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punkshort · 9 months ago

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i know who you are | 9. the end

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel leaves overnight for a scouting mission. When he returns, you finally confess your feelings for him.

Chapter Warnings: language, amnesia, slow burn, dry humping, some dead bodies 'n stuff, fluff, feelings, smut (18+ MDNI), piv unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft!joel, guns?

WC: 9.1K

Series Masterlist

A/N: Two things. One: I don't have the slightest clue how memory loss works and if what I am about to detail in this chapter is even plausible but if television has taught me anything, nothing is impossible only extremely rare. Two: this is the final chapter and it makes me very sad. I wish I could have thought of more storylines to drag this out but at the end of the day, I feel good about how it all came together and I can't thank quite literally hundreds of you enough for reading this each week. It's kind of insane. So, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Also, if anyone wants to toss some one-shot/sequel ideas my way, I am all ears. Much love.

Two Weeks Later

"Joel," you whispered, your head tilted back into the couch cushion while his mouth greedily nipped and sucked at your neck. His hips were grinding lightly against your center and you knew if you didn't stop soon, you would be in trouble. "I think we should slow down."

"Mhmm," he mumbled in agreement, reluctantly pulling his hand from underneath your shirt.

"You're lucky it's still cold enough for me to wear a scarf," you murmured into his hair. He sighed against your neck, finally dragging his mouth away and sat up on the couch while yet another movie went unwatched on the TV.

"Can't seem to get enough of you," he said with a grin, his arm stretching over the back of the sofa. You rolled your eyes dramatically but smiled, pushing yourself up and fixing your shirt before looking at the TV. "Brad Pitt's in this?"

Joel tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Think he's the main character," he told you, and you scowled at him but he could tell you weren't actually angry.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me every time we try to watch a damn movie, I would know that."

The past two weeks had been downright perfect. Joel couldn't be any happier. Now that things had changed between you, he craved your touch constantly. Part of him wondered if it was his way of trying to make up for lost time because you weren't wrong: he couldn't keep his hands off you. He had no desire to leave the house or see anybody. All he wanted was to stay holed up with you doing absolutely everything and nothing. He shuddered to think how crazy he would become when you were finally ready to take things further. Tommy will have to drag him by the collar from your bed for his patrol shifts.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, leaning into his side and tucking your legs underneath you, only half listening to the movie.

"Patrol," he answered while the tips of his ears burned red from embarrassment, like you caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. He was perfectly fine waiting as long as it took until you were ready, but it didn't stop him from fantasizing about it. And the fact that he already knew what you felt like, what you sounded like, what made you come undone, worked him up even more.

"How are you feeling about getting back out there?" you asked, tipping your head up to look at him. He didn't seem worried but it was hard to tell sometimes.

"Actually, there was somethin' I wanted to talk to you 'bout," he admitted. "And if you don't want me to do it, I won't. I put you through enough shit as it is-"

"Spit it out, Miller," you said, shifting out from under his arm.

"Now that the snow's melted, I wanna take a couple guys and scout the area for any trace of those raiders," he began, watching your face closely. "I won't go far, but..."

"But?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"But I would be gone overnight. Just one night," he assured you quickly when he saw your face.

"Wouldn't the others have already noticed anything out of the ordinary on patrol?" you asked as anxiety began to squeeze your throat. "I don't understand why you need to go out there."

"'Cause I only trust myself to make sure we're safe," he explained. "If somethin' happened to anyone 'cause I led these assholes to our doorstep, I'd never forgive myself. D'you understand?"

You chewed on your lip and glanced down at your lap as you weighed your options. On one hand, you understood where he was coming from. And if no one else on patrol or guard had yet to see or find anything strange, then Joel would most likely not find anything, either. But on the other hand, just simply leaving Jackson was a risk. And even if Joel didn't find any other raiders, he wouldn't mean he would be safe from whoever or whatever else was out there.

Joel pinched your chin and gently tugged your lip from between your teeth, making you snap out of it.

"Can I go with you?"

Joel's face softened. "No, baby. You don't even remember how to shoot a gun. I can't risk it."

Of course, he was right. "Who would you take?"

He smiled and dropped his hand. "Tommy. Neil. George. Couple others offered, too, but I'm not sure how many we wanna bring. Don't wanna stick out like a sore thumb with ten horses out in the middle of the woods."

You relaxed a bit knowing he would be going with some of Jackson's most seasoned patrolmen.

"Okay," you agreed softly. His face lit up and he leaned forward.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sighed, looking over at the TV as the credits began to roll. He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your eyes back onto him.

"Thank you," he whispered before pressing his lips firmly against yours, trying with all his might to pour every ounce of affection and adoration he had for you into the kiss. You giggled against his mouth as he tried to push you onto your back once again, but you playfully shoved his shoulder before breaking the kiss and scooting away.

"We told Ellie we'd meet her and Dina for dinner, remember?"

He groaned as if he were in physical pain and reached out for you but you quickly stood up, wagging a finger at him. He gazed up at you from the couch with his brown eyes all wide and gentle.

"I mean it, thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You blushed and bit your lip as you slowly walked backwards towards the stairs. "You can make it up to me one day."

Joel's gaze darkened and he dug his fingers into the couch cushion. "Just say the word, baby. Anytime. Anywhere."

You laughed and turned towards the steps. "Come on, we should get ready for dinner."

"In a minute," he said as you disappeared upstairs. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to will his raging hard on away before standing up and following you.

You inhaled deeply, your body heavy with sleep as you struggled to focus on Joel's voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm leavin'."

With a groan, you rolled over and reached out for him blindly, your eyes still not fully adjusted to the beam of light shining in from the hallway.

He smiled and grabbed your hands, wrapping them around his neck. He felt your fingers dig into the back of his neck and shoulders as you feebly attempted to pull him towards you.

You asked him to wake you up before he left for his scouting mission, so he did as you requested but you were so warm and soft and supple under his touch that he was finding it impossible to leave.

Maybe you planned it that way.

"I'll be back late tomorrow. I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your temple, taking an extra moment to savor it. When he pulled away, your fingers tightened around his neck and you lifted your chin, kissing him with an urgency he hadn't expected from your half-awake state.

"Come home to me, Joel," you mumbled, your eyes squinting at him through the darkness. He pulled an arm from around his neck and brought your knuckles to his lips.

"Promise."

It was so hard to leave but he kept reminding himself he was doing it to keep you safe. Regardless of what Tommy thought, something in his gut told him they hadn't seen the last of those raiders. He brought them into the mountains, and he was determined to be the one to finish it.

"I'm still surprised she let you do this," Tommy said a few hours into their travels. George was leading the group while he and Tommy brought up the rear. The forest was silent, save for the birds just beginning to wake in the branches above. After a long, painful winter, it was a relief to hear the first signs of spring.

"What'dya mean let me?" Joel scoffed, but when he locked eyes with Tommy, who was giving him a look that said he saw right through his bullshit, Joel grinned. "Yeah, alright, it took a little work but she understood."

Tommy nodded and went back to paying attention to their surroundings. They were officially in unguarded territory, the nearest patrol route now miles behind them. The trees had yet to fully bloom so it was still rather easy to see through the woods.

"I think you really freaked her out when you left," Tommy said, "she came runnin' to the house that mornin' in a panic. Thought she wouldn't let you leave her sight again after that."

Joel hummed and turned his head so his brother wouldn't see his smile. He didn't want to worry you, but every time he heard something like that, it reminded him how much you cared, even if you couldn't say it just yet.

"So, you two back to normal now or what?" Tommy pried. Joel shot him a look and he shrugged. "We got a long journey here. We can't talk to pass the time?"

"Yeah, mostly back to normal," Joel finally answered, shifting his weight in his saddle. He could already feel his lower back beginning to flare up. "Takin' things slow. Givin' her as much time as she needs."

Tommy nodded, reading between the lines. "Didn't look that slow the other night after dinner," he muttered under his breath, but Joel still heard him.

"She had a couple drinks, is all," he replied with a chuckle. He scratched his chin as he thought back to a few nights prior when you had draped your arms around his shoulders and your face buried against his neck for the better part of thirty minutes. It was late, all of the families had cleared out after dinner, leaving behind the adults to kick back and cut loose a bit. It reminded Joel of a time before the world went to hell. When he and Tommy would go to a bar on a Friday night, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes in the air while the patrons had to shout over a mediocre cover band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and at ease. He watched his brother and wife across the bar steal kisses around conversations with neighbors, grateful for a night out as Ellie had offered to babysit. He had you at his side, sipping whiskey and making a face before you switched to something else.

As the night dragged on, you got a little closer. Then your hand found his knee under the table and you tilted your head into his shoulder, quietly listening to him discuss the plan for the trip with George. He wrapped an arm around your waist but his focus was entirely on George, too concerned with the map he had spread out over the wooden table. George's wife finally came to collect him, telling him she was tired and he was too old to be trying to keep up with the younger men, shot for shot. She wasn't wrong by the way he stood up and stumbled a bit, leading him towards the door, leaving just the two of you at your table. Once you were alone, your arms snaked around his neck and you tugged him to your lips, your tongue greedily licking into his mouth, the heavy taste of whiskey and gin on your combined breath.

"You sure it was just the drinks? You don't think it had anythin' to do with Angie sittin' two tables over?"

Joel's face flushed and he cleared his throat. It shouldn't turn him on but he couldn't help it. He liked it when you were possessive over him.

"Didn't think it wise to ask," was all he said. Tommy chuckled.

The group made decent time. They had a grid in mind and they almost reached their desired destination by sundown. When morning came, the plan was they would make their way back towards Jackson and cover the northeast quadrant of the map.

As they set up camp for the night, deciding to forego a fire since the temperature was comfortable and they didn't want to risk giving away their location, Neil commented that they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary so far.

"Not that I mind coming out here, Joel," he followed up quickly, "always a good idea to take precautions and all that."

Joel nodded and focused on spreading out his sleeping bag. "I appreciate you all comin'. Not sure if I say it enough, but I'm grateful."

Neil and George exchanged surprised looks at the unexpected appreciation.

They got an early start the next morning, and as the sun rose higher in the sky and more ground was covered, Joel began to wonder if maybe they would make it back to Jackson sooner than he thought. He really hoped they would. Even if it was just one day, he missed you. He hated sleeping without you. He hated waking up and not finding you curled up against him with your head resting on his chest or his arms wrapped about your waist, face buried against the back of your neck.

He was glancing around the forest, wondering what you were doing right at that very moment when he spotted something orange in the distance. His heart rate picked up and he whistled, catching the group's attention. He pointed through the trees and they all silently slid down from their horses. Checking their weapons, they fanned out and slowly made their way towards the scrap of fabric. As they got closer, Joel could see it was a knit cap stuck in a bush, fluttering in the wind. None of the men saw any other signs of life, each of them silently communicating with hand signals they were taught years ago.

Tommy heard shuffling and he held up his hand, bringing the group to an immediate stop. From his angle, Joel could see that the bush with the knit cap was right outside the opening of a small cave. The way the trees had grown around the rocks, it was impossible to notice it from a distance.

The perfect hiding spot.

He exchanged worried looks with Tommy before they crept closer, his rifle gripped tightly in both hands, ready for anything. The shuffling got louder and clearer and it became apparent that the noise was coming from right within the mouth of the cave. Catching Tommy's eye, he made sure to show him he was putting his rifle away in favor of his hunting knife. He always preferred a silent takedown over wasting ammunition, but just in case it went sideways, Tommy would be ready to cover him.

Joel situated himself next to the mouth of the cave while the other men, spread out amongst the trees, hid and waited. He reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it about ten feet away to draw out whoever was hiding.

He didn't even need to see it to know what was waiting for him.

When the rock cracked against a tree trunk and he heard the telltale snarl of infected, he tightened his grip on his knife. The runner stumbled out of the cave with a shriek, jaw snapping angrily in the direction of the noise. Joel had run into his fair share of infected over the years. He knew the noise would have drawn the attention of any infected in the immediate vicinity, and when he only spotted one, he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

He took it down silently with a blade to the back of the head, then inspected the body. It looked fresh, the clothes mostly intact. The rest of the men joined him as they peered inside the cave, listening intently for any movement. When they heard none, they began to advance.

The cave wasn't very big but it was enough to house ten men. At least, that's the number of bodies they found, not a single trace of life left.

"Well, shit," Tommy muttered, kicking one of the mangled bodies with his boot. "Guess that hunch of yours was right."

It didn't exactly please Joel to know he was right, but at least it was the best possible scenario. The men were taken out by infected probably within the past week. He counted the bodies five times. Then recounted the backpacks and sleeping bags. Ten seemed to be the correct number. No one was missing, assuming the runner he had just killed was the only raider who had the misfortune of turning instead of dying right away.

They scavenged what they could from the dead bodies before trekking back to the horses.

"Keep your heads up. Don't mean there ain't anythin' else out here," Joel warned.

"The warmer weather must've thawed out some infected," Tommy mused next to him. Joel nodded.

"Probably should warn the others to keep their guard up the next few weeks," he replied. "Maybe add an extra body to the towers if we can."

Tommy nodded in agreement. The winters in the mountains were harsh but at least they saw a decrease in the undead.

"Now let's get the hell home," George said over his shoulder, the rest of the men mumbling in agreement. Joel ducked his chin to his chest to hide his relieved smile. Home.

To say you were happy to see him return was an understatement. It was closer to ten at night when you finally heard his heavy footsteps on the front porch.

"Told'ya I'd come back," he chuckled when you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

"I know," you mumbled into his shirt. His heart swelled in his chest and he closed his eyes, breathing deep the smell of your shampoo. You both had a lot of work to do, essentially starting over and building a relationship from the ground up, but it was moments like those that made him believe everything was going to work out.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah, just need a shower," he said, dropping his pack by the door and kicking off his boots.

"So I take it you didn't find anything?" you asked, trailing up the stairs behind him. He walked into your bedroom to grab a fresh set of boxers and sweatpants.

"Actually, we did," he began, and your heart plummeted. He saw the look on your face and quickly shook his head. "They were dead by the time we got there. 'Bout ten of 'em holed up in a cave. Infected got to 'em first."

"Oh, wow," you breathed, slowly sinking down onto the bed. "Well, at least you have peace of mind now, right?"

"Exactly," he said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom. "Be out in a minute."

You heard the water turn on and you glanced over at the red flannel of Joel's that you slept in the night before. Even though it was clean, it still smelled like him. You glanced at the closed bathroom door and bit your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you thought things over. The morning he left, you wished you had told him but you were too sleepy and you wanted it to be more meaningful. Then, when you woke up and his side of the bed was ice cold, you felt the dread begin to creep up your spine. What if something happened and you never told him how you felt?

Well, nothing happened. He was home now. Safe and sound. There was no reason not to tell him.

You heard the water turn off and you jumped up to grab his flannel and scurried out of the bedroom, across the hall to the other bathroom, shutting the door.

Joel emerged a few minutes later with his wet hair slicked back wearing just a pair of sweatpants, per usual. He tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and looked around. He noticed the closed door across the hall and assumed you were getting ready for bed so he slid between the sheets with a groan. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the mattress underneath him instead of the unforgiving forest floor before leaning over to grab his glasses and a book.

When you tiptoed back into the bedroom wearing only his flannel, he didn't notice at first. His focus was on the small print in front of him, blinking a few times and wondering if he needed stronger lenses when you cleared your throat. He glanced up and did a double take, his lips parting in shock when he saw his red flannel hugging your curves, the hem falling just below your ass.

You looked up at him and feigned surprise. "Oh, is this okay? I was cold-"

"Yes," he swallowed, immediately cutting you off, "it's okay."

You smiled and made a show of bending over to fix the sheets. Again, he swallowed tightly when he caught a glimpse of your black underwear and he felt his cock twitch. Before you turned around he made sure to be focused back on his book, although he was most definitely not absorbing any of the words on the page.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you peel back the sheets and with a sigh, you tucked yourself in. You glanced over at him, admiring his strong side profile and the way his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"I missed you," you whispered, and he dragged his eyes from his book to look at you.

"I missed you, too."

You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your chest where you purposely left two buttons undone so you exposed a little bit of cleavage.

"What are you reading?" you asked, and he laughed through his nose.

"I've got no fuckin' idea."

In a flash, his book was discarded and you were in his lap, your mouth hungrily devouring his as he carefully removed his glasses and tossed them to the side. He wrapped both arms around you and held you close to his bare chest, his tongue licking past your teeth eagerly.

"You look so fuckin' good in my clothes," he growled, sounding as if it pained him before biting at your jaw.

"I wore your shirts the whole time you were gone," you admitted, rolling your head back and grinding down on his hips. You bit your lip when you felt how hard he was already. "Almost the whole week. I slept in your bed and-"

"Fuck," Joel groaned, grabbing your face with both hands and feverishly plunged his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and grabbed his shoulders, the intensity behind the kiss growing too hot. You could feel yourself tumbling, free-falling into the abyss with the unspoken words sitting heavy on your tongue, hoping Joel would be there to catch you.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling away, but only a little. Your forehead still rested against his as you both panted for air.

"I know, I'm sorry-" he was about to apologize for taking things too far when you cut him off.

"Do you remember all those months ago when I asked how I fell in love with you?"

Joel nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what you said?"

He tilted his head back, lips parted as he gazed up at you, wondering why you were asking him those questions in that moment.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, "I said you're gonna have to wait to find out."

You bit your lip and with a shaky hand, you traced one of the wrinkles next to his eyes. "Well, I found out."

His chest stilled, breath caught in his throat as he processed your words. His eyes roamed over your face, hoping and praying he wasn't misunderstanding. When you saw him nervously swallow, you smiled.

"I love you, Joel."

His eyebrows pinched together and before you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, he pulled you down for another searing kiss. This time, he went slower. He savored every second, he memorized everything he possibly could about that moment because the way you made him feel hearing those words was unlike anything he ever experienced and he didn't want to take a single second for granted.

"I love you, too," he choked. He could feel you smile against his lips when he pressed his mouth against yours again. "Fuck, I love you so much," he mumbled, his hands falling to your hips, "I'd do anythin' for you."

Your mouth latched onto his throat and you dropped your hand between your bodies, your fingers lightly stroking him through his pants. And once again, you felt his muscles stiffen and freeze.

For a moment, the self-doubt crept in. What if he didn't want to? Was he too tired? Was he not ready? Then his hand covered your wrist and you watched as he slowly dragged your hand up and down, showing you what he liked. Encouraging you to continue. So you did.

His head tipped back against the headboard with a sigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, removing his hand and letting you take control. He wanted - no, needed - you to call the shots. You needed to take it as far as you wanted to take it.

When your fingers dipped below his waistband, he tensed.

When he finally felt your soft touch on his cock, he groaned.

It was better than he even remembered. His eyes were still closed as you worked him up and down, the arousal pooling between your legs the longer you spent just feeling him and not seeing him.

"I want you," you whispered in his ear, and his hips jolted as he whined against your shoulder. You wanted him.

When he opened his eyes, he looked absolutely wrecked. You could see that he was trying his best to hold back, trying his best to make sure you were comfortable, that you weren't feeling pressured, that you really wanted it.

But when you sweetly whispered please, Joel, he didn't hesitate. He flipped you onto your back and pulled hastily at the buttons of his flannel while he cemented his mouth against yours. Your hands drifted to his hair and back, pulling and scratching as you went while he finally flung open the shirt. He instantly latched his lips around your nipple, making you moan and arch your back underneath him.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your chest. "Tell me again."

You smiled and peered down at him. "I love you."

He breathed a sigh of relief, his exhale fanning over your skin, making your nipples tighten. His rough hands slid down your stomach, thick fingers splayed wide, trying to touch as much of you as possible at once.

You could hear your heartbeat thrumming steadily in your ears when he dipped his fingers below the elastic of your underwear, a deafening sound that made it hard to focus but when he slid a finger slowly through your arousal, your senses suddenly sharpened. The house could have been on fire but you never would have known because all you could focus on was him.

He dragged his open mouth across your chest, teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking out and tasting you as he went. His lips puckered and sucked at your skin as he pet gently at your entrance, making you squirm with need and tug impatiently at his hair. When he pulled his hand out of your underwear, you made a frustrated little noise that made him smile. He popped his finger into his mouth and you watched, struggling to breathe, as his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned like he had just slipped into a warm bath after a hard day.

"God, I missed that," he whispered, and the look on his face made you actually believe him.

"Joel..." you breathed, plucking feebly at the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Lemme just make you come on my mouth first," and before you could respond, he was shimmying down between your legs and tugging off your panties. When you glanced down and saw how good it looked with his head between your legs, you relaxed and leaned back. How could you argue with that view?

