___ was the one who decided to take the offer. They paid for her tuition, and she eventually got an internship in the company. She took the job offer, too, and she’s just been working hard ever since, thinking that she has everything to prove.”

“Why does my father think he can buy people’s loyalty just like that?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “It traps people… it gives them no option.”

“I know it may seem that way but your father knows how important loyalty is, and it’s something that he gives, too. He trusts me just as much I trust him,” Mr. Ri defends. “But when it comes to Hye-soo and ___, it isn’t about loyalty but guilt. He blames himself for what happened to them. Even if it was all Kang-ho’s fault, your father always believed that if he hadn’t been so demanding, things wouldn’t have escalated. It was all the overtime, all the unfair requests that took Hye-soo’s time from her partner, from her daughter. He carries that guilt with him and how he treated her. In a way, I think that was his wake-up call. Work stopped consuming him after. He became considerate of his staff, asking about their families and how they’re doing. He tried to make it up to you and your brother but that seemed to be the hardest thing for him; he didn’t know how to get your trust back.”

“But wasnt ___ choosing to work here about loyalty? She stayed every time he asked her to. She wouldn’t have if she felt indebted to our family,” Jungkook remarks, not wanting to delve into his own relationship with his father.

“She wanted to repay them just so her mom would stop carrying that burden,” Mr. Ri says. “They were able to get away and build a new life where they were safe because of your parents and for ___, that always meant everything. She planned to work for them, but even a part of her felt that all the opportunities she was given was out of kindness. She always felt she didn’t deserve it but your parents also think they can’t ever make it up to her and her mother enough.”

At the silence, he continues. “People are complicated that way, I guess. We all have our own burdens to carry, our own past to deal with, our own actions to make peace with and accept. We make decisions based on what we think is best and just hope we don’t regret them in the future. But we also make them as a way to take control of our own lives. Even if I regret letting Hye-soo go, I at least did it knowing that I’ll either have another chance at being with her, or that someone else will. And someone did, and I know for a fact that he loves her and ___ with all of him.”

“In that sense, maybe resigning is ___’s way of taking control of her life this time, don’t you think?” Hoseok turns to Jungkook, understanding where you’re coming from now, as he knows the feeling of not having to constantly prove yourself to others. “She finally wants to let that burden go, to live as she wishes without feeling like she doesn’t deserve what she has, even if it means not being next to you the way she wants to. If you make her stay, how do you think she can move on from all this? How can you be sure she’s happy?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, knowing it’s not enough to process everything he’s learned this morning. There’s that past he didn’t know he shared with you, there’s his relationship with his father that he doesn’t know how to mend, there’s his feelings for you, one that’s still so strong and inescapable.

And then there’s the thought that you’d known everything all along. You’ve been patient with him, you've been kind and understanding. Was that all because you felt like you had to? Because he’s the son of the people you feel that you owe a lot to?

It’s not that Jungkook doubts your feelings for him, but he wonders if you do. Now that you’re able to make that decision to leave, what if walking away from his family also means you realize that your feelings are tied to that indebtedness, too? How real was it for you? And after you find yourself outside of all this, would you still want him?

The thoughts make his heart break, and this tells him that after knowing everything, he still can’t deny what he feels about you. He still wants you just as much. Maybe the familiarity he always felt was because you are familiar. Maybe the connection was because of a painful past you both share, of a kind of pain you both understand. Maybe the intensity of feelings is a remnant from his childhood, one that’s tied to yours in a serendipitous way.

He’d like to think that even without knowing, you held out for him. You could’ve chosen to leave anytime before he came but you didn’t, and your paths crossed this way and he convinces himself that you were always meant to meet each other, that you were always meant to make up for how intertwined and unfortunate your lives are. You never met then but this time, when you did, it meant so much more. He could only hope that it’s something you hold onto as well, and that when you decide to finally walk away, it doesn’t mean you walk away from him completely, too.

“Kook, I know there’s a lot to think about but you have to get going,” Hoseok disrupts his thoughts. “Your father still wants us at that lunch. I know grandfather would, too.”

“You should go ahead, Hoseok,” Mr. Ri says. “Just make an excuse to your uncle and say I’m helping Jungkook fix up. We’ll head there right away.”

“No, tell him that I know,” Jungkook insists. “If… if he’s always wanted to mend our relationship, he and I have to start being honest with each other.”