"Oh," you sighed when his tongue first slid through your folds. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, allowing your muscles to melt under his touch. His hands held your thighs open but he didn't need to bother. There was no possible way you would do anything to stop him. Not when he felt so good, taking his time and expertly lavishing your core with his tongue. And perhaps he was an expert. At least when it came to you, he had five years of experience to fall back on. He surely must have figured out what you liked in all that time.

Your breath was growing ragged and you could feel the heat creeping up your chest. He pressed the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees up towards your chest so he could devour every inch of you, eating messily at your cunt. You pulled your knees back and hooked your hands around each one, your thighs becoming too shaky to hold open with your own strength.

It was a combination of his lips wrapping around your clit and the deep groan that rumbled through his chest that made you come undone the first time. Instant relief flashed through your body and you released your knees, letting your legs fall limply onto the quilt while he eagerly cleaned you up with his tongue.

When he sensed it was too much, he began peppering kisses along your inner thighs, murmuring praise into your skin as he went. You opened your eyes and peered down at him, your breath getting caught in your throat at the sight. His mouth and beard were glistening with your slick, his own eyes remained shut as he mindlessly nipped and kissed your skin, but even from your angle you could see him rutting his hips into the mattress, looking for any amount of friction to relieve the ache.

You reached your arms out to him and he inched up but stopped at your stomach. He sighed and rested the side of his head against your belly, listening to your breath evening out as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist. It took you by surprise that he wasn't immediately jumping at the chance to chase his own release when it was clear just a moment before he was dying for it. You glanced down at him and smiled when you saw the look on his face, simply content with just holding and being close to you. Carding your fingers through his curls, you heard him hum before pressing a gentle kiss against your stomach.

It might have been that moment when you realized he was right. What you had was special and rare. You could feel it in your bones, the way a look or touch sent a jolt right through you. The way you felt drawn to him, even from the very first day of your accident, you could sense something in him. You had no idea at the time what it was, but you were beginning to understand now.

"Joel?" you whispered, worried he might have somehow fallen asleep. Then you felt it. The first hot teardrop hit your skin and your heart clenched. "C'mere," you said, tugging at his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he obeyed. And after his arms loosened and he unpeeled his wet face from your belly, you saw the anguish in his eyes. All watery and wide and guilt-ridden.

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, his voice breaking a bit as you cupped his jaw. "Never did and definitely don't now. Not after everything I've done. Don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone your love."

You shushed him and pressed your lips tenderly against his, your thumb wiping away his tears as they fell.

"Don't tell me who I can and cannot love," you said, taking his chin in your hand and giving it a firm shake, like you were punishing him. He chuckled thickly through the tears.

You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him slower, your tongue just barely dipping into his mouth. He groaned when you began to plant wet kisses along his jaw and you noticed with pride that his chest was rising and falling faster than usual while his hips ground into yours.

"Love you s'much," he almost sounded drunk, the feel of your mouth over his skin clouding his mind and mushing his words together.

"Yeah?" you asked before sucking a bruise where his jaw met his throat. "Then show me."

Joel kicked off his sweatpants and boxers with a grunt but when you went to remove his flannel from around your shoulders, he stopped you.

"Leave it on."

Your cheeks flared with heat at the way he looked at you and all you could do was nod and bite your lip.

It felt like time stood still when you first felt him enter you. Like nothing else in the world mattered outside of those four walls. He held your gaze and your fingers dug into his back, each of you savoring the stretch with your mouths hung open, the only sound was the occasional sharp little breath or gasp from one or both of you.

You could see it in his face again and you had a feeling you mirrored his look. It was too intense. Too overwhelming. So much had happened that led up to that moment: all the fear, sadness, laughter, arguments, long talks and shared traumas came crashing down at once. A tear slid down your cheek right when his hips came flush with yours and he leaned down to kiss it away.

"You okay?"

You nodded and wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"It's just a lot, y'know?" you sniffled, hoping he understood. And he did.

His eyes glistened and he smiled, his fingers brushing away a few stray pieces of hair from your face. "I know. We've come a long way."

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back more tears. Your fingertips traced his bottom lip, your eyes flickering around his face, taking in every little crease and dimple. "Kiss me."

He did as you asked, kissing you slow and deep, matching pace with his hips. Your fingers dug into his arms, holding onto him, keeping him close. His hand pushed his flannel back, exposing one of your shoulders while your head tilted back into the pillows, momentarily breaking away for air. You moaned softly when he began to grind his hips against you, providing your clit with some much needed stimulation while he dragged his mouth down the column of your throat and across your collarbone. When he sunk his teeth gently into your shoulder, he felt you clench around him and gasp.

How's that feel?

Do that again.

Tell me you love me.

I love you.

Those sweet, desperate whispers were shared, breathed into each other's mouths, every word dragged out, every touch deliberate and slow. Neither of you in the mood to rush a thing as your fingers tightly laced together next to your head.

His other hand skirted around your back and under his shirt, palm pressing against your spine, pulling you closer to him, if it was even possible. He flexed his hips and you groaned when the tip of his cock hit a spot that had your entire body buzzing.

"Right there," you whimpered into his neck, brows pinched together and stomach tightening as you concentrated on the fire being stoked deep within you. Every one of his powerful thrusts was adding fuel to the flames. Your skin was slick with sweat and you began to regret keeping his flannel on.

"I know, baby. I remember," he whispered, tightening his grip on you. "Fuck, y'feel so good, I can't-"

"Don't stop! Please, Joel, more," you begged, tears welling up and spilling down your cheeks the closer and closer he pushed you to the edge. Your thighs tensed around his waist and his lips kissed the tears away and when you came, crying his name into his skin, he soothed you. He told you how much he loved you, how much he missed being so close to you, reminded you he was right there, that he had you and everything was okay.

Moments later, you felt his body tremble and his hips stutter. In a haze, you loosened your legs from around his waist. His lips captured yours frantically, fast puffs of exhale fanning over your cheek as he got more and more lost in chasing his climax. Your shaking fingers reached up to get tangled in his hair, ensuring his mouth remained firmly planted against your lips, muffling his groans and garbled versions of your name and I love yous, swallowing everything down until he yanked his hips away, spilling himself all over your stomach.

You both broke the kiss and looked down between your bodies, watching as each weak thrust painted your skin with more and more of his release until he finally stilled and shuddered.

After he finally forced himself to stand, he cleaned you up and slipped back into bed, one of his legs sticking out from underneath the covers, still slightly panting for air. You curled into his side, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him, his nose getting buried in your hair as you listened to each other's breaths even out. You quietly told him about a wound you stitched up at work all by yourself the day before and he told you how proud he was of you. You listened to him tell you a little more about his trip, how relieved he felt now that he confirmed with his own eyes Jackson was safe. At least, for the time being.

The last thing you remembered was him telling you how much he hated sleeping on the ground and how much he missed you while his knuckles soothingly dragged over your stomach but all you could think about was the warm glow that radiated from your skin and the delicious soreness between your legs as you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, you heard birds singing outside your window. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Spring was coming. You always loved spring. Something about it made you hopeful and calm, and that morning was no exception.

You awoke still wrapped in his arms and his flannel, your cheek pressed against his bare chest, one of your legs slotted between his, enjoying the peace and quiet the morning brought.

"I thought you died," you admitted quietly once he woke, your fingertips tracing over the scar above his hip. "When you didn't come back that day, I was so worried. So scared my last words to you were something cruel and hurtful."

He hummed and said, "Oh darlin', I'm so sorry," then kissed the top of your head.

"Don't be. In a way, it helped me realize how much I care about you," you replied, lifting your chin from his chest to glance up at him. He always looked way too handsome in the morning. It was hardly fair. "Made me realize I couldn't live without you."

He grinned and rolled his shoulder, stretching out his sore muscles. "Well, if that's all it took, why didn't you say somethin' sooner?"

You giggled and looked back down at his scar, the smile slowly slipping from your face the longer you looked at the pale jagged edges marring his bronzed skin. "God, that day you didn't come back, though," you continued, your brow furrowed as you thought, "I had the worst pit in my stomach. Almost like I knew something was wrong, you know?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, letting you talk, completely at ease listening to your voice.

"It probably didn't help I had woken up that morning from the worst fucking nightmare."

"What nightmare?" he asked sleepily.

You chuckled when you thought about it.

"It's not really funny," you explained, rolling off of him and onto your back, pulling his flannel closed as you moved. "It had started out just like this, actually. It was morning, we were in bed and we were talking... about death?" you said the last part as if it were a question. "I was asking you if you believed in heaven and I told you I was afraid we were going to hell." His eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled his head to look at you, waiting for you to continue. You laughed again and shrugged. "I guess it felt like a premonition or something. Really freaked me out, it felt so real."

"What else?" he asked excitedly, sitting up. You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"What else do you remember? From the nightmare?"

"Oh," you said, pushing yourself up so you were also sitting. You stared at the wall blankly as you thought about it. "You told me we aren't bad people, and even though I told you we had done bad things, I believed you. Then..." you felt your cheeks flush and he sat forward eagerly.

"Then what?" he urged, and when you looked at him again, any trace of playfulness was gone.

"Then... it got a little dirty but I woke up before anything happened. But I do remember you were on top of me and you said-"

"This is heaven right here?" he finished for you, and you looked at him in surprise.

"Yes! How did-"

"That was no nightmare, honey. That happened," he told you, his voice rising. He thought his heart was going to explode, it was racing so fast.

"What?" you whispered, but Joel was already jumping out of bed and tugging on his boxers.

"C'mon, get up! We gotta take you to see Nick!"

"Wait," you said, buttoning up his flannel as he flew around the room, grabbing new clothes for you both. "Joel, this was a month ago, what will going to see Nick do?"

"I-I-I don't know! But we gotta tell him. Maybe there's somethin' we can do if we know you're capable of -"

"Joel, sit down," you said, cutting him off. He froze, having just tugged on a shirt but his jeans were still left unzipped and unbuttoned. You stared at him until he took the few steps towards the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll talk to Nick next time I'm at work, but I don't want to barge in there and take up his time. You know this is out of his area of expertise."

He looked disappointed but he knew you were right because he finally nodded in agreement and bit the inside of his cheek while he stared at the floor. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, drawing his attention back onto you.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," you said softly. "If my memories come back, then they come back. If they don't, they don't. All that matters is this... right?" you asked, inching closer to him and resting a hand on his thigh. He smiled and enveloped your hand in his.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, staring down at your conjoined hands for a moment. "You wanna go get some breakfast? Maybe talk 'bout it a bit more?"

"Sure," you replied, then leaned forward, kissing him tenderly before standing up. "I should probably shower, though. Last night got a little messy," you said, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. He smirked and watched your ass sway back and forth in his fucking clothes as you made your way to the bathroom. You turned around in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the frame as you looked at him expectantly from across the room. "Aren't you coming?"

All the blood rushed directly between his legs and just like that, his excitement for you recalling a memory was replaced by a very different kind of excitement.

"Hell, yes," he said, standing up and shucking off his shirt as he followed you into the bathroom. He grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his mouth against yours, kicking the door shut behind him.

Three Months Later

"Can't believe I'm the one teachin' you how to shoot," Joel muttered in disbelief as you walked back from the line of trees where he had hammered a paper target into one of the trunks. "You were always a better shot than me. Almost better than Tommy, and he was in the goddamn Army."

You laughed and shook your head, still finding it difficult to believe that you ever shot a gun before. From what you remember, you were always afraid of guns growing up.

"Maybe I'm a natural, then."

Enough time had passed and the weather had gotten warm enough where you decided it would be beneficial to re-learn how to shoot. You didn't plan on going back to patrol, but in the world you lived in, it was an important skill to have.

You sat down next to Joel on the fallen tree trunk in the middle of a small field about two miles away from Jackson. He picked up each one of his guns and inspected them, making sure they were clean so there wouldn't be much kickback.

"Have any dreams lately?"

You sighed and shook your head. "Just the one about Ellie, and that was over a month ago."

When you woke up one morning from a dream that felt all too real, you shook Joel awake to tell him about it. It was a simple dream, but it felt intense. You had dreamed Ellie sat you and Joel down at the kitchen table, and full of nerves, explained that she was seeing someone. Someone she cared about deeply. You seemed to catch on quicker than Joel because the conversation lead to where Ellie had to point blank explain to him that she was dating another girl. He seemed surprised but not overly shocked, and when he shrugged it off and still maintained that his only concern was her partner treating her right, her face broke out into a huge smile.

After he confirmed it was a memory, you agreed to see Nick. He didn't end up having much insight on what spurred your sudden recollection that day, just as you expected. But much to your surprise, Joel was perfectly calm. In fact, he made a point of thanking Nick and you even saw him smile at the other man.

And it wasn't just Nick you noticed his demeanor changing toward, either. When kids playing in the street bumped into him, he laughed and waved them off. When Jesse proposed to his girlfriend, Joel was one of the first in line to give him a hearty handshake and wished them well.

You weren't sure if his behavior changed because you were so revolted by it in the beginning, or if he was just happier in general, but you didn't complain.

"Alright, so which one d'you think we're gonna use from this distance?" he asked after he showed you his revolver and then his rifle, explaining the difference between each: how they handled, when to use them, when not to use them, and then finally, how to load and unload them.

You gave him a blank look. "The rifle, Joel. I'm not a complete idiot. I've seen movies."

He grinned and holstered his revolver.

"Good girl. Beauty and brains," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't start."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Don't start flirting with me. You'll distract me and I want to take this seriously."

"I ain't flirtin' with you."

"Yes, you are!"

He laughed heartily at your frustrated little pout. "Can you blame me? You're so goddamn cute."

"Joel..." you whined, and he held up both hands in defeat before picking up the rifle.

"Alright, alright. Lemme shoot off a few rounds and you watch my form, okay? Watch my shoulders and where my hands go."

"Okay."

You observed him as he took aim at the target, nearly hitting the bullseye but not quite.

"You wanna give it a shot?"

"Pun intended?"

He grinned and held out the rifle, so you grabbed it and sunk down to one knee, resting your elbows on the tree trunk as you tried to imitate his posture.

"Like this?"

"Mhm," he said, "now take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger nice 'n slow."

Doing as you were told, you inhaled and blinked a few times, making sure your vision was clear and your eye was on the prize. Pursing your lips, you slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger - only to miss hitting the target entirely.

"Shit," you grumbled, sitting back on your heels.

"You got spooked by the kickback," Joel said, "try again, but this time try not to flinch."

You shouldered the rifle and took aim, once again taking a deep breath and focusing on the little yellow circle in the middle of the target. When you fired off your second round, doing your best not to flinch, you clipped the edge of the paper, but you were no where near the center.

"Goddamnit!" you yelled angrily. Joel chuckled and crouched behind you.

"Here. Lemme help you."

He wrapped his arms around yours and pressed his chest against your back, his hands coming to rest on top of yours as he made some minuscule adjustments to your posture.

"Y'gotta be gentle, see?" he whispered in your ear. Your eyelids fluttered but you managed to nod. "Gotta be patient. Don't let her scare you. Think of her as an extension of you. Like another arm."

"Her?" you teased.

He chuckled, his breath puffing against the back of your neck. "Yeah. Her. I'm respectful and careful with all my girls."

"All?" you repeated, leaning into him a bit. "How many are there?"

"Oh, tons," he said, making you giggle. "But if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite."

"A favorite over a bunch of guns? I'm so flattered."

"Hey, now. Didn't you just say you wanted to take this seriously? C'mon, focus up," and you knew he was right so you straightened up and pressed your eye against the scope once again.

Joel stayed behind you, his hands on your shoulders to help stabilize your upper body as you squeezed off shot after shot. His advice helped a little, you were at least hitting the paper, but you weren't getting anywhere near his shots from earlier. He could see you were growing frustrated so when you ran out of bullets, he took the rifle and told you to take a break while he reloaded.

"It's okay, darlin'. It's gonna take a bit to get used to it."

You sighed and slumped forward on the tree trunk. "Yeah, I guess," you mumbled.

For the next twenty minutes, Joel coached you while you struggled to remember all his advice at once. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't flinch. Follow through. Breathe. When you pulled the last round into the chamber and took aim, you expected it to go like all the others so you stopped worrying about it and just pulled the trigger.

"Holy shit, you did it!" Joel exclaimed excitedly. You hadn't even bothered to look, so you quickly brought the scope back up to your face. When you saw the small little circle burning a hole through the paper, nearly dead center, you squealed and quickly placed the rifle against the tree so you could jump into Joel's arms. He wrapped his arms around your ribs and spun you around while you giggled into his neck.

"Told you," he said with a wide grin after he put you back down. You grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into you, crashing your lips together, taking him by surprise. He stumbled forward but wrapped a hand around the back of your neck just as you lost your own footing and fell onto the grass, dragging him down with you.

You laughed against his mouth, still peppering kisses all over his face. He braced both arms on either side of you, elbows digging into the warm grass, smile permanently stretching across his cheeks as he soaked up your affection.

When your laughter died down, you pulled away to gaze up at him, your fingers playing with the dark curls at the base of his neck. The sun was shining over the field and onto his tanned skin, making his sparkling brown eyes look like the color of gold. It took your breath away.

"You're so handsome," you whispered in awe, your fingers leaving his hair in favor of stroking the graying stubble dusting his cheeks. He blushed and shook his head, but before he could protest, you spoke again. "I love you so much, Joel. Sometimes it makes me sad to think we probably wouldn't have ever known each other if the world didn't end."

His eyes softened and he gave you a small smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I'll always find you. In every life, in every universe. You've got a piece of me," he tapped your chest lightly, "I don't make the rules."

You laughed and laced your fingers together with his. "Like fate?"

He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. I already told you, sweetheart. We're meant to be together."

You pulled him down for another kiss, this one more gentle. More loving. More intimate. For the hundredth time, you mentally berated yourself for wasting so much time after your accident when you could have been with him like this, being loved and adored and cherished all along. Instead, you both had been searching endlessly for some version of yourself that you weren't sure you would ever find again. But then you realized if you never did, that was okay. Because you got to fall in love with each other all over again, and how many people get to say that?

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #ikwya fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou

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joemama-2 · 2 months ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.6k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: pls ignore any grammar/spelling errors if so, I wrote some of this on my phone series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

You’re silent for a moment. Firstly, caught off guard by this woman stopping you from your responsibilities, but also the fact that she seems to be regarding you with such disgust. Do you know who I am? That question pisses you off. Should you say yes? Or no? Instead, you straighten up, scrutinizing her right back. Long, pretty brown hair. Hazel eyes. Pink lips. Expensive clothing. Damn it, she’s pretty.

“Should I?” Perfect balance between the two options.

Her lip curves up into a bitter smile, pushing past you into the penthouse with no apologies. This causes you to stumble back slightly before finding your stance again, turning around to face the woman as she paces Satoru’s apartment with a wave of confidence. Almost more than the man himself. “Where is he?”

“Satoru is at work,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest.

Himari pauses mid-step, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she turns to face you. Her eyes scan the apartment briefly before landing back on you, sharp and assessing. She raises an eyebrow, her expression one of disbelief, as if your answer isn’t good enough for her. "At work?" she echoes, her tone laced with skepticism. "And you’re here, what, playing house in his absence?"

Your jaw tightens, her words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. "I’m here because of my son," you snap, arms still crossed as you try to maintain your composure. "I don’t owe you an explanation."

Himari’s lips curl into a now mocking smile as she slowly approaches you, her expensive perfume wafting in the air between you. "You’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out where you stand in all of this. Because trust me," her voice lowers, dripping with condescension, "whatever this is? It’s temporary."

You feel your anger rising, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let her see that she’s getting under your skin. "I think you’re confused," you say, keeping your voice steady despite the fire in your chest. "This isn’t about me or you—it’s about Koji spending time with his father. And I’m not going to stand here and let you try to turn it into something else."

Her expression hardens, and for a brief moment, the mask of superiority slips, revealing a flash of something you can’t quite place. Jealousy? Fear? "Koji," she repeats, almost spitting the name out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "Is that the name of the little brat that’s ruining everything?"

“Watch your mouth,” a motherly wave of protection instantly befalls you at her choice of words.

“Why should I? That kid is nothing but a—”

Your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and your voice hardens. “I said, watch your mouth. I won’t let you badmouth my child.”

Himari’s eyes widen slightly, the mask of composure slipping even further as she takes in your reaction. For a moment, she looks almost startled, as if she hadn’t expected you to bite back. But just as quickly, she recovers, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a sneer. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she says, her tone sharp. “I’m just calling it how I see it. Satoru and I had plans, a life we were building, and then you come waltzing back in, dragging some kid into the picture. Don’t act like this hasn’t complicated everything.”

Your jaw clenches, and it takes everything in you to keep from shouting. “Koji is Satoru’s son,” you say firmly, your voice low but cutting. “If you think for one second that I’m going to apologize for that, you’re delusional. Whatever plans you think you had with him, they don’t erase his responsibilities as a father.”

Himari scoffs, her eyes narrowing. “Responsibilities? Don’t make me laugh. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? Using that child as leverage to worm your way back into his life? Everyone can see through this little game of yours. You seem like a poverty-stricken nobody who probably has nothing better to do with her life than go back to a man you never had just for that security. Let me guess, you’re blackmailing him that if he doesn’t help you out, he’ll never see his son again. People like you are pathetic and you leech off the important people like us—like my boyfriend. ”

Your blood runs cold at her words, and your chest tightens with a mixture of fury and disbelief. For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, the sheer audacity of her accusations stealing the breath from your lungs. But then the weight of her words sinks in, and a protective fire ignites inside you. You take a step closer to her, your eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. “Say whatever you want about me,” you begin, your voice low and steady, though it trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Insult me, make your assumptions, spin whatever narrative helps you sleep at night—but leave my son out of it.”

Himari raises an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance, but you see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Oh,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“Damn right you did,” you snap, your voice rising. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve sacrificed, or what I’d do to protect my child. Koji has nothing to do with whatever petty insecurities you have, so don’t you dare use him as a weapon to take cheap shots at me.”

Himari’s smirk falters, and she takes a slight step back, though she tries to mask it with a scoff. “Oh, please. Spare me the sob story. You can play the victim all you want, but it’s obvious what this is. You’re desperate, and you’re using that boy to sink your claws back into Satoru. You have no idea how much this ruins everything.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you say, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “This isn’t about Satoru. It’s not about you, either. It’s about giving Koji what he deserves—a chance to know his father, to have someone who loves him unconditionally. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong in his life.”

Himari glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension in the air crackling like static. Finally, she lets out a derisive huff, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll see,” she says, her voice icy. “We’ll see how long this little charade lasts. But don’t get too comfortable—you won’t win. People like you never do.”

“And people like you…” you start, biting the inside of your cheek; debating whether it’s worth stooping down to this woman’s level.

Himari freezes in place, her lips curling into a sneer. “And people like me?” she asks, her voice sharp and challenging.

“People like you,” you say, stepping forward again, close enough to reach out and slap her, your voice unwavering, “think the world owes them something just for existing. You walk around acting superior, but all you’re doing is hiding how insecure you really are. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because deep down, you know Satoru isn’t yours to keep.”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. She clenches her fists, but her laugh is bitter and hollow. “Insecure? Please. I have everything I need, and I definitely don’t need to play house with some random ex to prove my worth. Satoru’s with me because he wants to be, not because he feels sorry for me like he does for you.”

You take a deep breath, steadying the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night. But let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to stand here and insult my son or me. Koji is Satoru’s priority, not some trophy you can use to boost your own ego. So if you’ve got something to say, make sure it’s worth my time.”

Himari’s face twists in frustration, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she straightens her posture, her mask of composure slipping back into place. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” she says coolly, her tone a forced calm. “Someone should really teach you what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.”

“Then teach me.”

You don’t want to egg her on, you didn’t even want to see this girl in the first place. But nonetheless, the things she’s saying—how she’s acting, it’s bringing out a side of you that you try to keep hidden. Composed under years of self-calming techniques and resilience. Maybe it’s just adding onto the extra shit going on right now, but the fact that she’s managed to anger you this much in such little time is infuriating in itself. You don’t want to give her the energy or time of day. But, you also don’t want her to think she can get away with speaking about Koji like this—about you like this.

You two are engaged in a heavy staring contest, neither one of you seeming to want to back down. Facing each other with an equal stance of hostility. The air between you is thick with tension, every second stretching like an eternity as neither of you breaks eye contact. Himari’s jaw tightens, her polished exterior beginning to crack. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the slight twitch of her lip, the faint waver in her composed demeanor. For all her bravado, she didn’t expect you to stand your ground.

“What’s going on?” Satoru’s worried, but quick and abrupt voice interrupts the moment. Coming in through the still-open door, closing it behind him, and meticulously placing himself between you two. He looks at you, checking to make sure you’re okay but focusing on his girlfriend. “Himari, what are you—”

The sound of a palm smacking hard against his skin reverberates throughout the place, cutting him off with such force that it leaves a stunned silence in its wake. Your eyes widen, watching as Satoru doesn’t move his head for a moment from the side it has just been slapped to. Looking closer, red already begins to break out on his pale cheek. Your jaw clenches.

He slowly looks back at Himari, who faces him with an angry look. Satoru’s face hardens as he does so, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, a sharp edge that doesn’t appear often but sends a chill down your spine when it does. His voice is low and measured, a stark contrast to the tension radiating off him. “What the hell was that for?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm but laced with steel.

Himari doesn’t flinch, her fury unabated. “For letting this—this circus go on!” she snaps, gesturing between you and him. “For embarrassing me, for letting her waltz in and ruin everything we’ve built! How can you stand there and not see what she’s doing to us?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffs out, straightening his jaw out.

“You lie to me, you dodge my questions, and now I find out you have a fucking son? And with a woman like her?” She points to you, scoffing at the idea.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of levity, are clouded with frustration now. “Himari, stop,” he says firmly, his voice low but commanding. “You’re crossing a line.”

Himari laughs bitterly, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, I’m crossing a line? You’ve been lying to me for who knows how long, and I’m the one in the wrong? I think I have every right to be angry, Satoru!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “You’re angry, fine. But don’t you dare talk about her like that,” he snaps, nodding toward you. “This isn’t her fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”

You’re the last one to blame, Satoru. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat of the moment radiating off them both. Himari’s sharp gaze darts to you, her lips curling in disdain. “Of course, you’d defend her. She’s nothing but a leech, clinging to you because she has no other options. And now you’re letting her use that kid to worm her way into your life.”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, startling both you and Himari. He steps forward, his towering presence imposing as his icy glare fixes on her. “You don’t get to talk about her—or my son—like that. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Himari’s eyes widen, a flicker of shock passing through her anger. But she recovers quickly, her voice lowering to a venomous hiss. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re ruining everything for someone who’s nothing to you. Do you really think she’s here for you? She’s here for your money, your status. Wake up, Satoru.”

“Himari, you should go now.”

“Oh, I will,” She tilts her chin up at him. “My parents have a lot to say to you and your own. So be ready for that. If you think I’m bailing out on this relationship, I’m not. I am not letting you ruin this—ruin us.”

She speaks with finality, practically pushing into him as she heads for the door. Not even sparing another glance back before exiting, the door slamming after her. All that’s left behind is an uneasy silence. Satoru stays frozen in place for a moment, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the exhaustion, the lingering anger. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his snowy hair before turning to face you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost defeated. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Your lips form a faint grimace, your head slowly shaking. “No, don’t apologize. I–I’m sorry.” You pause again before carefully asking, “Are you okay?”

He closes his eyes momentarily with a sigh, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Does she…slap you like that, like—usually?” The question feels nasty to ask, but you can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of seeing your ex and father of your son being so carelessly and almost nonchalantly hit like that. No matter who did it.

“Well, no,” he says. “But when she gets really pissed at me, well—she lashes out.”

Your stomach churns at his words, and despite the tension that still hangs between you two, your heart feels heavy with a mix of concern and unease. You want to reach out, but you’re not sure how, not after everything that’s happened. “That’s not okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. No one should. I don’t…like seeing you get treated like that, Satoru.”

Satoru’s gaze softens, though he quickly brushes it off with a wave of his hand, as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “It’s fine, really. It’s just how she is when she’s angry. I’m used to it.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes your chest tighten. You want to argue, to tell him that being used to it doesn’t make it right, but you hold back. He’s not a child; he doesn’t need to be coddled. But the way he brushes off the situation, like it’s no big deal, makes it hard to ignore that maybe he’s been through this for far too long. You almost start wishing you could go back in time and slap her instead.

“Still,” you say, taking a cautious step closer. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve that.”

Satoru finally meets your gaze, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. He seems grateful, but there’s also a wall behind his expression, a part of him that refuses to acknowledge the pain beneath the surface. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “But I’m okay. Really. I just…I know how to deal with her.”

The words seem rehearsed, like he’s convincing himself as much as anyone else. You can tell he’s not fully okay. And, despite the atmosphere between you two, you know he’s not asking for your sympathy. But you can’t help but feel like there’s more beneath it all that he’s not saying, things he’s kept hidden far too long. “It looks a little swollen, do you want to ice it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He agrees, walking to his freezer and getting out a small icepack. You hover awkwardly, unsure if you should leave him be or offer some strange sense of comfort. But it feels wrong to just leave like that. Sure, there’s a certain line marked between you two, but you still have empathy. Morality. You’re still a good person, and so is Satoru. So, you step forward slowly, still leaving enough room for him to deny you.

Satoru doesn’t protest as you move closer, but you notice the way his body tenses just slightly, a subtle indication that he’s still not entirely comfortable. He continues to press the icepack to his cheek with a quiet sigh, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The sound of the ice against his skin is the only noise filling the silence between you. You can’t help but feel the weight of it all—the tension, the unresolved emotions, the hurt. You know he’s not the type to open up easily, but something about the way he’s holding himself, the guarded look in his eyes, tells you he’s struggling with more than just the immediate confrontation with Himari.

Your hand reaches up and tentatively replaces his own on the pack.

Satoru tenses again for a moment at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. He lets you take the icepack from him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The warmth of his skin against yours lingers, and you feel a shift in the air between you, something unspoken, yet palpable. You keep the ice gently on his swollen cheek, careful not to apply too much pressure. Your eyes meet his, the proximity somehow making everything feel more intimate than it should be, and yet, in that moment, it feels right—like you’re not just helping him physically, but in some quiet, emotional way too. His gaze softens, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually guarded expression. The situation reminds you of the past.

Nights when he was too sleep-deprived to function, the times when he accidentally cut himself with a knife while making dinner, or the times you used to apply face masks together during your sleepovers. It all feels like how it used to.

"Let me," you say softly, a quiet reassurance in your voice, though you’re unsure why you feel the need to offer it. Maybe it’s because, despite the complicated history between you two, in this moment, it feels like you’re more than just the roles you’ve played—more than the messy entanglements that surround you both.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a few seconds, his eyes focusing on the ice as you hold it against his cheek. The silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but rather, it feels like a rare kind of peace, a brief respite from the chaos. "Thanks for doing this," he says eventually, his voice softer than usual. "I know it’s not easy, dealing with all the shit going on, but... I appreciate it."

You nod, unsure of how to respond to that. It’s strange, helping him like this, especially considering how much tension has been between you two recently. But the act itself, simple as it is, feels like a small moment of clarity amidst all the confusion. "You don’t have to thank me," you say quietly, looking up at him. “I’m here. For whatever you need. Just…don’t blame yourself. It’s all my fault.”

You both stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, just sharing the space. No words are needed, the action itself speaking volumes more than anything you could say aloud. He looks like he wants to protest, to say that you’re wrong and that he has some blame in this giant mess too. But he stays silent, enjoying the comfortability of a life that seems to offer none of that so far. It’s like he still—after all this time—finds his peace with you.

That thought makes him feel put off.

Because while he can’t stop how his heart feels and force it to feel the opposite, there are still lingering emotions of annoyance. Of how this all could’ve been avoided. Of how he still hasn’t completely forgiven you. Of how that small part of him hates you. Hate? Does he hate you? It seems like he has an answer to that question when you gently place a hand on his chest. Head leaning up like it’s ready for something, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He sees it; knows it’s coming. But he doesn’t move, for some reason.

Your hand freezes the moment you realize what you’re doing, quickly stopping yourself from leaning up anymore. Though it’s a little too late for that, considering you’re this close to his lips. You hadn't even noticed it at first, your body moving on instinct, closing the distance between you two. But now that his chest rises and falls steadily under your palm, the weight of your action feels impossibly heavy.

“I…” you stammer, the words getting caught in your throat. You glance up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, searching for some kind of response. But his expression is unreadable, his pale lashes half-lowered as he looks at you with something in between confusion and guarded curiosity.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, and you can tell he’s trying to process what just happened—what’s happening now. His lips open like he’s about to say something, but the silence stretches between you both instead. Finally, his hand moves, brushing lightly over your wrist, a cautious touch, testing your reaction. “Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual, yet laced with an edge of something you can’t quite place. It’s not anger, but it’s not entirely calm either.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You pull your hand back quickly, as if you’ve burned yourself, clutching it against your chest like it might shield you from the tension. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“No,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You were.”

His words send a jolt through you, and for a moment, you feel exposed, like he’s peeled back a layer of your defenses you weren’t ready to give up. He doesn’t break eye contact, but there’s a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper—conflict, maybe.

“Satoru,” you start, but the name sounds so small, so uncertain, even to you. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re making this complicated,” he cuts in, his tone sharper now, like he’s trying to create a barrier between you again. “I’m trying to figure this out. Everything. And you…you can’t just—” He stops himself, exhaling harshly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “You can’t just do things like that and expect me to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

You flinch slightly at the bite in his words, but you don’t back down. “I’m not trying to complicate anything,” you reply, more firmly this time. “I just—I don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s like I can’t get it right.”

Satoru takes a step back, putting more distance between you, but his eyes never leave yours. “Yeah, well, join the club.”

A silence befalls you two. One that threatens you to curse yourself for ruining something so small and tender because of your own selfish desires. What reason was it for? Why did you do that? Maybe it was just a small moment of hallucination. You weren’t thinking right, only your body was. Or maybe it was the peacefulness that tiny moment brought you, or it felt right and nostalgic. Your feelings are already all jumbled up, this situation didn’t make it any better.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you both stand there, neither daring to speak or move. You feel the weight of your own actions crashing down on you, each second of quiet like an accusation. What were you thinking? The question echoes in your mind, louder and louder. Was it a lapse in judgment? A selfish impulse? Or something else entirely—a longing for something that no longer exists?

You glance at Satoru, his expression unreadable, the cool mask he wears so well firmly in place. You wish he’d say something, anything, even if it was to scold you or tell you to leave. But he doesn’t. He just stares, and the silence twists deeper into your chest.

Why did you do that? you wonder again, your thoughts spiraling. Maybe it was the way his presence felt familiar, and comforting, even after everything. Or maybe it was the way the tension between you two softened for just a fleeting second when you held that ice pack for him. Or, it could’ve been just the nostalgia—a memory of a time when things were less complicated when you didn’t feel so distant, so broken.

But now? Now it feels like you’ve ruined even that small, fragile thread of peace. The silence between you isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s damning. You’ve crossed a line, one you didn’t even realize was still there.

You open your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, to apologize again, but no words come out. Because what could you possibly say? That it was a mistake? That you weren’t thinking? That for just one moment, you wanted to feel close to him again, even if it wasn’t real? Satoru finally exhales, breaking the quiet. His gaze flickers down, then away, like he can’t look at you anymore. “I think…” He trails off, his voice quieter than before. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t… overthink this.”

You blink at him, unsure if he’s trying to offer you an out or protect himself. “Overthink what?” you manage to ask, though your voice is barely above a whisper.

He looks at you then, his expression softening just slightly, but there’s still a wall between you. “Whatever this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you two. “I’m trying to figure things out, and this...it just complicates everything.”

Your chest tightens at his words, but you nod, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “I get it.” But do you? Or are you just agreeing because it’s easier than admitting that you don’t know where the lines are anymore? Or if they still exist. Or that you don’t even know how you feel—let alone how he feels.

“I should go,” you say finally, your voice steadier now. You grab your bag again that you set on the table haphazardly after the girlfriend run-in, avoiding his gaze, and head for the door. But just as you’re about to leave, you pause, turning back to him. “Satoru… I’m sorry.” I really didn’t mean it.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his hand lifting briefly as if he’s going to reach for you but dropping back to his side. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Me too.”

You don’t waste time in making your departure after hearing his words. The door closes behind you as you briskly make your way to the elevator. Letting out a breath you must’ve been holding the whole time once you’re in. Watching yourself drop floor by floor, each thought sounding louder than the previous one. Questions of why bouncing off the walls of your brain. You don’t know why; or maybe you do, you just can’t face it yet.

You’re not sure you want to face it.

You can only hope Satoru is right about all this and he stays true to his word. Don’t overthink it, pretend it didn’t happen. That should be easy, right? It should be simple, just forget it.

The elevator doors slide open, and the cold air from the lobby greets you as you step out. The stillness of the afternoon settles around you like a blanket, thick and suffocating. You pause just outside the building, inhaling deeply as if the fresh air will help clear your head. But it doesn’t. The questions still echo, louder now in the quiet of the world around you. Maybe the answer, it’s been there all along, waiting for the cracks in your armor to show. But facing it means confronting feelings you’ve kept locked away for years—feelings you’re not sure you’re ready to admit exist.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence. You pull it out, and Hana’s name lights up the screen. Guilt instantly knots in your stomach. You’ve been so caught up in your own whirlwind of emotions that you completely forgot about your shift. “Hey,” you answer, your voice tight but steady.

“Y/N? Where the hell have you been?” Hana’s voice is sharp but concerned. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stammer, forcing a calm tone. “Just… had some things to take care of. I’m sorry for being late, I’m coming right now.”

There’s a pause on her end, and then she sighs. “Look, just get here when you can, alright? We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, already walking toward the nearest bus stop. “I’ll be there soon.”

As the line disconnects, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and quicken your pace. Hopefully, work will be a distraction, something to keep your mind from circling back to Satoru, to what happened, to everything it could and couldn’t mean. Because right now, pretending it didn’t happen feels safer than admitting that it did. And you can only hope—pray, even that Satoru is doing the same.

Satoru had barely even eaten the lunch he grabbed from his fridge. Driving back to the office in complete silence, not even putting the radio on as background noise. Now, he’s just staring down at his food on his desk, finger tapping against the armrest of his chair. The food sits untouched in front of him, its aroma barely registering as Satoru leans back in his chair. His finger taps rhythmically against the armrest, an unconscious outlet for the storm of thoughts swirling in his head—an unusual quietness for someone who usually thrives on noise.

But now, the silence feels deafening.

His jaw tightens as he replays the scene in his apartment, your expression when you left, and the weight of your hand on his chest, the way you leaned in so casually, so instinctively. He lets out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “Get it together,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the half-eaten sandwich sitting before him like it’s the cause of his current turmoil.

He’s angry—not just at you, but at himself. At the way his heart reacted in that split second, betraying him when he was supposed to have control. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything, not after everything that had happened between you two. But that small moment—the fleeting touch, the look in your eyes—it’s left him shaken in a way he can’t quite articulate.

The sharp knock at his office door jolts him out of his thoughts. He straightens, hastily pushing the food aside and clearing his throat. “Yeah, come in,” he calls, his voice a little rougher than intended.

A junior colleague pokes their head in, a stack of files in their hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but these need your signature before the end of the day.”

“Just leave them on the desk,” he replies, barely sparing a glance.

The younger employee hesitates, sensing the tension in the room, before quickly placing the files down and retreating. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his desk as he buries his face in his hands. He knows he won’t get anything done like this, but his thoughts are relentless. And no matter how much he tells himself to let it go, he can’t shake the memory of your hand, your eyes, the way you looked at him as if you were searching for something he’s not sure he can give. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, shoving his chair back and standing abruptly. Maybe he needs to walk it off, clear his head, do something—anything—to stop thinking about you.

A few minutes pass, busying himself with the signatures before the doors open again, this time with no warning knock. “I’ve had people look into the leak, it was an anonymous source. There’s a group of men your father sent to scout out the possible places the picture was taken from.”

His mother’s voice is a small distraction from his inner turmoil. Of course it’s not the exact thing he’d like to hear and discuss right now, but anything to take his mind off today's earlier events. “Any luck?”

She sighs, rubbing a hand through her greying hair. “As of now, no. But we’re narrowing it down. Your father believes the leak came from a possible rival.”

Satoru sits up straight. “Like the Zenins?”

Grimacing at the mere mention of that family, Akane frowns but shakes her head. “No, surprisingly. They were out on a family vacation to Italy. I got word they landed back last night.”

“Still, it could’ve been from them. Maybe they hired someone.”

The Zenins and the Gojo Group have been rivals for a long time now. Though most would probably consider them to have a “frenemies” sort of relationship, some of the people in that family are just…horrible. Not all, but almost all. Satoru lets out a low breath, leaning back in his chair as memories of past encounters with the Zenins flash through his mind. He’s been forced to deal with them more times than he can count—at corporate events, business dealings, even unfortunate leisure events—and each time, their games get more infuriating.

The Zenins own a massive real estate and infrastructure business called the Zenin Development Group, or ZDP for short. The ZDP hasn’t shied away from the use of rumors in the past that attempted to damage the Gojo Group’s image. Satoru remembers one incident where word had been flying around about the Gojo Group “losing its footing in certain markets”. A sorry try at weakening their investor confidence. The head of the Zenins, Toji, is usually the more critical and logical man. His cousin however, the man who was supposed to be in Toji’s spot, isn’t. That cousin, lacking Toji’s cunning and restraint filled nature, remains a wildcard Satoru would rather not deal with.