“I will,” Hoseok says as he stands up to leave. “Get your head together, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Jungkook massages his temples, knowing that he doesn’t have time to get a workout in and rid himself of this terrible hangover. But he tries, as he takes a warm shower and asks Mr. Ri to prepare him a cup of lemon ginger tea and get some ginseng jelly for the ride.

The trip to his parents’ estate starts off quiet, but the thoughts in his head are so loud that the older man asks what else is bothering him.

“How was her time in Busan?” Jungkook asks.

“It was good. She was a shy kid but she found good people she trusted and that meant everything,” Mr. Ri answers. “I visited them often, even when they returned to Daegu. But I stopped once ___ moved back to Seoul after college. I’d ask her about her mother every now and then. It was nice to hear how well they’re doing, and how happy they are with their new family. Min-woo’s a good man and his daughters love Hye-soo and ___ so much. It turned out well for them. When I think about that, it’s really hard not to justify the decisions I made.”

“Will you make them again? If given the chance?”

“If I still think it’s what’s best then, then I would. Sometimes we make decisions because of the other person, not exactly for ourselves. Sometimes that’s how we realize just how much we love them, you know? When their happiness trumps our own.”

Jungkook merely hums. While he doesn’t think he’s at that point with you, he cares enough to want you to have that chance to find your happiness, in whatever form that may be. And if leaving the company is what it takes, then he knows you deserve that and more. It doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you can search for it while being with him, but perhaps it’s better if you find your way back to him instead. He’ll at least know you chose him, and not because you felt like you owed it to him to stay.

They make it to his parents’ estate over an hour late. The guests have arrived and Jungkook greets them before finding his father. When their eyes meet, there’s a look of sadness in the elder man’s eyes. Perhaps it’s understanding; maybe it’s an apology.

His mother gives him a long and tight hug, one that he savors for the first time in a long while. He remained distant from his parents after he decided to pursue further studies and then work in their office abroad. It’s a relationship he’s still navigating. While his mother has always been present and affectionate, Jungkook is the one who stopped reciprocating. It just seemed easier that way, but he realizes that he’s missed her warmth after taking it for granted all these years.

The lunch gathering lasts for a few hours. Jungkook tries to pay attention to the conversations since engaging requires too much from him, especially after the morning he’s had. But his father doesn’t reprimand him this time, and for that, he’s thankful. Hoseok keeps him on his toes though, but Jungkook’s mind constantly wanders towards you. He wonders how you got home last night, if you managed to get some rest, and if you’re spending your time being angry at him or if, by any chance, you’re missing him like he’s missing you.

It’s 5 PM by the time the last guest leaves, and with Hoseok and A-yeong needing to attend a dinner party, Jungkook is left to speak with his parents alone.

“I heard you know the truth now,” his father says as he sits across from Jungkook in the garden. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Did you intend for me not to know and find out from someone else?” Jungkook asks.

“___ applied to the company with the intention of contributing in a small way,” his father says. “She made it without any say from me and that’s a testament to her skills and capabilities. When we met after her first day, she asked that she not be treated any differently, and I agreed. I stayed true to my word and I kept my distance, but when I heard about how Mrs. Byun treated her, I knew I couldn’t just stand back. I encouraged her to apply for the EA position, knowing that she would be treated well. And with that, she asked me not to say who she is - not to Hoseok, and especially not to you. That’s not how she wants to be known. And I always respected her request.”

“Does it make any difference, son?” His mother asks. “Does knowing who she is to our family change the way you see her?”

“No, but it makes me wonder how she’d seen me all this time,” Jungkook says. “She put up with me despite how I treated her. She was kind even if I was distant. She… she let me open myself up and that’s… that’s why I like her. That's why I asked her to be with me.”

The surprise on his parents’ faces is immediate, but they stay calm, and it’s what prompts him to continue.

“I just hate to think that she suffered all that time because she still felt like she owed us. If you asked her to stay and help me, she wouldn’t have been able to turn you down. And what if… she’s confused her feelings for me for just… gratitude towards you?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his mother sighs, taking his hand as a form of comfort. “We are so sorry that all this has caused you to doubt her sincerity but if there’s one thing we know about ___ is that she’s genuine, and if you felt cared for by her, then she meant all that.”