Still, their family name alone is enough to make Satoru’s jaw clench.

Akane pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “It’s a possibility, but your father’s men are thorough. If the Zenins hired someone, we’d have a trail by now. And honestly, Satoru, with the way that family operates, they’d have made sure you knew it was them. Subtlety isn’t exactly their strong suit.”

Satoru lets out a dry huff, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right. They love to flaunt their chaos.”

“Exactly,” Akane replies, crossing her arms as she paces. “This is different. It feels… personal. Whoever leaked that photo isn’t trying to start a war—they’re trying to cause damage. To you specifically or the company name, either or.”

He tilts his head, processing her words. “Why would it be specifically me? And not the family, not the company?”

“Well right now, it’s focused on you. It’s not the usual business sabotage we see with rivals.” Akane’s tone is pointed as she stops pacing, fixing him with a meaningful look. “They knew about Koji. This wasn’t some random slip. Someone wanted that information out in the open.”

Satoru’s chest tightens, his mind flickering to you and Koji. It hadn’t been long since his son came into his life, and now—now everything felt like it was spiraling faster than he could keep up.

“You think it’s someone close,” he mutters, not quite phrasing it as a question. “A partner?”

Akane’s silence is enough of an answer.

Satoru pushes a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “If it’s personal, then who the hell has it out for me like this? Himari’s pissed, but she’s not stupid enough to—”

Akane cuts him off with a sharp look. “Don’t rule her out just yet.”

Satoru scowls. “Come on, you really think—”

“I think people do crazy things, no matter if we think they will or not,” Akane interrupts firmly. “And she’s been in your life for years now, Satoru. She’s close enough to pull something like this without you suspecting it.”

Satoru is quiet for a beat, his mind whirring. “And if it’s not her?”

“Then it’s someone else in our circle,” Akane says, her voice cool and confident. “Someone with access. Someone who knows where to hit.”

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. His world already feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and now someone is actively trying to make it worse.

“What do we do now?” he asks finally, his tone subdued.

Akane straightens, her expression hardening with resolve. “We tighten security, keep this contained as best as we can. Your father will expect you to do damage control. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging to find out who’s behind this.”

“And what’s his plan if we find the source?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

Her lips thin into a straight line. “We’ll handle it as we always do. Quietly. Efficiently.”

Satoru nods, his jaw set. “Good. Do whatever you have to. I want answers.”

Akane turns to leave but pauses at the door. “And Satoru—be careful who you trust.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Satoru alone once more, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the silence.

Someone close to him betrayed him. Someone knew about Koji. Was he getting followed again? It couldn’t have been the informant his parents sent after him when he was gone, they already checked in with him and scared him to keep his mouth shut about anything.

Satoru swivels the mouse to his computer, lighting up the screen once more. An article he had stopped reading a few minutes prior appears. The Zenin Development Group, of course, had been the first to make a comment. Within hours of the news breaking, they released a veiled statement—dressed up as “a comment on modern family values”—that clearly took aim at the Gojo Group. The implication had been clear: Satoru Gojo, the golden heir, had secrets. Unpredictability. For a family like the Gojos, where control was everything, it was a calculated jab. The Zenins would never miss an opportunity to capitalize on a weakness. He laced his fingers together as his mind runs.

The real estate moguls weren’t the only ones circling, though. Smaller partnerships had already started asking questions. He was hoping that deals that were already set in stone wouldn’t suddenly slow to a crawl with poor excuses of “we’re just waiting to finalize a few details” piling up. However, investors did send cautious emails, politely “checking in” to ensure the Gojo Group was still on track.

And the last thing the Gojo Group needed were foreign partners—companies Satoru and his father had worked years to solidify relationships with—showing even hints of hesitation. People wanted answers, of course, clarity. How does the man who’s heir to one of the country’s largest conglomerates have a child hidden away? And more importantly, what else don’t they know?

Satoru exhales sharply, his fingers pressing harder into each other. It had taken everything in him not to lose his temper in the initial meetings of this morning. The entire damn building practically gawked at him more than usual when he strutted in. He felt their silent questions, their shock and confusion. None of them voiced anything, but that didn’t stop them from secretly whispering to each other when they thought he couldn’t hear. He kept his voice steady, his demeanor calm—like none of this mattered, like he wasn’t feeling the weight of it all pressing against his ribs. To his credit, most of the major deals were still holding. The Gojo name was far too powerful to be shaken by one scandal, but that didn’t mean cracks hadn’t appeared.

There were still murmurs, even within his own company. Executives muttering over coffee, wondering if the family would take action to “correct the situation.” His parents had already made their stance clear—they wanted this “mess” cleaned up quickly. A statement. A press release. Something that would sweep the story under the rug.

But Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he? What would he even say? That he’s sorry?

His son wasn’t a mistake.

He glances over to the untouched lunch on his desk, appetite long gone. Koji hadn’t asked to be born into this family, into this life of scrutiny and power plays. And yet here he was—thrust into the spotlight because of some unruly person who doesn’t give a damn about anything. The Gojo Group would weather this storm—he’d have to make sure of it.

Still, it’s the moments between all the business calls and the carefully crafted emails that gnaw at him the most. When he catches a glimpse of Koji’s face in the news coverage, or sees your name being dragged into articles alongside his. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d be shocked at how quickly the public found that out.

It’s just business, he reminds himself.

But Satoru knows better than anyone—nothing about this has ever just been business.

He rubs his face again this time harder, checking the time.

Distraction, distraction, distraction. He takes his phone out, going to his messages. Hovering his thumb over your name, before biting the bullet and sending you a text.

I’m picking up Koji today.

A few minutes later…

Y/N:

Are you sure? I can

Already decided, don’t worry about it

Satoru pauses again, his thumbs doing circles over the bright screen as he thinks of the correct way to articulate his next text.

You should probably stay over again. I’ll watch Koji but if you’re working late, he’ll end up falling asleep. I don’t want you guys out alone at night.

Is that too forward of him to say? Truly, he does mean it for your protection and safety. He’s willing to look past whatever it was earlier today, just as long as you and his son don’t accidentally get ambushed by reporters or strangers. Besides, he’s making up for lost time, remember?

Another few minutes passed with no reply. Assuming you’re busy at work right now, he’s about to shut his phone off and stand up when you say…

Y/N:

Oh, okay. Just one more night

He wishes he can read your tone better through text.

“Papa.”

“Yeah, buddy?” Satoru wipes a small stream of chocolate ice cream from his son’s mouth. He wonders if you’d scold him for giving him ice cream on a cold day. But hey, his son did ask. And who is he to say no?

“On January 5th, it’s a special day.” Koji grins, little legs swinging back and forth over the bed, watching his father clean up the room his son will be sleeping in again tonight. Another reason you’d probably be mad at him for eating ice cream, it’s night time and he’s about to go to sleep.

Satoru had gone to the store after picking up Koji from school to buy a quick set of pajamas and tiny underwear for the boy after realizing he had absolutely no spare children’s clothes laying around.

Why would he?

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Koji’s grin widens, his little hands clutching the edge of the bed as if he’s holding onto the excitement bubbling inside him. “It’s Dad Appreciation Day at school!”

Satoru freezes mid-motion, Dad Appreciation Day. He turns slowly, trying to keep his voice light and teasing even as something twists in his chest. “Oh, is that so? And what happens on Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji beams up at him, oblivious to the subtle tension in his father’s stance. “It’s a day where we get to bring our dads to school and show them all the cool stuff we made! Mr. Ito says we’re gonna draw pictures and talk about how awesome they are!” He pauses for a second, as if gathering his thoughts. “And I already told everyone my dad is the coolest of them all.”

Satoru swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “You did, huh?”

Koji nods enthusiastically, his little legs still swinging. “Yeah! ‘Cause you are the coolest, Papa.” He says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world, his voice full of innocence and pride.

Satoru stares at him for a beat too long, that twisting feeling growing stronger. He crouches down in front of Koji, meeting his son’s wide, expectant eyes. But he can’t hold back the warmth that blooms in his being. “So, you want me to come to this Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji nods again, so quickly it looks like his head might fall off. “Yep! And I want you to meet my friends! And—” he pauses suddenly, glancing down at his hands as if shy about what he’s about to say. “And I want them to know you’re real.”

The words hit Satoru harder than he expects. He blinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. “What do you mean, buddy? Of course I’m real.”

Koji fidgets, his fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Sometimes the other kids say I’m making stuff up. That I don’t really have a dad ‘cause they’ve never seen you. But I told them you’re real! And you’re awesome and tall and can do anything. I don’t have pictures of you either to show them.” He lifts his head again, his little face hopeful. “So…you’ll come, right?”

Satoru feels something ache deep in his chest—a mix of guilt, pride, and something he can’t quite name. This is what he’s been afraid of. The impact his absence might have on Koji, the doubts his son has had to defend himself against. Although it’s not his fault, he still feels awful over the fact that his son is getting criticized by other little shitheads for “lying about his dad”.

Again, who is he to say no?

Satoru musters a soft smile, reaching out to ruffle Koji’s hair. “Of course I’ll come, buddy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Koji’s face lights up, a pure, unfiltered joy spreading across his features. “Really?! You promise?”

“I promise.” Satoru’s voice is steady, despite the weight of the promise he’s just made. Because for once, he isn’t thinking about the scandal, the headlines, or what his family might say. Right now, all he sees is his son’s smile—the only thing that matters.

Koji throws his arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Papa. You’re the best.”

Satoru wraps his arms around the little boy, holding him close as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “No, Koji. You’re the best.”

At this moment, Satoru feels like he’s doing something right.

Satoru sits back, still holding Koji close as the boy relaxes in his arms, content and unaware of the complexities that hang over his father. For a few moments, the weight of the world feels light, and the chaos of his personal and professional life fades into the background. He can’t help but wish he could bottle up this peace and take it with him everywhere.

Koji yawns, his little body starting to slump against Satoru’s chest, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Satoru gently shifts him back onto the bed, tucking the covers around him. Taking his ice cream from him, the room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. He watches as Koji’s eyes flutter closed, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.

Satoru stands up slowly, lingering for a moment to make sure Koji is comfortable. He reaches for the nightlight switch, casting the room in a soft glow, then turns back to the door. His thoughts are no longer on the promises made to the company or the looming questions about his future with his family. It’s all about Koji, about being the father his son deserves.

As he steps out into the hallway, Satoru feels the familiar weight of the world returning, just a little. There are meetings tomorrow, more calls to take, and a whole slew of problems waiting for him. But tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, he has something to look forward to. A chance to be present, to be the kind of parent he knows he can be. And that’s enough for now.

He takes a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he heads to the kitchen to grab a drink. Tomorrow will come with its own challenges, but tonight, he can rest easy knowing that for once, he has what he wants within his grasp.

Despite his long day, Satoru feels a small obligation to stay up for you. Ensuring you make it back safe and all. You had insisted on using the bus back home, but he sent you money for a cab instead. Sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating atop. Still in his white button up and black slacks, white socks on. Once you knock on the door, he’s answering. “Hey, how was work?”

“Okay,” you mumble, walking past him inside. From your demeanor, you look tired. Maybe even still awkward. He locks the door shut and walks over, hovering next to you as you did your body of your coat and shoes.

“Koji’s asleep.”

You nod. “Okay, thank you.”

“No problem ,” he lightly shrugs. “Um…are you hu—“

“No, no. Not really. I think I just want to shower and sleep.”

Satoru watches as you slip off your shoes, your shoulders heavy, and your movements slower than usual. He can tell you’re not in the mood for any more conversation, and he doesn’t want to push. The tension between you both is still there, unspoken but present in every glance, every word. But he’s trying to keep the peace, trying to respect the distance you’ve put between the two of you.

“Alright, well, if you need anything...” he trails off, not sure what else to say. He knows he could offer more, but right now, he’s unsure what would make you feel more at ease. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like he’s prying.

You glance over at him for a brief moment, your face unreadable. “Thanks,” you mutter, the words soft but genuine.

He hums back, putting his hands in his pockets. “And he told me about the Dad day. I’ll clear my schedule and go.”

You glance up at him, a surprised but relieved expression flickering across your face. You hadn’t expected him to follow through so easily, but the way he says it so matter-of-factly makes you believe him. “That’s… that’s really great, Satoru,” you say quietly, trying not to let your gratitude sound too heavy. You didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. But deep down, you’re thankful. For Koji’s sake, for his happiness, and maybe for yours too.

Satoru gives you a small smile, almost like a silent reassurance, though his eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s still unsure of how to navigate all the unspoken words hanging between you two. “It’s nothing. He’s my son, after all. I wouldn’t miss it.”

You nod, giving him a small smile back, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

“I should let you get some rest,” he adds, his voice softening, almost like he’s giving you an out. “I know you’ve had a long day. I left some of my clothes out in the bathroom for you, if that’s okay.”

You nod again, appreciative of his understanding. It’s strange how he can act so distant and yet, in moments like these, he can be so… present. For once, you don’t feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. Maybe it’s because of Koji, or maybe it’s because Satoru’s actually trying. “That’s okay, thank you again.”

“Stop thanking me so much,” he shakes you off, walking over to the sink to begin washing the dishes. For a second, you watch his back, seeing the muscles of his firm skin through the almost dangerously thin material of his shirt. You look away, realizing you’ve been staring for too long and head over to the bathroom to begin your shower.

Once again, the water feels warm and comforting against your skin. It’s what you look forward to after your days. Relaxing and letting loose, letting your shower ease your tension in your shoulders. Freeing your body of the day’s dirt and oil, feeling an ungodly amount of clean. Maybe it’s Satoru’s detachment shower head, or his lovely smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but it makes you sight wistfully.

You allow yourself to bask in it, longer than you would back at your place because it’s not your water bill. As you step out and dry yourself off, the clothes that are left are a simple white t-shirt with boxers. Probably the only thing he has that can semi-fit you.

However, you can’t resist the urge to bring the soft material up to your nostrils, eyes closing as you inhale deeply. It fills your senses with a strange, but familiar twist. Oh god, how you love his smell.

That’s okay to admit still, right?

It’s not even just his cologne, but him. You’ve always loved it, always sniffed him and his clothes randomly. He’d make fun of you sometimes for it, just light teasing. Of course, he also was in love with the idea that just his scent alone can get you going.

Inhale after inhale, practically stuffing the clothing in your face before taking the moment to actually put them on. Still big, but manageable. Besides, it’s just one more night. You and Koji will be back to the apartment tomorrow.

After a good 45 minutes in the bathroom, you step out and walk in the direction of the room Koji’s in. But, you bump right into Satoru as you do so. He’s holding his own pair of pajamas in his arm. “Oh, sorry,” you quickly apologize and step back, voice low in effort to keep your son asleep. The dim lighting of the hallway almost makes his features even more pretty. “Did I take a long time? I thought you showered already.”

“No, it’s okay,” he replies, the bright hue of his eyes moving up and down. “You look…” He pauses, and there’s something in his gaze that’s hard to place, but you can feel the weight of it. “Comfortable.”

You feel your cheeks warm under his attention, but you don’t say anything in response. “Yeah, I am.”

He nods briefly and in silence. Once again, it’s like that moment from earlier today is making an appearance again. But this time it feels a little more electrified. Maybe it’s from the way his Adam’s Apple visibly bobs up and down like he’s gulping hard. Or the way his mouth has suddenly dried out. Or the way he has sudden invading memories of you wearing his shirt with nothing else after a passionate moment. Suddenly, he feels a problem.

“Goodnight,” he swiftly utters, walking past you into the bathroom. His movements are hurried, turning the shower back on, putting his clothes down onto the sink—ridding his current wear. In just a second, a knowing throb is taking place, one that almost causes him to groan out when his hand accidentally brushes against it.

The water’s still cold as he gets in—he figures that’s a good thing.

As the water splashes over his skin, Satoru tries to focus on the cold, the sting of it against his flushed skin, to fight off the growing tension that is so hard to ignore. His thoughts are a blur—memories of moments with you, your laughter, the way you’ve always looked at him, the touch of your skin, your smell. They all collide inside his head, each one triggering the next, until it’s impossible to escape the warmth of his desire. He tries to shake it off, tilting his face up to splash cold water onto it, breathing heavily as the icy droplets hit his skin. But the image of you wearing his shirt, the softness of the fabric against your bare skin, refuses to leave his mind. It’s maddening. There’s a part of him that feels guilty, like he’s crossing some boundary, but another part, the part that craves the connection with you, is too strong.

The tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, feels like it’s pulling him in two different directions. The man he’s supposed to be—focused, disciplined, in control—and the man who craves more than just physical closeness.

“Get it together, idiot,” he mutters under his breath, the words coming out as a sharp reprimand, though he knows it’s easier said than done.

The water begins to warm, slowly, but he doesn’t notice, his thoughts swirling like a storm. What the hell are you doing to him?

He takes a deep breath and turns the temperature up, letting the water envelop him, hoping that it will cool the fire inside of him. But somehow, it just feels like the heat of the moment is following him everywhere.

What was he thinking letting you wear his clothes again? He’s practically asking for it. He should’ve thought more about his decision. But at the time, he was thinking with his brain, not his hard cock.

Sparing a small glance down, his lips downturn. The tip is already an angry red and he’s barely touched himself, his veins becoming more prominent by the second as the blood rushes up and up. It’s practically begging to be felt, begging to be released.

He feels like such an idiot. A perverted idiot.

But with each blink, he’s getting flashbanged of past memories. The way your moans sounded heavenly in his ear, the way you squeezed around him that had his eyes rolling back. When you’d make that cute little noise when he’d circle a thumb on your pussy clit, simultaneously bullying your hole with his cock. The way you’d hold onto him. The way you—oh god.

His body has such a mind of its own.

He’s twitching in his hand, achingly so. Forcing down the surge of sudden need and focusing on the now. Willing his body to stop reacting so…blatant. It’s hard. In both ways. Satoru’s a grown man. He’s not used to such childish behaviors like this anymore. Keeping the lewd noises that threaten to leave his lips down like he’s a teenager all over again, scared of getting caught jacking off in his bedroom while his parents were down the hall. And he especially didn’t think he’d react like this all over again, and so damn easily too.

That’s what pisses him off most. Aside from the fact that you seemed so nonchalant. As if you didn’t know what was happening. That, or you’ve just become a good actress.

The water pellets down on him, hoping that the sound of his warm shower is enough to drown out the noise of the shaky moan that accidentally slips from his lips. This is bad; you and his son are sleeping peacefully in the other room and he’s here doing this.

But he just can’t help himself. His cheeks are flushed red, not just from the water. Head tilting back as he lays his left palm flat on the shower wall. For a second, he lets himself indulge in his selfish desires. And he doesn’t mind the fact that he just came to the thought of another woman and not his current girlfriend.

Jesus, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?

The next day proves to be busy. With the sudden influx of customers, everyone has been practically busting their ass off. You’re happy to go home, no longer dealing with that hustle and bustle.

Hana stays for another couple hours until she too will be saved. She can’t even count on her hands how many times a customer or customers have asked for you. She feels bad, of course. You seem to be handling it, but at the same time, you’re not.

She’s learned her lesson not to pry anymore when you seem close to the edge, that doesn’t diminish her worry as your friend.

It’s slower as the day continues, the sun beginning to set and paint the sky with pretty shades of orange. She’s cleaning the tables, humming a small tune when the ding from above the door sounds.

Like clockwork, she stops her cleaning and goes behind the register, planting a customer service smile. “Hello, welcome in.”

The man smiles back, though his seems more fake. Stepping upfront in front of her, looking over the menu placed above. He hums and talks his chin with his pointer finger. “What do you recommend?”

“The cookie butter latte is our best seller,” Hana replies.

He nods again, his feline eyes flickering back down to her own brown pair. “That sounds wonderful, can I have that?”

“Of course.” Hana taps the order into the screen of the register, looking back up. “Anything else?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” He smoothly says.

Hana blinks in surprise, momentarily thrown off guard by the man's sudden compliment. She forces a smile, not quite sure how to respond. Compliments were part of the job, but this one felt a little too close for comfort. She can feel the warmth creeping up her neck as she tries to keep the conversation professional. "Thank you," she says, voice even and polite. "Anything else I can get for you today?"

The man tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Maybe just your name?"

She offers a small, practiced smile, hoping to keep things casual. "Hana," she replies, maintaining eye contact but not giving away too much. "Now, would you like anything to go with your latte?"

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes scanning the pastries behind the counter. "A chocolate croissant, please."

"Great choice," she says, quickly adding it to the order. "That'll be all?"

"For now," he says with a slight nod, but there's something in his tone that makes her wonder if it's really the last time she'll hear from him today.

Hana nods. “And a name for the order?”

He pulls out a crisp total of one thousand yen. “Naoya.”

a/n: writing the "kiss" scene made me think back to a time I dodged my ex's kiss b4 we started dating and I felt so embarrassed for him

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focusonkayjay · 1 month ago

Text

between the ride and the roses (final)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 13.4k+

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: protected sex, oral (f. receiving), mentions of hospital, stitches, wounds, injuries, scars, angst (lmk if i missed anything)

A/N: wow, i can’t believe my first-ever series is finally over. it’s been almost two months since i started this, and you guys have shown me immense love and support for this story—something i’ll forever be grateful for. a part of me feels sad to let go of these characters, but i think i’ll be coming back with a few drabbles every now and then.

i truly hope you’re satisfied with the ending, and i hope reading this series brought you comfort the same way writing it brought comfort to me. thank you so much to everyone who stuck around until the very end. stay tuned for more of my work. also HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYSSSS i hope all of you have the best year ahead. love you guys <3

final: garden of the open road

"Or maybe you should get her flowers!!" Hoseok chimes, his tone bright and optimistic as he leans over the workbench, twirling a wrench in his hand like he’s just unlocked the secret to the universe. "I mean, flowers solve everything, right?" His grin is infectious, lighting up his entire face as he glances between Jungkook and Jimin for validation.

Jimin, lounging across from him with a barely concealed look of skepticism, raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Hyung. Y/n owns a flower shop. Do you really think giving her flowers would be anything other than redundant? That’s like giving a baker bread... or... or a mechanic spare tires. Think it through." He crosses his arms, leaning back smugly as if he’s already won the debate.

Jungkook remains silent, his attention absorbed by the bike in front of him, polishing it. The rhythmic motion of his cloth on the metal feels almost meditative, but inside, a storm brews.

It's been a week since you stormed out of his shop, and the silence between the two of you has only amplified the weight of his regret. Every word that Yoongi had said to him echoes in his mind... Yoongi's disappointment, his advice, and his harsh yet caring words.

He knows now, with absolute clarity, that he can’t keep doing what he’s been doing. Avoiding, running, pushing you away... it was never just about protecting you, it was also about his own fears. And Yoongi was right... he needs to stay. To show you, not just with words but with actions, that he’s in this. Fully. Wholeheartedly.

Meanwhile, Hoseok and Jimin continue their back-and-forth, brainstorming creative suggestions for Jungkook to make it up to you.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, his thoughts spiraling as he grapples with how to make things right and undo the damage he’s caused. He’s been giving you space, knowing you probably need time to cool off.

But he can’t stop himself from wondering. How are you holding up? Are your wounds healing? Are you still angry with him? Do you still hate him? The questions gnaw at him relentlessly, each one heavier than the last.

Every moment without you feels like a thousand lifetimes, and the weight of his inaction is suffocating. His silence, his avoidance… it’s all been one colossal mistake. He loves you too much to keep fumbling this, and after you poured your heart out to him like that, doing nothing would only cement the fact that he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.

Yoongi was right. Jungkook needs to be with you, not just in the easy moments but in the tough ones, too. He needs to be the person who gives you peace, not the one who makes you question everything.

As Jungkook continues his silent contemplation, Hoseok and Jimin’s bickering grows louder, their voices rising as they try to outdo each other in the "perfect apology to Y/n" department.

The two suddenly pause when the sound of the shop door opening cuts through their debate. All three heads snap towards the entrance, and they see Yoongi walking in, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

He cracks his neck, adjusts his shoulders, and strides towards Jungkook. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of keys, and tosses them at Jungkook.

Still seated by the bike, Jungkook barely manages to catch them with his greasy hands. He looks down at the keys, confusion flickering across his face. “You… you got my bike back?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief, his brows furrowing as he lifts his gaze to Yoongi. “Hyung… how did you—?”

Before he can finish, Yoongi shakes his head, cutting him off with a raised hand. “You don’t have to worry about it.” he says, his tone firm. “Just focus on making things right with Y/n. And listen to me carefully... don’t even think about getting involved with Mingyu again. I’m serious, Jungkook. No second chances there.”

The warning in Yoongi’s voice is enough to make Jungkook nod, a mix of gratitude and guilt bubbling in his chest. Yoongi’s sharp gaze briefly sweeps over Hoseok and Jimin, and with a subtle nod in their direction, he turns and heads towards the storeroom.

“Damn, Yoongi-hyung is so cool.” Jimin mutters under his breath, sounding almost awestruck.

“Anyways, like I was saying…” Hoseok begins again, picking up right where they left off, as though the brief interruption never happened. In no time, the two are back at it, listing an increasingly sappy and downright cringey array of suggestions for how Jungkook could apologize to you, the ideas growing more and more outrageous by the second.

Jungkook shakes his head, tuning them out as he looks down at the keys in his hand. He knows that none of their over-the-top plans will work. If he wants to make things right with you, he has to do it his own way... authentic, heartfelt, and real.

He needs to let you know how much he cares, how much he wants you in his life, and how deeply he loves you. No grand gestures or flashy displays. Just him, making it right.

As the minutes tick by, Jungkook finishes working on the bike in front of him. He wipes his hands clean, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to approach you. Just as he’s about to step away from the bike, the shop door creaks open again, drawing everyone’s attention.

This time, it’s Mr. Kwon, the town head, stepping inside. “Hey, boys.” he greets warmly, his gaze sweeping across Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook. Yoongi steps out, emerging from the storeroom and raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Oh, Mr. Kwon…” Yoongi says, folding his arms as he leans casually against the wall. “What brings you here today?”

“Ah, nothing too pressing.” Mr. Kwon replies calmly as he fixes his suit. “I just wanted to inform you boys about the meeting at the townhall this Friday. The agenda is to discuss the upcoming community drive-in movie night that will be happening on Sunday. It’s an annual event we do for fun and fundraising.”

“A drive-in movie night?” Hoseok’s eyes light up, leaning forward with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know we did things like that around here! That sounds amazing.”

“It’s one of our most cherished traditions.” Mr. Kwon explains with a nod. “We set up a big screen on the old field just past Main Street. Everyone gathers in their cars, bring snacks, and enjoy the movie under the stars. It’s also a way to raise money for community projects. Last year, the proceeds went towards renovating the public library.”

“Oh wow, that sounds amazing!” Jimin chimes in, his tone enthusiastic. “Do people suggest the movie beforehand, or do you just pick something classic?”

“We like to keep it democratic.” Mr. Kwon replies with a chuckle. “That's why there's a meeting. People pitch ideas, and then we take a vote. It keeps everyone involved and ensures we pick something most people will enjoy. Last year, it was Back to the Future. Quite a hit.” he explains and the boys nod, giving him approved hums.

“So it would be great if you boys showed up on Friday.” he adds, glancing around at the group. “We could all sit down and decide what to watch together.”

“Of course, Mr. Kwon. We’ll be there.” Yoongi says with a small smile, straightening up from his casual stance. Hoseok and Jimin eagerly nod in agreement, their excitement evident. “Well then, I’ll see you all on Friday.” Mr. Kwon says warmly, before stepping out of the shop.

As the door shuts close, the shop falls into a brief silence. Jungkook, who has been standing still the whole time, listening to the exchange without a word, finally moves. He steps away from the bike and towards the counter, his expression thoughtful.

The town meeting. He wonders if you’ve heard about it too and the idea of you being there stirs a mix of anticipation and unease in him. Just the thought of seeing you, after everything, makes his chest tighten and his head spin.

"So, you're gonna go back to the shop from next week?" Seokjin asks, gently placing the dinner he just prepared onto your small dining table. His voice is calm, but the concern in his eyes flickers as they briefly land on your bandaged hand.

You nod, offering a faint smile. “Yeah. I can’t just sit at home any longer.” you reply.

You’ve just returned from the hospital with your friends after getting the stitches removed from your head. You glance down at your hand, where the injury is slowly starting to heal.

Thanks to Taehyung and Namjoon, the repairs of your shop have been completed... each detail meticulously taken care of, with them keeping you informed every step of the way.

Over the past week, your friends have been your unwavering support. They’ve cooked for you, comforted you, and stayed by your side, especially after you opened up about everything that happened with Jungkook. They didn’t have all the right words, truth be told, there weren’t any, but their presence alone was enough to carry you through.

You’re not okay, not completely. But you’ve begun to accept the harsh reality that maybe… just maybe… things with Jungkook aren’t meant to be.

That thought cuts deep, especially considering how he hasn’t reached out since that moment. Perhaps you were too harsh, too out of line when you called him a coward, even though all he wanted to do was protect you.

Yet, a part of you still feels a seething anger. You miss him, more than you care to admit and the emotional storm inside you leaves you confused, raw, and aching.

"Also..." Taehyung starts, catching your attention as you glance at him from across the table. "Mr. Kwon called all of us for a meeting at the townhall this Friday." he says, his voice steady but with a hint of excitement. Juwon nods in agreement. "Yeah. It's about the drive-in movie night." she adds.

You’ve known about the drive-in movie night for a while, and you expected it to happen soon, just like it always did every year. When things became official between you and Jungkook, you’d often daydreamed about the two of you sitting together in a car, hands intertwined, sharing pretzels and popcorn while watching a movie.

You never mentioned it to him. It was just one of those scenarios you let your mind wander to. But now, that dream feels like a bitter memory, especially with how things ended between you and him.

Still, despite everything, you know you want to attend. You’ve always enjoyed participating in these fundraising events with the people of your town, and the thought of missing out doesn’t sit well with you. "Will you be coming?" Namjoon asks carefully, his gaze soft and understanding.

You smile at him, your heart a little lighter, and nod. "Of course. Let’s all go to the meeting together." you say, glancing around at your friends.

Friday sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you, Juwon, and Taehyung are strutting down the pavement towards the townhall. Juwon has her arm looped through yours, clinging tightly to you like a koala. “It’s freezing!” she whines, shivering dramatically.

“It’s not that bad.” Taehyung says, hands in his pockets. “You’re just overly dramatic.” he shrugs. “Says the guy who wears four layers when it’s below 20 degrees.” Juwon fires back.

Taehyung gasps in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m fashionably layered, thank you. There’s a difference.”

The chilly banter keeps you distracted until you step inside the townhall. Almost immediately, Mrs. Han spots you. “Y/n!” she exclaims, rushing over. Before you can blink, she’s holding your arms and scrutinizing your face like a worried mom.

“How are you, dear? My goodness, look at this scar. Oh, those boys! Nasty, nasty boys!!” she huffs, her face scrunching in outrage. You smile weakly, trying to reassure her. “I’m doing better now, Mrs. Han. Really.”

She shakes her head, unconvinced. “Better? Better?! I heard they just had to pay a fine. A fine! That’s like paying for parking after committing a hit-and-run. Absolutely ridiculous! I hope karma runs over them with a dump truck.”

Juwon chimes in, nodding furiously. “Preferably a truck full of cow poop.” she says and Mrs. Han agrees with her, her expression serious. You bite back a laugh, trying to keep it together. “Thank you, Mrs. Han. I appreciate your concern.”

As you inch away, you pass more familiar faces, each one stopping to check on you. The flood of questions and well-meaning outrage is almost too much, but you manage to navigate through the crowd and find Namjoon and Seokjin, who’ve saved seats for all of you.

You plop down in the chair, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’ve survived the auntie inquisition.” you say. Namjoon chuckles. “You’re braver than I am. Mrs. Han once interrogated me for twenty minutes about why I don’t eat enough spinach.”

Seokjin smirks. “Spinach is important. Haven’t you seen Popeye?” Before you can retort, Taehyung slides into his seat. “So, what movie are we voting for? I say Shrek. It’s a masterpiece.” he says. Juwon groans. “Taehyung, not everything can be solved with ogres.”

“First of all....” he replies, raising a finger. “Shrek is a cinematic masterpiece. Second of all, it’s funny, heartwarming, and has layers. It’s perfect.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m betting on something classic, like Forrest Gump. You know, a movie that makes you think about life.”

Seokjin snorts. “More like a movie that makes you think about shrimp. Shrimp gumbo, shrimp soup, shrimp salad…” he says as Taehyung giggles. “Okay, but what about Mean Girls?” Juwon suggests. “Everyone needs a little high school drama now and then.”

“Oh my god... I can quote that entire movie.” you add with a grin. “So fetch.” you say, winking at your friends. Taehyung dramatically raises an eyebrow. “Stop trying to make fetch happen. It’s not going to happen.” he beams and the group bursts out laughing, and for the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter.

While you and your friends continue to laugh, Jungkook lingers by the entrance of the townhall, his gaze fixed on you. He notices the absence of the bandage around your head, the way your laughter fills the room, and the brightness in your smile that feels almost contagious.

It’s such a stark contrast to the image burned into his mind from a week ago... your pain, your tears and though he knows he isn’t the reason for that smile or your happiness, he feels a quiet relief seeing you like this.

“Stop staring.” Jimin’s voice cuts through his thoughts, low and teasing. He nudges Jungkook with his shoulder, breaking his trance. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“I wasn’t staring.” Jungkook mutters, his jaw tightening slightly. “Sure, sure.” Jimin retorts with a smirk, gesturing towards the hall. “Now move, loverboy. People are trying to get in.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook steps further inside. As he walks past your group, your laughter rings out again, soft and warm. It tugs at something deep inside him, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. He glances at you briefly, the temptation to linger overwhelming, but you or none of your friends notice him. Maybe that’s for the best.

He follows Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi to the back, where they quietly settle into one of the last rows. Slumping into his seat, Jungkook sneaks another glance your way.

You’re surrounded by your friends, immersed in their lively chatter, and for a fleeting moment, he lets himself just observe. Seeing you like this... laughing, smiling... is somehow enough to ease the ache in his chest, even if he’s not the reason behind your happiness.

For now, that will have to be enough, at least until he musters up the courage to finally talk to you.

Eventually, Mr. Kwon steps onto the dais, commanding the room's attention with his usual calm authority. He begins the meeting, and as expected, what follows is a spirited and seemingly endless debate about which movie to screen for the drive-in event this Sunday.

Suggestions fly across the room, each met with enthusiastic agreements or vehement objections. Some champion a nostalgic classic, while others argue for something modern and thrilling.

The discussion grows lively, with raised hands, animated gestures, and occasional laughter rippling through the crowd. Mr. Kwon, ever the patient mediator, lets the town hash it out, his steady gaze sweeping over the sea of opinions.

Eventually, a consensus is reached... a fun, family friendly timeless classic that everyone agrees will be perfect: The Parent Trap. Satisfied murmurs fill the air as Mr. Kwon finalizes the details, his booming voice carrying over the low hum of excitement.

As the meeting concludes, the energy in the room begins to shift. People gradually drift towards the exits, chatting in clusters as they wrap up their conversations.

Your friends are caught up in their own moments. Namjoon stands by the side, deep in conversation with the grandpa from the bookstore, their voices low and amiable. Taehyung and Juwon hover near Mrs. Han, listening intently as she animatedly recounts some anecdote. Seokjin, ever the comedian, laughs with one of the local kids at the back.

You find yourself standing quietly amid the bustle, a small pocket of stillness in the lively atmosphere. You have the sudden urge to take a moment for yourself, just to step out and catch a breather.

The noise and movement of the hall fade into the background as you quietly slip towards the door, seeking the cool embrace of the evening air.

You walk carefully away from the town hall, the faint hum of voices and laughter fading behind you. The soft glow of the streetlights reflects off the pavement, casting long, quiet shadows that stretch into the night.

Eventually, you spot a bench nestled under a tree, just far enough from the hall to feel secluded but close enough to hear the occasional burst of laughter from the remaining crowd.

Without hesitation, you make your way towards it, the crisp evening air brushing against your skin. Taking a seat, you lean back, exhaling slowly as you let the weight of the day settle over you.

Despite the lively meeting and the buzz of energy around you earlier, your mind has been elsewhere, caught in an endless loop of memories and emotions. Back at the meeting, while the townsfolk were fervently debating over the movie choices, your gaze had wandered... and landed on him.

Jungkook was sitting at the back, his figure partially hidden behind the other people. At first, you weren’t even sure it was him, but when you caught sight of his side profile, the way his hair framed his face, you knew. For a fleeting moment, your eyes lingered on him, drawn like a magnet.

You don’t know if he noticed you, he gave no sign that he did. But just seeing him was enough to stir something deep within you... a longing you’ve tried so hard to bury.

The memories, the outburst, the ache of everything, all of it came rushing back with a vengeance. You miss him. Not just in the quiet moments when you’re alone but even in a room full of people, with laughter and chatter all around, you still miss him. So much.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you close your eyes, surrendering to the quiet embrace of the evening. The breeze whispers across your skin, cool and gentle, carrying with it the faint scent of the earth after dusk.

Above you, the leaves sway softly, their rustling a rhythmic lullaby that contrasts with the chaos unraveling in your mind. Thoughts you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, each one heavier than the last. You let them swirl and settle, the weight of them pressing against your chest.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to simply feel, untangling the knots of emotions that have been wound too tightly for too long. Then, the faintest shift in the air pulls you back. It’s subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows... the unmistakable presence of someone nearby.

Your eyelids flutter open, hesitant, as if you’re afraid of shattering the fragile stillness around you. When your gaze shifts to the side, your breath catches.

Jungkook stands a few feet away, the soft street light casting delicate shadows across his face. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes… they speak volumes. They hold a hesitance, a yearning, and something deeper... something that pulls at the threads of your heart.

You blink slowly, your pulse quickening. “Y/n…” he murmurs, your name falling from his lips as though it’s a prayer, fragile and reverent, laden with everything he can’t say.

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and instinctively, you look away, unable to meet his gaze. The emotions surging within you feel like too much... sharp, raw, overwhelming.

Without a second thought, you rise from the bench, the sudden need to put distance between you and him overtaking all reason.

You move quickly, your feet carrying you past him. The weight of his presence feels unbearable... the memories, the words exchanged, the vulnerability you showed him, all crashing over you like waves. Each step you take feels like an attempt to outrun the past, to escape the heaviness that standing before him seems to evoke.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

Before you can get far, his hand reaches out, firm yet gentle, catching your wrist. His fingers curl around it, his touch warm and grounding. “Wait…” he says, his voice louder now, tinged with desperation. You freeze, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Jungkook stares at the back of your head, his breath shallow, his heart drumming in his ears. The warmth of your skin beneath his fingers feels like a tether, keeping him steady even as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

“Please…” he repeats, softer this time, his voice cracking as though each word costs him something. There’s a vulnerability in his tone, a rawness that slices through the storm in your mind and roots you in place.

You don’t turn around. The silence stretches, settling heavily between you. You feel his hand slip from your wrist, the absence of his touch as startling as its presence.

For a moment, you hear nothing but the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of life in the town. Then, his footsteps draw closer. “Y/n…” he says again, his voice steady but achingly tender. “Would you please look at me?”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as you will yourself to move, to do something but your body refuses to obey. You remain still, a statue carved from conflicting emotions, unable to summon the strength to face him.

Feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness surge through your veins because, frankly, you don’t know how to look him in the eye after the way you unraveled last week.

But beneath the vulnerability lies another emotion... a flicker of anger. A part of you is still just a tiny bit mad at him, for how he handled everything. For the way he didn’t show up when you needed him most, for the way he shut you out when all you wanted was to be let in.

And now, standing here, completely unprepared and caught in the unrelenting pull of his gaze, you feel trapped. The hurt, the resentment, the yearning... they all collide within you, creating a maelstrom of emotions that leaves you frozen.

So, you do nothing. You let the silence hang, your feet rooted to the ground as you wrestle with the chaos inside.

Minutes pass, or perhaps it’s only seconds... time feels warped, stretched thin under the weight of the silence. And then, suddenly, you feel his arms carefully snake around your waist, the movement almost hesitant, as though he’s unsure of his place.

Your breath hitches as he gently pulls you back, his chest pressing firmly against your back. His warmth envelops you, seeping into your skin, and his breath grazes the curve of your neck, soft and uneven, carrying with it the weight of emotions he can’t put into words. There’s a fragility in his touch, a silent plea, as if he fears that holding on too tightly might cross a line.

Your body stiffens at the contact, every nerve igniting under the intensity of his presence. His touch burns through you like a fire, its heat both searing and soothing, a contradiction that leaves you reeling. For a second, you sway on the edge of surrender, the thought of leaning into him tugging at the corners of your mind.

“Y/n…” he whispers, your name tumbling from his lips, heavy with sorrow and regret. His voice quivers, faltering as the words fight their way out. “Please, just… just give me a chance to explain myself. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry... sorry for everything.” he says, his tone raw and husky, cracking under the weight of his emotions.