“Yes, I did ask her to help you, because I knew that if there was someone who could get through to you, it would be her,” his father says this time.

“So you took advantage of her? Because you knew she’d do what you’d ask,” Jungkook huffs.

“I did that because I knew that she would care, that she would understand. Thinking about it now, perhaps I asked for too much,” the elder man shakes his head. “She’s a lot like her mother, and I’ve come to realize that you’re a lot like me. I needed someone like Hye-soo and somehow I just knew that you needed someone like ___. Both of you opening up and finding comfort in each other just happened, I suppose, and that’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I don’t know. Because now, she doubts what I feel and I’m not sure about what she feels, too,” Jungkook admits, letting his own insecurities get the better of him. He hates that he’s started to doubt you as well.

“If it matters, I’ve seen how she is with you. She cares about you, she worries about you. And the way you respond to her just means that your heart feels her sincerity, too,” his father responds. “Don’t let anger or fear taint that for you.”

“Aren’t you mad about what happened?” Jungkook wonders. “She’s my assistant and I ended up crossing a line. I kissed her. In my office.”

“Perhaps I should be,” his father hums. “But with her planning on resigning, I suppose you’re already feeling a lot of emotions about that. I don’t want to add anymore. You’re an adult and you know that your actions have consequences. You just have to deal with them now. And don’t ever do that again.”

There’s no anger in his father’s words. In fact, there’s comfort that Jungkook has never heard before. It suspends his worries only for a short moment, as he’s reminded that you indeed plan on leaving. When that is, he doesn’t know. But he’s gonna have to start dealing with your loss just as he needs to deal with his feelings for you. It’s all too complicated; getting together despite what you both feel isn’t that simple. Your happiness comes first. He knows he cares so much that it’s what he wants you to focus on.

“Letting her go now doesn’t mean you have to let her go for good,” his mother tells him. “She’ll choose you if that’s what her heart says. And at least then, you’ll know for sure that she still wants you after everything.”

Jungkook��s parents’ words echo in his mind for the rest of Saturday that he spends in his living room, choosing wine as his companion for the evening. There’s no intention of getting hammered unlike the night before though. The drink calms him down and allows him to have proper sleep this time. He spends the most of his Sunday in bed, thinking about you, then attempting to remove you from his mind.

Not wanting to deal with any more tension, he instructs Mr. Ri that Monday to just drive you straight to the office. Jungkook arrives and sees you stand up to greet him as he walks through the hallway, and he responds with a nod as his own greeting before heading straight to his room.

There’s that feeling again - of missing you, of hoping he could fix things but not knowing how, of wanting to ask you to stay but knowing he has to let you go, and of wishing that when he does, you’ll find your way back to him again. He shakes off the thoughts during that short walk to his desk, feeling himself weaken with every moment that he spends far away from you.

Jungkook takes his seat and sighs as another day starts without his usual routine. Knowing he has no other choice, he pushes on. From his periphery, he sees you glancing at him through the window, and a part of him wishes it’s your attempt at seeing if you could speak with him, maybe ask if you could talk about what happened later on or about what he now knows about you. Or anything, really. He just wants to hear your voice again. Hopefully see your smile. Despite all his doubts about you, the emptiness he feels tells him that nothing’s changed - what he feels for you is real, and he might not know what’ll happen next, but he at least knows that what he wants is to be with you; he hopes he’ll figure out how to do that with you.

He sees you glance at him again and it sparks a bit of hope. That is, until he spots the envelope on his desk, and inside it, your resignation letter.

He tries to act unaffected as he reads what you’ve written. It’s straight to the point, as you narrate your journey in the company, having started as an intern and then working in logistics before finding your footing as the Vice President’s assistant. You list the skills you’ve developed and other things you’ve learned but that you think it’s time to venture into something new and different, noting how you’ll take all your experiences with you in this new stage of your life.

You thank him for his guidance, and he almost breaks towards the end when you mention the Arts Center. You apologize for leaving before its completion, but you’re thankful because it allowed you to appreciate the beauty of things, that it made you understand the value of meaning and connection, and that his passion for it pushed you to find something that you want to be passionate about, too. You’ve given him something, and now he knows that in his own way, he’s given something to you, too.

You type away on your desktop while not-so-discreetly peeking into Jungkook’s office to see his reaction to your letter. Your plan was to resign after the Arts Center was launched, knowing how big of a project it is that needs all of Jungkook’s attention. He can’t be distracted, and a part of you scolds yourself for being selfish about deciding to do this now.

But you also knew that you couldn’t delay it any longer. After what happened last Friday, you didn’t know how you could face him again, especially now that he knows everything. It didn’t feel right to continue on, not just because of your feelings but because you crossed a line - you kissed and did all that in his office. That itself is unacceptable; it almost feels like a betrayal to his family, whom you’ll have to painfully say goodbye to as well.

Mr. Ri visited you yesterday to give you comfort, knowing that you’d choose to go through this on your own again. Jungkook was devastated but was worried about you more than anything, you were told, and somehow that made the decision less difficult but still painful to make. You don’t know if he’ll ever truly understand, especially if finding yourself means letting him go despite the happiness he gives you.

It’s not everyday you find someone you feel so much for, but then again, human beings are complicated - they can want something and be scared of it at the same time; they can have the chance to have it but doubt it all the same. What you feel for him should be enough to dispel your worries about his sincerity but there’s too much going on in your mind at this point. Right now, you just want to get away. With him learning the truth, you suppose he needs time to process all that as well.

You’ll miss him though. You’ll miss everything about this place. But you’ll miss him the most.

Your phone ringing disrupts your thoughts, and your heart races when you hear Jungkook’s voice on the other end.

“Ms. Cho, please come to my office.”

You calm your nerves and find the strength to get off your seat and walk towards him. He’d been expressionless the whole time, and you wonder if he’ll hold off your resignation because it’s terrible timing. Either way, you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

But clearly, you didn’t do so enough, as you’re still left speechless when he holds out an envelope for you to take, the sight of his hands that once held you close breaking your heart again.

“I accept your resignation,” he says, his voice low and firm, his eyes not fully meeting yours. “You have a month until your last day but you have two weeks worth of vacation and I urge you to take them before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” you manage to say, your voice soft and shaking compared to his. “I… I will.”

“And this is your recommendation letter,” he says, handing you another envelope. “You’ve shown exceptional skills throughout your tenure here, Ms. Cho. Everyone you’ve worked with says so, and I’ve seen that firsthand. I’m sure that wherever you decide to work after this, you’ll be another great asset. And my family wishes you good luck in your future endeavors. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

The words are too formal, too professional for your liking, and this breaks your heart even more. But you suppose there’s no other way to do it. You’re the one leaving; you’re the one who pulled away. After everything that’s happened, you’re the one who walked out to find your happiness when Jungkook needed you the most, and you could only hope that one day, he’ll forgive you for it. That he’ll forgive you for all of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in thanks. “I’ve said it all in my letter but once again, I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

You bravely look him in the eyes as he seems to have found the courage to look at you, and the longer you do, the harder it all becomes.

“Shall I commence the process of finding my replacement, sir?” You ask.

“There is no need,” he replies. “I’ve received approval from my father to have Lucas come in as my assistant effective immediately. He’s scheduled to arrive this week, so you can spend the remaining time you have here turning over everything to him. I will announce your resignation to the team before then. You can also begin the offboarding process with HR so that there are no delays.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon,” you say, the light in your eyes dimming as each second passes by.

“Is there anything else I could do to help you, Ms. Cho?”

There’s a prolonged moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, his eyes tinged with a kind of sadness that you perhaps mirror, with words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d say that he’s okay, that he forgives you, and that he hopes it didn’t have to be this way.

He wishes you’d say that you’re sorry for leaving him, that you’ll be thinking about him, and that you hope you’ll find your way back to him again.

You want to tell him that he’s all you could think about, that you’ll miss him everyday, that you’ll search for beautiful things that are tangible like you said you would, and hope they would lead you back to him.

He wants to say that he’ll look for you everywhere, that he’ll hold onto every good memory you have together, that he hopes you find whatever makes you happy, and that he’ll wait for you until you realize that it could be him.

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

You take your seat and will yourself not to cry. You can’t help it though, even as you press your palms against your ears to drown out the sounds of your own sadness, of your heart’s call of his name even if you’re the one walking away.

You let the tears fall, a reminder that you’d done this, and that for the first time in your life, you’re crying over losing someone, even if he was someone you didn’t have in the first place.

Maybe you weren’t meant to have him at all.

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