You feel his arms tighten around you, as if afraid you might slip away. The grip is firm yet tender, grounding yet fragile, and you close your eyes, surrendering—if only for a moment—to the storm of emotions stirring within you. Almost involuntarily, you lean into him, your body finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Time seems to still as you stay there, the world outside fading into an indistinct hum. Slowly, your hand rises, hesitating before it rests gently on top of his where it rests on your stomach.

You inhale deeply, the steady rhythm of his breath against your shoulder grounding you, even as your heart pounds furiously against your ribcage.

For now, you allow yourself this momentary indulgence... to bask in the bittersweet safety of his hold, the unspoken solace of his touch, and the ache of longing that lingers between you.

“You could’ve reached out…” you whisper, but it cuts through the stillness. Jungkook stiffens behind you, his grip faltering ever so slightly at the sound of your voice. “You could’ve called, you could’ve texted…” you continue, your words trembling under the weight of everything.

Slowly, you flutter your eyes open, the reality of the moment settling in like a quiet storm. “But you didn’t, Jungkook.”

He says nothing, his silence deafening, and for a second, the unspoken emotions between you feel suffocating.

Then, as if the universe conspires to tear you apart, your phone buzzes in your pocket. The sharp vibration feels like a cruel reminder of the world waiting outside this fragile moment. You don’t even check the screen... you know it’s probably one of your friends, calling to ask where you disappeared to.

You seize the interruption as an excuse. Gently, with the hand that rests on his, you grasp his wrist and peel his arms away, stepping out of his hold. “I… I have to go.” you say, your voice barely holding steady as you take a step forward.

You don’t turn to face him... you can’t. If you do, you know you’ll crumble under the weight of his gaze, those deep, expressive eyes.

You pause for a moment, teetering on the edge of staying, of turning back. The urge to look at him, to search his face for answers, nearly consumes you. But you don’t. You inhale sharply, steeling yourself, and before he can say or do anything to stop you, you’re gone.

As Jungkook watches you walk towards the town hall again, he stands frozen, realizing just how crucial timing truly is. How he should have seized the opportunity to make things right, especially when you came running to his shop, pouring out everything that had been frustrating you.

How, instead of fighting Mingyu, he should have been by your side at the hospital.

How, from the very beginning, he should have set aside his pride and admitted to himself that he liked you all along instead of being mean and hurting you with his words.

Timing. It’s always about the damn timing.

But somehow, even now, as the chance to run after you and stop you slips through his fingers, he remains rooted to the spot like a statue, trapped by his own hesitation.

You sit in your apartment, tapping your foot against the floor, the faint rhythm filling the otherwise quiet room. You glance at your phone to check the time— 7:14 PM.

It’s Sunday evening and tonight is the night of the drive-in movie and Namjoon had promised to pick you up, along with your other friends. With the movie scheduled to start at 7:30 PM, worry begins to creep in as the minutes tick by with no sign of your friends.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you get up from the couch. Deciding to head downstairs, you grab your shoes, figuring it’s better to wait outside rather than pacing your apartment like a caged animal.

Just as you slip them on, your phone buzzes with a message from Namjoon. “Here.” it reads. A small smile tugs at your lips as you grab your keys and step out, locking the door behind you.

As you step outside your building and onto the pavement, you immediately spot Namjoon’s car parked across the street, its tinted windows glinting under the lights. You allow yourself another smile, shaking your head lightly at his lateness, and make your way towards the car.

“Hey, what took you so lo—” The words catch in your throat, fading into silence as you open the car door and slip halfway inside. The face behind the wheel isn’t Namjoon’s.

You freeze, your hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, one foot still planted on the pavement outside. The air seems to thicken, time itself grinding to a halt as you stare at him.

Jungkook sits there, hands gripping the steering wheel, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “Hey.” he says, his voice low and cautious. He offers a tight-lipped smile, but it falters, and you can see the tension in his jaw.

You blink, the shock rendering you immobile for a moment too long. Finally, your instincts kick in, and your body shifts as if to retreat. But Jungkook moves faster.

His hand reaches out, gently but firmly catching your wrist. “Wait.” he pleads, his voice suddenly louder, tinged with desperation. “I know… I know I’m the last person you expected to see.”

Your chest tightens, a flood of emotions crashing over you all at once. But his words stop you. “I know I screwed up...” he continues, his voice softer now, almost trembling.

“But… can you just... please... stay? Just watch the movie with me tonight. I… I begged your friend to let me borrow his car because I knew you’d get in if you thought it was him. I know that was weird and probably selfish, but I didn’t know how else to approach you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His hand, still holding your wrist, is warm, as your thoughts spiral. “I just… I need to talk to you. To be near you.” he says, his eyes searching yours, his vulnerability raw and unguarded. “Please... Please just give me this one night. One chance to make things right.”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, cutting through your walls like a blade. For a moment, you can only stare at him, your heart hammering in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you shift your leg inside, settling into the passenger seat. You pull the door shut with a soft click, leaning back against the seat as you let out a shallow breath.

Jungkook watches you carefully, his grip on the steering wheel easing just slightly as relief washes over him. The tension in his shoulders loosens, though his eyes remain cautious, as if afraid one wrong move might shatter the delicate moment.

Without another word, he starts the car. The engine hums to life, filling the silence with its steady rhythm. As the vehicle begins to move, the atmosphere remains heavy, a mix of unspoken words and lingering emotions that neither of you dares to address... yet.

Your gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, a blur of streetlights and faintly illuminated signs. Jungkook doesn’t dare break the silence, his grip on the steering wheel firm, knuckles taut as if anchoring himself.

It doesn’t take long before the car turns onto a gravel path, the tires crunching softly beneath them. You glance up, your attention pulled from the window by the faint glow of string lights strung overhead. They stretch out like a welcoming canopy, casting a warm, golden hue over the open field ahead.

Rows of cars are parked neatly on the wide, open lot, their occupants huddled inside, watching the massive screen that towers at the far end. It’s the typical drive-in movie setup, just like it's done every year... a sprawling outdoor space surrounded by trees, with a concession stand glowing warmly off to one side.

The screen flickers, signaling the movie is about to begin. Jungkook steers the car into an empty spot towards the back, away from the denser cluster of vehicles gathered closer to the center.

He turns off the engine, and for a brief moment, neither of you move. The quiet hum of the field surrounds you as your gaze remains fixed on the screen ahead, watching the movie’s opening sequence unfold.

Jungkook hesitates, his fingers hovering over the radio knob. “I’ll tune it to the station for the movie.” he murmurs, his voice tentative, as if testing the fragile peace between you. He twists the dial slowly, stopping only when the audio from the movie fills the car.

You turn your gaze out the window, watching the faint glow of the screen flicker across your features. The scene outside is almost idyllic... random couples perched on the hoods of their cars, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, sharing snacks as they watch the film.

Your chest tightens as the image before you clashes with the one you used to picture... you and Jungkook, sitting together just like this, cuddled up with his arm draped over your shoulders, laughing softly as you both watch the movie.

The sting in your heart is sharp, but you force yourself to look away, willing the ache to subside. You shift in your seat, eyes reluctantly focusing back on the movie playing on the big screen.

Then, near the gearshift, a faint buzz catches your attention, and almost instinctively, your eyes flicker to Jungkook's phone resting in the console. It’s probably just a random notification, but that’s not what holds your gaze. It's his lock screen.

It’s a photo. Of you. The one he took on your first date, when he playfully tucked wildflowers into your hair and insisted on capturing the moment.

Jungkook notices your silence and follows your gaze. The second he realizes what you’re looking at, his lips part slightly, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. With a nervous twitch, he flips his phone over, as though the simple action could erase what you just saw. But he can’t erase it. And neither can you.

A quiet tension thickens between you both. Jungkook leans back against the seat forcing himself to watch the movie, his posture stiff.

You, on the other hand, can feel your cheeks burning, a strange warmth spreading through you at the realization that he kept a picture of you as his lock screen. Of that moment. A picture you had no idea meant that much to him that he wanted to see it every time he unlocked his phone.

The movie plays on, but the sound seems to fade into the background, your thoughts swirling, caught in a delicate web of emotions you can’t untangle. Finally, you can’t hold it in anymore. "So..." you start, your voice hesitant but soft.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards you, a startled expression crossing his face, but he doesn't speak, waiting for you to continue. You keep your eyes fixed on the screen, avoiding his gaze, though your heart races. "When are you going to start talking?" You ask, the words hanging in the air, laced with a quiet challenge.

Jungkook feels the air escape from his lungs, realizing he can't stay silent any longer. In that moment, he knows he's the one who needs to speak up. If there's any hope of mending things with you, he has to step up... take action, be bold, and stop running from what he’s been avoiding. He has to stop being the coward he’s been.

"I..." he starts, his voice wavering slightly at first. "I thought you wanted to watch the movie. So I was saving it for later." He forces the words out, trying to sound steady, but his gaze flickers nervously.

You turn your head towards him, meeting his eyes with an intensity that makes his chest tighten. "Do you really think I’m worried about the movie when you’re right here?" you ask, your voice soft but firm, your gaze never leaving his.

"Jungkook, you got me here tonight. You asked me to join you. The movie is literally the last thing I care about." Your words settle in the car, quiet but weighty, as though they’ve landed somewhere deep inside his chest.

Jungkook stares into your eyes, the warmth and longing there making his heart ache. His eyes flicker over the familiar details of your face, and it lands on the scar on your head, hidden behind strands of hair. His breath hitches before he finally exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he struggles to find the right words.

"I... I don’t even know where to begin...." he murmurs, closing his eyes momentarily, as if trying to summon the courage. "I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I broke up with you, and if Mingyu didn’t see us together anymore, he’d leave you alone." He opens his eyes slowly, locking them with yours as if he can’t bear to look away now.

"I really thought I was protecting you." He falters again, the weight of his emotions pressing against his chest. "I... I just wanted to keep you safe. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But looking back, I can see how stupid that was. So... so stupid." he adds, his voice breaking slightly.

"I didn’t realize the damage I was doing until you came to my shop that night. It wasn’t until I saw how hurt you were that I finally understood... the full extent of my mistake."

His eyes glisten with regret as he speaks, his voice trembling. "I felt like the biggest idiot. I didn’t even visit you in the hospital. And to make things worse... I was away fighting with Mingyu. Part of me still believes he deserved it, but I made a promise to you, Y/n, that I wouldn’t let myself get into fights... and I broke that promise."

Jungkook pauses, the silence stretching between you as the weight of his words settles deeper in the air. His breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling, and you can feel the tremor in his hand as it reaches for yours, the touch tentative and unsure, as if afraid you might pull away.

"When I saw what those guys did to your shop... when I heard about you in the hospital... all I could think about was how I... how I led you into all this misery. How I added so many problems to your life." he murmurs, his voice thick with guilt and regret.

"I felt... so guilty. And I thought that maybe, the best thing I could do was let you go. To set you free from all the pain, the stress, the problems... even though it tore me apart inside."

His grip on your hand tightens, the warmth of his touch desperate, as though holding onto you is the only thing grounding him. His eyes, filled with shame, never leave yours. "I thought that was the only way. That if I stepped back, you'd be better off. But now... now I see how wrong I was. So... so fucking wrong."

A tear slips down your cheek, and despite the pain in his words, your heart aches for him. You want to tell him how wrong he is, how you could never be better off without him, how being apart from him feels like the worst kind of torment. But you hold your silence, letting him speak, letting him pour his heart out.

"I love you. I always have... ever since we got together, a part of me realized what I feel for you... is just... so much more." Jungkook continues, his voice strained. His eyes meet yours again, this time soft and tender, like he’s asking for forgiveness without speaking the words.

"Y/n... I know I messed up. I’ve been reckless. My stupid actions, my irrational decisions... they were all driven by fear, not logic. And in the process, I hurt you." His voice cracks as he takes a deep breath, the pain in his chest evident. "I thought I was the reason for everything going wrong. That it was all my fault. And that thought... it just destroyed me."

His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, as if he needs that small, silent touch to remind him you're still here. His gaze never wavers from yours, his heart laid bare and raw. "But now I know. In the name of trying to protect you, I ended up hurting you the most... and I will always, always hate myself for it."

The sincerity in his voice, the rawness in his expression, pierces through the tension in the air. And in that moment, it’s clear... Jungkook is not just apologizing. He's laying his soul out before you, vulnerable and broken, desperate for you to understand the depth of his remorse.

"I'm sorry, Y/n." Jungkook finally chokes out, his tears falling freely now. "I'm sorry for everything. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. I’m just... so sorry for everything." His voice breaks as the weight of his remorse crashes down, and he crumples under the enormity of it.

He cries, his shoulders shuddering, and through your own blurry vision, you see the raw vulnerability etched across his face. It’s almost unbearable.

Carefully, you move your hand from his and reach out for him. Your palm gently presses against his cheek as your thumb softly wipes away his tears. "Shh..." you murmur, leaning closer towards him.

The space between you feels like it vanishes as you slide your arm around his trembling shoulders, pulling him into a comforting embrace. Jungkook doesn't hesitate as he clings to you desperately, his arms wrapping around you as if you’re his lifeline. Both of you pull each other closer, the familiar embrace engulfing the two of you.

"I’m sorry." he whispers again, his voice muffled as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You feel the dampness of his tears soaking into the fabric of your top, but you don’t care.

All that matters now is the way his trembling form feels in your arms, vulnerable and seeking solace. You hold him tighter, your hand stroking his back in gentle, soothing circles as he sobs against you.

"Please... please take me back." he begs between ragged breaths. "I'll be... I'll be good to you. I’ll stay by your side, and I’ll never, ever leave you alone again." His voice cracks, each word drenched in desperation.

You continue stroking his back, letting him cry into your embrace, your own heart aching at how broken he sounds. "Please, Y/n." he pleads, his voice trembling with hope and fear. "Please tell me you still love me."

"I do... I do love you, Kook." you respond almost instantly, the words spilling from your lips before you even realize it. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. Just the truth. "How could I ever stop?" you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, and his arms tighten around you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He tugs you closer, bridging whatever small gap still exists between you, the console between your seats now inconsequential. His tears fall harder, but his sobs quiet just a little, as if your words had patched a part of the gaping hole in his heart.

As the ending credits roll and the movie comes to an end, you glance down at your intertwined fingers resting on your lap. You lift your gaze to him, only to find his eyes already on you.

Both of you take in the sight of each other... red, puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, swollen lips. Despite the emotional wreckage, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, and Jungkook follows suit with a faint laugh of his own.

"I missed you." he whispers, his voice hoarse but steady, his grip on your hand tightening as though to anchor himself to this moment. "I missed you too." you reply, lifting his hand to your lips. You place a gentle kiss on his knuckles, the warmth of the gesture carrying all the words you can’t seem to form just yet.

Silence stretches between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It feels like a pause before a fragile moment you both want to hold onto for just a little longer. "I could never be better off without you, Kook." you suddenly confess, breaking the quiet.

"These past few days have been a living hell for me." Your voice wavers, but you push through. "I understood your intentions... I really did. But all I ever needed was you. Just you. To hold me, to tell me everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t. That’s all I wanted."

Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. He nods slowly, his glistening eyes brimming with understanding. "I know." he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly. "I know now. Yoongi hyung... he gave me a piece of his mind. He made me realize how wrong I was. How what you needed wasn’t someone to push you away in the name of protection, but someone who would stay. Someone who would stand by you when everything felt like it was falling apart."

A faint smile graces your lips as you hear his words. "He’s right." you whisper, your voice soft but resolute. Jungkook smiles in return, a small, fragile smile that carries the weight of his regret, the depth of his sorrow, and the immensity of his love.

Leaning over the console, you close the distance between you and press a gentle kiss to his lips. The kiss is soft, lingering, a balm to the wounds you’ve both carried. "I love you." you whisper against his lips, your voice barely audible but loud enough for him to hear the sincerity in your words.

Jungkook looks into your eyes and for a moment, it feels like his entire world revolves around you. You see the way his love for you shines through, raw and unfiltered, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

When you lean back into your seat, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. This time, he leans forward, his hand cradling your cheek as he captures your lips in another kiss.

But this kiss... this kiss is unlike anything else. It’s not gentle, not cautious. It’s raw, consuming, and electric, charged with everything Jungkook has been holding back for far too long.

Regret seeps through his touch, sorrow lingers in the way his lips move against yours, but it’s love... overwhelming, all-encompassing love that takes over, folding you both into its intensity. And in that wordless exchange, there’s a promise, one you can feel in every breathless second.

You reach out instinctively, grabbing his wrist to steady yourself as the kiss deepens. The console between you feels like a meaningless barrier as Jungkook’s hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that contrasts the ferocity of his kiss.

He tilts his head, his nose grazing against yours, and the sensation sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your lips part slightly, inviting him in, and he doesn’t hesitate... his tongue brushes against yours, the intimacy making your head spin.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, as though he’s trying to pour years worth of love, loss, and longing into this one moment. Every press of his lips feels like an apology, a plea for forgiveness, and a declaration all at once.

Your chest heaves as you match his fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You can feel the desperation in the way he holds you, as if letting go would shatter the fragile thread binding you both together again.

When he abruptly pulls away, his breath comes in ragged gasps, his forehead resting against yours. "If we… if we keep going, I won’t be able to stop." he confesses, his voice low and trembling with restraint. "I’ve missed you too much, Y/n... I've missed you way too much."

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, his words igniting a fire within you. You lick your lips, tasting him there, and your gaze locks with his. "Let’s go to my place." you whisper, your voice soft but certain.

For a moment, he looks at you, as though trying to convince himself this is real. Then, with a shaky exhale, he nods, his hand slipping from your face to intertwine with yours. He presses a final, lingering kiss to your knuckles before starting the car.

You yelp in surprise as Jungkook tumbles onto the mattress with you, his weight pressing you into the softness of the sheets while his lips remain locked with yours. The world spins for a moment, the intensity of the kiss leaving you breathless and disoriented.

He nips at your lower lip, a soft, teasing bite that sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. You can’t help the way your hips instinctively buck upwards, the friction sparking a low groan from deep within his chest.

Your top rides up in the movement, exposing a sliver of your skin to the cool air. His fingertips find their way there, cold against the warmth of your skin, and the contrast makes you shiver.

He helps you take your shirt off and his fingers return to feel your skin, his touch is purposeful yet hesitant. "God, Y/n." he breathes against your lips, his voice hoarse and filled with longing.

His forehead rests against yours for a brief moment, his heavy breaths mingling with your own. "You have no idea how much I’ve missed this... missed you."

His words make your heart clench, and you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back down into another searing kiss. This time, it’s slower, deeper, filled with all the emotion neither of you could put into words.

His hands trail along your sides, reverent in their touch, while his lips leave yours to press a path of soft kisses along your jawline, your neck, and the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your fingers grip his shoulders, and you can’t help but whisper his name... a plea, a confession, a surrender. And as he murmurs yours in return, his voice thick with emotion, you realize that this isn’t just a reunion, it’s a rebirth. A rebirth of everything this once was.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes glistening with unspoken words. His thumb brushes tenderly against your cheek as he cups your face, his touch so delicate it feels like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“This...” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly. “This feels like the first time I’m breathing again, Y/n. Like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time without you.” His words hit you with the weight of everything you’ve both endured.

Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away, wanting to see every inch of his face, to commit this moment to memory. “I don’t ever want to lose this again.” you reply softly, your voice cracking as you reach up to trace the line of his jaw. “I don’t ever want to lose you again, Jungkook.”

His lips curl into the faintest, most heartfelt smile, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “You won’t.” he vows, his voice steady now. “I won’t let go. I’ll hold onto you with everything I have, for as long as you’ll let me. I’ll prove it to you every single day.”

His words are a promise, one that you feel in the way his hands tremble slightly as they caress your skin, in the way his lips press against yours with a mixture of passion and reverence.

“I’ll let you.” you whisper back, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. “I’ll let you, as long as you let me hold onto you too.”

He kisses you slow again, as if he’s relishing every second of this rebirth. It’s not just a kiss... it’s an agreement, a merging of two hearts that have finally found their way back to each other.

Jungkook pulls back, his breathing heavy as he rises to his full height. His hands grip the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he tugs it over his head, tossing it aside without care. The sight makes your breath catch.

You prop yourself on your elbows, your eyes roaming over the expanse of his body, drinking him in like he’s a masterpiece come to life.

The faint sheen of sweat on his skin makes him glimmer faintly, accentuating every dip and curve, the sharp cut of his collarbones, the hard planes of his abs, and the faint v-line that disappears teasingly beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Your eyes linger on the way his jeans hang low on his hips, revealing just a sliver of the waistband of his boxers, and your throat tightens. You missed seeing him like this.

Jungkook catches the way your gaze darkens, and his lips quirk up in a faint smirk, though his own composure wavers when he sees the way you’re looking at him... like he’s the only thing that matters.

His dark eyes flicker down to you, taking their time as they trace the delicate curve of your collarbones, the way your bra frames your breasts, pushing them up just enough to make his mouth water. His gaze drops to your stomach, the smooth expanse of your skin, and the way your muscles tense under his scrutiny.

He exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as his gaze trails back up to your lips, then your eyes, his resolve crumbling. Your beauty just cannot be comprehended and his jeans suddenly feel unbearably tight, the outline of his hardened length pressing against the fabric painfully.

“Fuck...” he mutters under his breath, his voice low and strained, and you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. "If you keep looking at me like that..." he pauses, his eyes fixed on yours. "I'm going to lose it."

You gulp at his words and watch the way he steps back slightly, his hands moving to the button of his jeans. You watch as he undoes them with practiced ease, sliding the denim down his legs.

The thin fabric of his boxers does little to hide the extremely prominent bulge beneath, and your breath hitches as your eyes lock onto the way his hardened length strains against the material.

With one swift motion, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slides them down, letting them pool at his feet. His length springs free, thick and hard, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him... veined and heavy, the tip glistening faintly in the dim light.

Jungkook’s chest heaves as he takes a step closer, his hands moving to your legs. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down along with your underwear in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, Y/n... look at you.” he breathes, his voice almost reverent. His gaze locks onto your glistening core, the way it clenches around nothing, slick with arousal that almost drips onto the sheets. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the sight before him.

His hands tremble slightly as they settle on your thighs, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “You’re... perfect.” he whispers as he leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he takes a deep, shaky breath, the scent of your arousal making his head spin.

You whimper at the way he delicately touches you as you close your eyes, pressing your head against the mattress and your hands grasping for purchase on the sheets. "Fuck, Y/n…" he mumbles, his breath ghosting over your core and making you shiver. "Please... let me... let me taste you."

And before you can even form a coherent thought, he pulls your thighs apart and jerks you close until he’s right there, between your legs, his hot breath fluttering over your soaking wet core. “My gorgeous girl.” he murmurs, his eyes flickering up to yours as he drags a thumb through your folds.

He watches the way you bite onto your lower lip, your sweaty chest heaving, as he moves his hands up and down your slit. He notices the way you flinch at every movement, every touch. “So wet... So wet for me.” he groans, his thumb pressing against your clit.

Your jaw hangs open at the sensation and Jungkook wastes no time, diving in and pressing his open mouth to your slick center. You feel his tongue darting out, the wet glide of it sending sparks up your spine as he licks a slow circle around your clit.

“Fuck....” you cry out, your hips jerking as his tongue teases your bundle of nerves, the rough drag of it on your oversensitive flesh making you see stars. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to hold yourself up, your head spinning with the sensations flooding through you.

Jungkook moans into you, his tongue flickering out again, this time dragging slowly along your slit. He nuzzles into you, inhaling sharply at your scent, and you feel his nose press into your folds, his breath hot against your core.

“Oh fuck.” you pant, your legs shaking as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, his tongue sneaking out to flick at your clit, the tip of it fluttering against the sensitive bundle of nerves with a feather-light touch.

Your thighs begin to quake as Jungkook laves you open-mouthed, his mouth hovering over your slit, his tongue lapping at your entrance. "Kook… please... Kook..." you plead, your voice cracking with need.

He looks up at you then as his mouth remains fixed on your core, and the sight takes your breath away. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches you. Your lips part, your breaths coming in short pants as he opens his mouth wider, devouring your opening.

His tongue darts out, the wet tip of it flicking over your entrance, and then he’s pushing inside, his mouth closing around you as he eats you out like he’s a starving man and you’re the only sustenance that will satisfy him.

"Fuck, Kook !!" you cry out, your hands scrabbling at the sheets as your head falls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You moan, your thighs trembling around his head as he fucks into you with his tongue, his mouth pressed open-mouthed against your core.

Jungkook groans into you, the vibrations making you cry out again as he licks into you, his hands holding you open as he feasts on you. His tongue flickers inside you, curling as it brushes against your inner walls, the sensation of it making your vision blur.

He eats you out for what feels like an eternity, his tongue sliding in and out of you in slow, sensual strokes. You’re close, so close to the edge, your pussy clenching and aching for more.

The way his name falls from your lips, over and over, like a mantra, sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine. His tongue moves against you with practiced precision, each stroke and flick timed perfectly to the rhythm of your desperate cries.

When your legs begin to tremble uncontrollably, your hips bucking against his mouth, he knows you’re close, teetering on the edge of release.

And then it happens. Your orgasm crashes into you with the force of a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air, your thighs trembling around his head as you arch off the bed. Jungkook groans against you, the vibrations only intensifying your pleasure as his tongue delves deeper, tasting every bit of you.

The tight flutter of your walls around his tongue drives him to the brink of madness. He’s painfully hard now, the strain unbearable as he grips himself, stroking his dick in time with your cries.

His breaths come out in ragged groans, muffled by the way your legs tighten around his head, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him growl.

“You’re perfect.” he murmurs against you, his voice husky and reverent, though he doesn’t stop. His tongue moves in long, slow laps, consuming you, drawing out every second of your release as your body quivers beneath him.

When you finally begin to come down, your body going limp and pliant, he doesn’t immediately pull away. He kisses you there, soft and tender, his lips pressing against your sensitive core as if to soothe the aftershocks coursing through you.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, his breathing heavy and labored as he looks up at you with hooded eyes. His lips are glistening, his cheeks flushed, and the sight of him... disheveled and utterly wrecked from pleasuring you, makes you want him even more.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the sheen of your pleasure still glistening on his lips. His eyes meet yours, dark and smoldering with an unrelenting hunger that sends shivers coursing through your body.

Slowly, he leans forward, his lips brushing against your trembling thighs as though in reverence. His hands roam your hips, fingers pressing into the soft curves with a gentle possessiveness that leaves no doubt of his intentions.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, tinged with awe, as if the sight of you unraveled beneath him is almost too much to bear.

He shifts his weight, moving away from your core, and you feel the absence of his heat like a loss. But then he’s hovering over you, his face so close you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin.

He captures your lips in a kiss that’s tender yet consuming, a prelude to everything he’s holding back. When he pulls away, it’s only to let his lips travel, a slow, meandering path along your jawline, each kiss lingering and full of love.

“I want to make love to you, Y/n.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet the weight of his words presses into you as though they carry the force of a promise. “Let me make it up to you… for everything. Let me show you how much I love you.”

He doesn’t rush as he works to undo your bra, his hands steady. When the fabric falls away, his gaze locks onto your bare chest, and the intensity in his eyes makes your skin prickle with heat. His hands come up to cradle your breast, his thumbs brushing over the delicate curve of your skin and your nipple as though testing the reality of your softness beneath his touch.

“You’re perfect.” he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession before he lowers his head. His lips press against the swell of your breast, trailing kisses that are soft at first but grow more urgent as his need deepens.

His mouth finds your nipple, and he takes it between his lips, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in a rhythm that makes your breath hitch. His teeth graze ever so slightly, just enough to send a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

“Oh, God.” you moan, your voice trembling as he sucks on your nipple, his mouth working in perfect harmony with the hand that kneads and squeezes your other breast. His palm is warm, his touch firm but gentle, matching the worshipful pace of his lips.

Jungkook groans softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you and adding another layer to the heady mix of sensations. He switches sides, lavishing the same attention on your other breast, and the deliberate care he takes makes your chest heave beneath him.

“Every inch of you...” he murmurs between kisses, his voice ragged and filled with adoration. “Every inch of you is mine to love.”

His words, his touch, the heat of his mouth... it’s all-consuming, drowning you in a storm of sensations that leave no room for thought, only the overwhelming awareness of him.

Your fingers clutch onto his shoulders as you arch against him, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Jungkook’s worshipful attention feels like a drug, intoxicating and overwhelming, and the heat pooling in your core is undeniable.

“Kook…” Your voice is shaky, a whispered plea, laced with desire and desperation. “Please… Please make love to me. I need you.”

The words ignite something primal in him. He pulls away from your chest, his lips glistening, a thin string of saliva trailing down his chin. His dark eyes fixate on you as you let your hands trail over your own body, fingers grazing the sensitive peaks of your breasts. You spread the remnants of his kisses over your skin, the gesture both sensual and wanton.

Jungkook gulps audibly as he watches you and his restraint shatters, his body thrumming with the need to claim you, to pour all his love and longing into this moment.

He shifts, stretching down the edge of the bed, his hands fumbling for his pants that remains scattered on the floor. His wallet slips out, and as he opens it, relief washes over him when he finds the condom he had tucked away weeks ago, back when you were still in his life.

He doesn’t question the serendipity, silently thanking the universe for this moment, for you.

With swift precision, he tears the wrapper, his fingers steady despite the fire coursing through his veins. He rolls the condom over his length and glides his hand up and down his hardness. Stroking it to full readiness, he lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

The way you’re watching him... your lips parted, your chest heaving, your legs spread in invitation, leaves him utterly undone. “Y/n…” he murmurs, crawling back towards you, his hands finding purchase on your hips. “I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”

"Show me, Kook..." you moan, your voice trembling with anticipation as his tip teases your slick folds. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and instinctively, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him, inviting him. He adjusts himself, his arms bracketing your head, his elbows pressed into the mattress to hold himself steady.

"I'm all... I'm all yours." you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, the vulnerability of your words hanging in the charged air between you. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as you crane your neck, desperate to feel his lips on yours.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and consuming. His hand leaves the mattress, strong fingers gripping your hip as he adjusts your position slightly, angling you just right.

The intimacy of the touch makes your heart race, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in his muscles as he restrains himself to not just slam into you. “You’re so perfect.” he murmurs against your lips.

His hand squeezes your hip gently as if grounding himself in the reality of you beneath him, of this moment. When he finally begins to push into you, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you... the stretch, the way he fills you, the way he watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

You gasp softly, your body tensing for a moment before relaxing into the pleasure of being connected to him in the most intimate way. Jungkook groans, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"Oh baby... I missed you... fuck..." he moans, his voice strained with effort, his breaths shallow as he inches deeper, giving you time to adjust to him. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Finally, he begins to move, each thrust slow and steady, as if he’s memorizing the way your body feels wrapped around him. His full length slides into you with precision, the stretch overwhelming yet addictive.

Your noses brush against each other with every movement, breaths mingling as he maintains his rhythmic pace, taking in every push, every thrust, every deep plunge that leaves you gasping for more.

Each time, he pulls out almost entirely, leaving you aching with the emptiness, only to push back in, filling you completely, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the care and passion in every motion.

As he continues, his gaze flickers over your face, watching the way your lips part with each gasp, the way your eyes flutter closed when the pleasure crests higher. He swallows hard, his resolve faltering for a moment before he adjusts his position. Carefully, he lifts one of your legs from his waist, guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

The new angle sends him deeper, hitting a spot within you that makes you cry out, your back arching off the bed as your fingers dig into his biceps. “Oh, Kook...” you whimper, your voice trembling as he leans into you, his body pressing you further into the mattress.

"That's it..." he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint as he watches your every reaction while supporting your leg on his shoulder. “You take me so well, baby....so... so fucking perfect.”

His other hand trails down to your hip, gripping it firmly as he begins to thrust a little harder, a little deeper, the pleasure building with every motion. The intensity grows, but he still takes his time, as if he’s savoring every second, every sound you make, every shiver that runs through your body.

The way he fills you, the stretch of your leg over his shoulder, the tender yet passionate way he moves... it’s overwhelming in the best way. Your hands slide down his arms, clutching at him desperately as he drives you closer to the edge, his pace unrelenting yet perfectly controlled.

“Jungkook...” you moan, your voice breaking as the tension in your core coils tighter and tighter. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your ankle. “Faster… please… faster...” you cry out, your plea trembling in the air.

That’s all it takes for him to lose the last shred of restraint. With a growl low in his throat, he pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips possessively as his pace shifts. His hips snap into you, each thrust harder and deeper.

Seconds blur into a haze of overwhelming sensation as he rams into you repeatedly, his tip brushing against a spot deep inside you... a spot you didn’t even know existed. The pleasure is all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs as your body arches into him, desperate for more.

Your vision blurs as you’re overtaken by the intensity, stars dancing behind your closed lids. “I love you… fuck, I love you so much.” he rasps, his voice raw with emotion and unfiltered passion. His hips move with an almost animalistic urgency now, his need for you reflected in every powerful thrust, in the way he fills you completely, over and over again.

The coil in your stomach tightens to the point of pain, an unbearable pressure building with every movement. Your hands claw at his shoulders, your head tossing back against the pillows as incoherent sounds pour from your lips, your body trembling beneath him.

“Jungkook… I’m… oh god…” you whimper, your nails digging into his skin as the pleasure pushes you to the brink, teetering on the edge of release that feels as though it might shatter you entirely.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you together. He groans at the sting of your touch, his hips slamming into you harder, deeper, as if he’s chasing the very essence of you.

“You’re... you're close, aren’t you?” he pants, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen, sensitive clit. He presses down with just the right amount of pressure, moving in firm circles that make your entire body jolt.

The combination of his thrusts and the attention on your clit sends you spiraling. Your legs tremble around him, and your walls flutter and clench tightly around his length. You cry out, your voice echoing in the room, your hands pulling him closer as if you want to fuse yourself to him.

“That’s it, baby... that's it... cum for me... let go.” he urges, his voice strained as he fights to keep himself together, his own release hanging by a thread. His thrusts grow erratic, each one deeper, harder, more consuming than the last, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

And then it happens. The coil in your stomach snaps, your orgasm crashing into you with a force that steals your breath. Your vision goes white, your entire body arching into him as waves of ecstasy ripple through you, leaving you trembling and crying out his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Jungkook groans as your walls tighten around him, gripping him like a vice. The sensation sends him over the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can go, his hips stilling as his own release takes over, his groans blending with your cries.

The two of you ride out the aftershocks together, his forehead pressed to yours as your breathing mingles, heavy and uneven. The world feels still, the only sound in the room your shared pants and the faint thrum of your hearts, beating in perfect sync.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over your room, as your head rests on his bicep. Your fingers absentmindedly play with his as your eyes trace the intricate lines of his tattoos, the delicate patterns swirling along his forearm.

After the intimacy of a warm shower and the tender care Jungkook showed you, the two of you are back on the freshly made bed. The clean, cool sheets are a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers between you, your bare skin pressed to his.

His leg lazily drapes over yours beneath the blanket, an unconscious gesture that speaks of his need to be as close to you as possible.

Jungkook leans in, the weight of his gaze melting away any lingering tension. He presses a kiss to your temple, soft and lingering, before letting his lips brush against the scar on your head... a mark of something from the past, but no longer painful. “I love you.” he whispers, his voice low and full of sincerity.

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes, your own gaze softening. Slowly, you let go of his hand, shifting your body to face him fully. The blanket shifts with you as you wrap an arm around his torso, pulling yourself closer to him.

“I love you too.” you murmur, your voice steady, carrying the weight of your feelings. You move your head closer to his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. His arms encircle you, tugging you closer and holding you as though he never wants to let go.

And in that moment, as the soft embrace of sleep slowly begins to claim both of you, there is a quiet realization that settles in the spaces between your breaths. It’s as though the universe, in its infinite wisdom, has woven the intricate threads of time, bringing you here.

From the days when you were nothing more than neighboring shop owners, each a stranger in the other’s world, to the sharp edges of misunderstandings, to the heated arguments that filled the air with tension. You both once couldn’t stand the mere sight of each other... two souls so different, so distant.

But somehow, through all of that, life found a way to stitch your paths together. From those moments of rivalry at the town fair meetings, when every second seemed to breed another reason for dispute, to this quiet, intimate space where the mere thought of separation feels impossible.

Now, neither of you can seem to imagine a world where the other doesn’t exist. It’s as though your lives were always meant to be interwoven, intricately and beautifully, like the finest of tapestries.

Life has a strange way of bringing two opposing forces together, testing them in ways they never expected, only to reveal the most beautiful of connections.

It pushes and pulls, and in doing so, helps them untangle the complexities of their relationship. It compels them to find the purpose behind their presence in each other’s life... why it was always meant to be, why the stars aligned, even when they didn’t know what they were meant to see.

And through the rough roads, where his rusty bike and prickly tires rattled against the cobblestones, and through the vibrant scent of flowers that lingered in the air, the softness of leaves brushing against your fingers, you both have found something more profound and beautiful than you could ever imagine.

Something that only exists when two souls, through time and struggle, find each other and discover the home they never knew they were looking for.

Post Credits Scene

Yoongi stands in the dimly lit alley, the old baseball racket twirling lazily in his hand. Mingyu, Kihyun, and Jaemin are slumped against the cold brick wall, their faces battered, their hair disheveled, fear radiating from their wide eyes.

The faint hum of a flickering streetlight overhead makes the silence between them even heavier. Yoongi crouches down, his sharp gaze locking onto theirs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What did I say?” he asks, his voice calm but dripping with menace.

The men exchange nervous glances, their bruised faces pale under the weak light. Mingyu opens his mouth to respond, but a sharp pang from his injured ankle makes him wince and falter. Yoongi tilts his head, his smirk widening as he taps the racket lightly against the ground. “I’m waiting.” he says, his tone almost teasing.

“Never...” Mingyu manages, his voice hoarse, but the pain makes it hard to continue. “Go on...” Yoongi urges, his voice dropping an octave, the smirk now a warning.

“We’ll never bother Jungkook and Y/n again !!” Kihyun blurts out, his hands rubbing together in a desperate gesture, like he’s begging for mercy. Yoongi rises slowly, letting out a soft chuckle as he swings the racket onto his shoulder, causing all three men to flinch. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The men dare to breathe, thinking the ordeal might finally be over. But Yoongi’s sharp eyes narrow as he steps closer, towering over them. The smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold, calculating look that makes the air feel oppressive.

“Now...” he says, his voice trailing off. “Do I have to beat you guys up all over again, or will you give me Jungkook’s keys?”

<- part 15

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

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renku · 1 month ago

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Princess

「 Scenario smut - Yeseo x Male Reader 」

A/N: This is just pure BFH. Yeseo is just... yeah, many of you know it.

So no proofreading and edits at all. The other fic is still ongoing by the way. Happy Holidays to all!

~~~

It was a warm heat; a pair of thick flesh residing on your own, eyes glued to yours while Yeseo removes her cashmere crop top. A sight to behold—her silky hair dragged up by the motion. Perky, aroused tits reaching its perfect state. Oh, oh, she knows you want ‘em but she doesn't how you crave for those buds. Lastly, her intoxicating scent mixing into bloodstream, flowing at the right places. You can’t wait, but you have to. Being needy would be the last thing you’d show to this princess.

“Fuck, you’re making me crazy, princess,” you remarked, almost whispering the words with your face just centimeters away from her.

She smiled. Just smiled. As if she knew, and she does. Yeseo knows how to be minimalistic—low effort but extraordinary results. “And here too,” she replied, unzipping your pants to release her favorite toy from its constraints.

“Did this ‘good boy’ missed me?” she asked, an unnecessary question that somehow displayed her power over you.

“Why don’t you sit on it to know the answer, princess?” you responded, making sure she won’t have her way. Yeseo’s too dangerous. Especially when she’s fired up. And right now, the fire within her burns with such intensity that you’d never dare to put out. Only she can do it, by satisfying her wants.

“Don’t move an inch. Let me do it my way. Your princess’ way.”

Yeseo reached beneath her skirt, undoubtedly pushing her panties to the side to reveal her awaiting wet and dripping pussy. She grabs your already raging shaft and aligns it with her sweet entrance.

With a slow and steady movement, Yeseo patiently drops herself with your cock. Eating those inches with her warm and slick walls.

“Fuck...,” you grunted, shutting your eyes as you almost lift your head up to conceal the pleasure rapidly consuming your entire body.

“So big... so warm... all for me,” Yeseo noted in full ecstasy. She reached for your lips with hers to initiate a quick make out with her tongue invading yours in an instant.

In doing so, that sinful body of hers starts to grind on that small couch you have. Muffled moans became a series of vibrations in your mouth. Your hands can’t stay idle. They wander all over her upper torso, all those nerves in your fingertips doing its job to feel her soft and delicate skin.

Yeseo breaks the kiss. “Oh, oh- ah, yes! Ah, fuck! So deep!”

“Moan for me, princess. Tell me how you feel good by riding my dick. Let me hear it.”

“Yours is the best! Ah- I- I can’t stop! Make me cum with your huge cock! Oh, God!”

“So- so tight! Damn it!”

Her pace continues to rise with each second passing. She’s not like this before. Maybe Yeseo’s getting used to it. Should you be glad? Don’t know for sure. But the build up inside your groin can’t be ignored. Her tightness also is killing you. She’s close, too.

“Cumming for me, princess?”

“Ye- yes! Just a bit more! Fuck! I’m close!”

“Good, cum with that slutty pussy of yours. Take all my cum!” you exclaimed.

“Breed me! Please, claim my pussy! Claim it till it's full of cum!”

You didn’t move a bit the entire time. All of the work was from Yeseo. She wanted it. You just want her to experience things. Explore. Figure what works for her and what isn’t. She insisted to all of this. It’s a fact that makes you less guilty and not to think about it too much. You had a good time and the same goes for her. And that time tonight is about to reach its conclusion—pleasurable conclusion.

“Yeseo, I’m cumming!”

“Me too, I’m cumming! Don't hold back!”

“It’s coming! Ah!”

There it is, the climax. Ropes and ropes of semen filled Yeseo’s walls. Her walls convulses as she reached the promised land but also making sure not a drop of cum will escape from her cunt.

The highs from the sex slowly declines, and both of you came back to your senses.

“Amazing.”

Catching her breatg and drenched in sweat, Yeseo happily responded biting her lower lip, “Yeah, you’re the fucking best.”

#yeseo #kpop smut #smut #ksnfw #yeseo smut

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

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I Want You to Stay (04) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 11.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii I'm getting slower with editing and writing so please bear with me moving forward! Also pls remember, this is a slow burn haha. But anyway, been loving your replies (I see you) and messages, thank you. I hope you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

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

The events of last weekend remain in your mind, as you approach Jungkook’s apartment the next Monday and feel like your heart will leap out of your chest.

You remind yourself that he wasn’t angry at you; he’d even tried to apologize and didn’t make a fuss when you left the restaurant last Saturday. But still, the whole incident would make anyone feel agitated, and you know his capacity to feel and express that. He was inconvenienced and put on the spot, after all.

You enter, and shortly after, Jungkook exits the gym then greets you with a nod when he sees you. He looks more tired than anything. He doesn’t have a hint of frustration in his eyes, and you could only hope that he’d forgotten about what happened or, like how he is when it comes to personal matters, he’d chosen not to acknowledge it.

You bow in return, sneaking a glance as he walks towards his bedroom, with your throat drying up when he removes his shirt, briefly gracing you with a view of his glistening toned back right before disappearing inside. You wait half a minute before you follow him to prepare his clothes, giving yourself time to breathe before you have to face him again. You return to the kitchen and prepare his breakfast, looking up when you hear him walk in.

You approach him to do an act that’s become a routine for you, and for him as well, as he stands straight and unmoving while you tighten his tie and make sure he looks fine. Even when your fingers only graze his clothed chest, the memory from last Saturday becomes vivid, as you recall wiping his wine-soaked top, feeling the taut body underneath.

You shake your head at the thought, realizing that there are more things about that night that you should not acknowledge at all, including the heat you felt at seeing him in the washroom, a little exposed and definitely sweaty. There was that tension and the dropping of formalities that felt too foreign and quite disorienting. You don’t know him as anything other than the ‘Mr. Jeon’ you assist; seeing him as just ‘Jungkook’ was different. But you suppose that that’s the man you help everyday, and you wonder how much of himself he leaves behind in the office and how much of him now is just… him.

As you go about your routine during breakfast, you’re reminded that for Jungkook, there doesn’t seem to be a difference. How he is at work is the same as how he is elsewhere - serious, quiet, and detached. Except maybe when he’s with those women he meets at clubs, though. Perhaps the thrill and pleasure inject a bit of emotion and passion in him. You wouldn’t know, but at least it’s a way for him to take a break from the responsibilities he carries.

You scold yourself internally again. You’re not supposed to be curious; you’re not supposed to care. So you shake all of them away and remind yourself of who you are and your own distance that you should observe.

You get to your senses and proceed accordingly. You go about as usual in the morning with his meetings, and then he shuts his office so he could focus in the afternoon. You see his furrowed brows from the window, as he works on what seems to be the Arts Center again, given his requests for financial and marketing reports of the company's non-residential projects from the last five years.

You’re busy with organizing his Singapore trip and coordinating with the CEO’s office about the upcoming Appointment Dinner to formally introduce the new appointees, when he exits his room and looks through the folders lined on the shelf behind you.

“Where are the portfolios of our collaboration projects from 2017?” He asks.

“They’re in the archive room,” you answer, standing up to head there.

But he does it first, beating you to the corner area just off the hallway to the left. Your steps are obviously not at pace with his, and he’s tiptoeing to reach for a large folder by the time you get there. He’s able to retrieve it, laying it on the ledge as he goes through some pages.

“I could’ve gotten that,” you say softly, and Jungkook turns to you and wishes he hadn’t, as your pout makes his insides melt.

There’s something about your disappointment that you didn’t get to help him that makes his heart race a little, and while he knows it has everything to do with you thinking that he’d think you’re not doing your job properly, he still likes to keep the thought that you’d wanted to help him in the first place.

“It was heavy,” he explains.

“I’ve carried and pulled and pushed things way heavier than that folder,” you scoff.

“Really?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, trying not to show amusement on his face. “My cousin let you do all those things, huh?”

You frown at his attempt to catch you slipping. “I do many things in the background during events, Mr. Jeon, things that get everything functioning properly while Mr. Jung engages with the guests.”

Jungkook can only imagine how much work you put into getting those events hosted by the VP’s office running. Perhaps retrieving heavy folders is no big deal for you. But still, he doesn’t want to come across as a jerk for making you do something he can do on his own. He already was, he reminds himself, and you also definitely think he is; he doesn’t want to add to that any more, not after everything that’s happened.

So he just nods. “It’s a simple task I can do.”

Jungkook looks at the labeled boxes and folders. He’s got materials and design points to finalize by tonight. There are some more past projects he wants to go through to take inspiration from, and he finds another one he wants to look at, underestimating its weight, which is why he jerks in surprise when he feels how heavy it really is.

You’re there on cue, as if you knew it was gonna be too much. And if he’d asked you, you probably would’ve told him so.

You’re standing much closer to him, your fingers grazing against his as you hold onto the folder. It’s almost familiar, only because you stood this close to him that night at the restaurant, too - when you cleaned him up, and then when you handed him his clothes in the washroom. You actually stand this close to him everyday when you fix his tie. Perhaps after all that, it’s only dawning on you just how little space between you two there are sometimes, and you’re suddenly hyper aware - of the distance, of his scent, of the way he’s looking back at you when you turn to look at him.

“It was heavy,” he admits.

And for some reason, you laugh. Maybe it’s the slightly embarrassed look on his face or it’s just your defense mechanism when you feel tense but you let out an amused sound, with it fading as the time goes by and you realize you’re actually laughing at your boss.

“Making fun of me, Ms. Cho?”

“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you stammer, stepping away.

You’re about to mentally curse yourself until you see his slight smirk, and the thought of him making fun at you by scaring you like that makes you feel better. He may have some sense of humor after all.

Still, you bow in apology, and there’s a moment when you meet his eyes, with something not anger or frustration in them, that you both linger, as if there are things both of you feel that need to be said; you just don’t know what they are.

“Did the dry cleaners get to remove the wine stains?” You manage to get some words out, turning away now as you bring up last Saturday night.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds. There’s a pause before he continues. “Did… did you get home okay?”

You’re too stunned to be able to answer right away but you eventually do. “Uh, yeah. Jimin, Soomin, and I just bought food and then went to my apartment. And you?”

“I did,” he nods.

“Did… did Hajoon bother you again after we left?”

“No. Well, he just kept giving me the death stare but he didn’t do anything else,” he says.

“I really don’t know what got him so worked up,” you sigh, feeling bolder at having to share this much. “He’s not usually confrontational and he knows I hate it. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“People have their reasons for getting angry. They’re not always valid, though, and definitely not always warranted,” Jungkook replies, briefly looking away. “Whatever it is, at least he didn’t throw a punch.”

“Oh, if he did, that is it for me,” you chuckle, feeling unfamiliar with being able to talk to Jungkook so casually like this. “Goodbye, job; goodbye, Seoul. I will probably just work as a librarian somewhere.”

Jungkook wants to say he wouldn’t accept your resignation for that reason, that he doesn’t want you to go anywhere, actually. But that’s too much and probably inappropriate to say given the circumstances. So he just hums and turns back to the folder and looks through them.

“I’ll need these back in my room,” he says, carrying one while you take the other.

You appreciate the topic change, knowing you won’t know how to handle more if the conversation deepens. You both walk back quietly, as it dawns on you that the casual nature you both talked to each other is a little disorienting.

You’re not used to him sounding concerned.

He’s not used to you being honest and open.

Perhaps seeing a different side of him isn’t all that bad, you think.

Jungkook wants to believe it’s your way of forgiving him, too, even if he hasn’t actually apologized for anything.

The minute it takes to return to your respective desks ends, and Jungkook is back to focusing on his designs while you get back to making reservations. You peek inside his room every once in a while to check if he’s okay, if there’s anything else he needs, if there’s anything you can do for him.

The frustrated look on his face isn’t new, but the fact that it isn’t directed at you, is. So is the worried feeling you have for him. You’re a mix of emotions from everything that’s happened this past month, so you can’t deny that the way he’s been acting towards you has left you confused, maybe even doubtful. You have to be cautious, you think, and not fall into a comfortable dynamic with him so easily.

The next day, he’s back to being serious once again, as you sit to his right in the restaurant that will be catering the upcoming VP event. Jungkook decided for both of you to have the food tasting for lunch, and so a spread has been prepared for him to make the final decision on the menu.

You’d like to think that you’ve developed quite a sophisticated palate, all thanks to the numerous events that Hoseok asked you to organize in your three years working under him. With this upcoming dinner party a sort of introduction of Jungkook and the project to the art world, he wants to make sure that he serves only the best to the guests, which is why he carefully tastes each dish, trying to determine the best combination that’s both delicious and creative.

You give your comments, some of which he acknowledges, and you feel like you’re both making headway in terms of the menu, as well as with his disposition for the day, given that he’s looking more comfortable and relaxed than he was half an hour ago.

That is, until he sips his wine for the first time, and clears his throat.

“I believe I specifically said that lunch today is a work matter, Ms. Cho,” he says sternly. “You’re on the clock and this isn’t a break.”

“Y—yes, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, curious as to the reason for his statement.

“Then why is your boyfriend waiting outside the restaurant, trying to catch your attention?”

“What?” You exclaim, turning around and spotting Hajoon standing by the lamppost, his sullen eyes getting a bit of light in them once they meet yours. “I… I don’t know,” you respond. “I haven’t spoken to him since Saturday.”

“How did he know you’re here, then?”

“His restaurant is just up the street,” you sigh. “He must’ve seen me when he was walking there. This area is his usual route. Please just ignore him.”

“I can’t when he’s in my peripheral vision. He’s still the man who got in my face the other night. He clearly wants to speak to you and I don’t think he’ll go away,” Jungkook reasons.

You look at him, waiting for his instructions.

Jungkook doesn’t like that Hajoon is there and he also doesn’t want you to speak with him during work hours, especially if it’s going to affect you for the rest of the day. But the man seems desperate and persistent; he really doesn’t seem like he’ll just let this moment of seeing you pass.

“You have five minutes,” Jungkook says.

You don’t exactly want to go out there; there’s a reason why you haven’t returned Hajoon’s texts or calls these past days. But you can imagine that it’s a worse look for him to be staying around; a distraction during this work matter that you know Jungkook would not appreciate one bit. So you stand up and tell him that you’ll be back shortly.

Jungkook returns to the dish in front of him, noting that the Japanese mushroom risotto is a good addition to the set menu. The event his office is planning includes a sit down dinner and then an offering of canapés and champagne while guests walk around the venue to see the presentation of the Arts Center in large boards and on screens. It will be a good way for him to socialize - something he’s incredibly nervous about because it’s not his strongest suit, nor is it something he enjoys, unlike his cousin. The primary goal, though, is to introduce the project. Jungkook needs important people on board so they can be involved in the launch and the succeeding special activities.

He tries to think about that night and how he wants to design the place. He tries to think of other things, too, like the music and decor, even if he’d said that’s for both of you to plan next week. He’s even thinking of a follow up already, even if his management support team is in charge of that and would be dependent on how this first one is gonna go.

Jungkook tries to think of anything, really, just so he won’t constantly be glancing at you in his periphery, as you talk to the man from the other night and possibly make up. You did leave him at the restaurant last Saturday; you also did clarify that you’re not together. You just said you haven’t spoken since then, so it’s safe to say that both of you aren’t in good terms.

Jungkook can only assume, though. He doesn’t know the story, nor would he ever; he reminds himself he shouldn’t be thinking about it in the first place. He was never one to be privy to his staff’s personal lives; he spent most of his time with Lucas but didn’t know more than his family's composition. Jungkook doesn’t even recall knowing if Lucas had a partner, or if his then-assistant even mentioned it.

But clearly, Hoseok knows more about you than Jungkook would’ve expected. Perhaps it’s just how his cousin is, or maybe the time spent together just created that environment where it’s natural or normal. Maybe it’s the culture that his father encouraged; his old man is quite close with Mr. Ri - his former chauffeur and bodyguard - and Mrs. Myung - his executive assistant, after all.

But it’s not what Jungkook is used to; it’s not how he spent his few years in the Singapore office because like always, all he did was work and party. His mentor in graduate school also advised him that professional lines are ones he shouldn’t cross. Though Jungkook never really knew what exactly those were, he just dared not get close to anyone or be remotely interested at all, and that never caused him any problem. He’s always been safe where he was, guarded and unbothered.

But ever since you walked through those doors at Hoseok’s office that first Friday, Jungkook has been finding himself skirting near the boundaries far too often, and it’s only been a month. It began with making sure you’re eating well and that you’re safe on the way to work; he convinces himself that’s human decency, although he never really bothered much before.

And between wanting you to get proper rest before your trip to your hometown, to seeing you with that man from last weekend and being so bothered by it that it caused a scene, Jungkook’s internal alarm bells are ringing, telling him that he’s getting too interested, too close. It doesn’t help that he finds you attractive, something he doesn’t have control over. What he does have a say in is how he responds to it, and that has been incredibly tough, especially given the weekend he’s had.

He’d spent the rest of it trying to keep his mind off you - the way you looked in that outfit, the way your touch sent shivers down his spine, the way you’d looked at him worriedly… And when you walked out of that restaurant, he wondered what you were thinking, how you were feeling, how you’d be spending the rest of the night, and if you were gonna be home okay. He hasn’t really stopped since.

Even now, as he stays in his seat and tightly grips his glass of wine at the scene unfolding outside.

You’re standing with your arms crossed - setting the boundaries, and perhaps signaling your detachment, though he can’t see your face. The man, on the other hand, seems emotional, the tinge of sadness evident on his face. But there’s a mix of frustration and anger, too, as his arms flail around. He points at you, then at himself. His voice seems raised; Jungkook swears he can see the veins from the man’s neck popping out while you… you’ve got your head turned to the side, your body not eliciting much of the emotion the way the man’s is.

Jungkook stops himself from making an excuse for you to come back inside, just so he can pull you away from a conversation that you don’t seem to be wanting to have. But he knows it’s not his place, and the man might make a scene again if Jungkook decides to step in. You know how to stand up for yourself; you’d done it to him, he reminds himself. You’ll do what you need to do, whatever it is.

The man heaves, as whatever monologue he was giving ends. He reaches out to you, perhaps making a final plea, but you step back, widening the distance. It’s what prompts him to bow his head and turn around, leaving you by the lamppost on your own.

Jungkook sighs in relief now and he waits for you to return, but he’s surprised when you stay rooted in your spot, your arms wrapping around yourself despite the heat outside. He worries when you enter, your head bowed down and unable to look at him.

He wants to ask how you are, but he’s unsure if he’s ready for your answer, knowing that there isn’t much he can do anyway. So he goes with what he knows - detachment.

“I’ve chosen the last two dishes,” he says. “They’re serving the desserts soon.”

You turn to him immediately, your misty eyes painted with worry meeting his own.

“I didn’t think I was away that long,” you state, worried about the time you left your boss waiting while dealing with a personal matter that for the first time made you wish you were stuck with Jungkook instead. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon.”

He didn’t expect you to look so upset. He’s terrible at comforting people, but even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t know if he’d manage to comfort you. So he just shrugs and says that they were straightforward dishes.

You both try the desserts then the canapés, exchanging thoughts about all the options before shortlisting your chosen dishes. By the time the food tasting is over, you’re stuffed and set for the rest of the day.

You try not to look at Jungkook. You don’t know if he’d seen how your conversation went with Hajoon, but if he had, he could probably tell what was going on even if he couldn’t hear anything.

He’s had his moments, but you’ve never seen Hajoon look that upset and emotional, and you stood there, afraid to face all his feelings that you didn’t know what to do with, all those words that you didn’t know how to take. You’re usually one who’s able to let negative things said to you just go over your head, but something about what he’d said today hit you; you know it’ll take you until tomorrow to get over them.

But you try to get through the rest of the day the way you usually do - going through reports, organizing schedules, finalizing tomorrow’s presentation, and then working on the revised interdepartmental guidelines that Jungkook tasked you to do.

There are draft letters you send to him, thinking that you’ll work on some administrative matters while he reviews them, but you’re surprised when he calls for you 10 minutes later, saying the letters are approved and you can send them in the morning. You’re left wondering, given that anything you submit to him usually goes through intense scrutiny. Perhaps you’re not used to this easy pass, but you try not to overthink it, given the day you’ve had.

“You can go home, Ms. Cho,” he says as he types away.

It’s 5:30 PM. Usually this time, he’s still handing you things to review or instructing you on what else to do.

He seems to pick up on your silence, as without looking at you, he clarifies. “I don’t need you to do things you can do tomorrow. We’ll have meetings all day so I understand if you want to stay behind but you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t seem like he’ll be finishing soon, and you’re really not in the best mood so you nod and bid him goodbye.

The conversation with Hajoon stays in your mind all night and lasts until the next day. You’re in Jungkook’s penthouse the next morning, preparing his breakfast while he takes a shower.

With your phone snug under your neck, you relay to Soomin what happened yesterday. She was too busy last night for a call and she’s been bugging you since you got in the car - that you continue to ride as per your boss’ instructions - so you finally picked up, knowing how long it usually takes for Jungkook to finish.

“It started with him apologizing, then wondering why I haven’t been picking up his calls, then justifying his actions from last Saturday as him, standing up for me,” you narrate. “Obviously, I didn’t take those too kindly. But he said he wanted to be with me, like, have an actual relationship. And I said I didn’t want to then he just… he kinda just said everything he’s been keeping in.”

“Which is what?” Soomin asks.

“That I’m selfish, that I don’t think about what my actions may mean to others, which is silly since I was clear from the start about what I wanted from him,” you sigh. “He said that I act independent but that’s just a front, that deep down I’m a lonely woman who’ll probably push away every person who’s shown me they care until I have no one left and that’s why I’ll be alone forever, which he says is a deep fear that I have because I apparently told him that when I was drunk. And even after all that, he said he still cares about me, that he wants to try to be something for real this time, that if I just let him, he’ll love me right and make me happy and I just backed away, like, why would you—”

The clearing of the throat cuts you off, and you nearly drop the expensive plate due to panic once you look up and see Jungkook standing by the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry for taking a personal call, Mr. Jeon,” you say immediately, putting away your phone. “It won’t happen again.”

You bow your head down in apology, which is why you don’t see the way Jungkook’s eyes soften as he looks at you. Words like that hurt, and he can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for you hearing them. Still, you went about yesterday with your accomplished tasks and completed deliverables like it didn’t happen, displaying a kind of strength that he could only hope to have.

“Yesterday was a tough, I suppose,” he states, choosing to ignore your apology.

“It was a normal one,” you brush off, walking towards him to fix his tie, not meeting his gaze.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, knowing you don’t want to acknowledge that he’d overheard your conversation, which he didn’t mean to walk in on. It did bother him, too; he suddenly wishes he’d fought back if that man was just going to speak to you that way.

There’s a sadness in your eyes that he tries not to mind and which you try to trivialize. Perhaps the man matters that much to you for you to be feeling this bad; Jungkook doesn’t really know what to do with that thought. So he tries to brush it off, too, telling you instead to be ready for today’s meeting with his father.

You ask if he’s checked the presentation you worked on, as you added things from the last time. He nods and says he only added minimal details that he came up with last night, and you check to find that he indeed just made minute changes, another thing that you’re thankful for yet wary of, especially given how critical he was about your work in the beginning.

You continue with your morning routine of debriefing about yesterday’s meetings, then you finalize the Arts Center event’s menu in the car. When you arrive at the office, you wait patiently as he goes through some reports that you’ve checked, then he reviews some memos that he asked you to work on.

The last one finishes faster than you expected. It seems now that his comments are what you look for, only because it reminds you that he hasn’t changed; somehow that seems like a better thought to have than him suddenly being lenient or lowering his standards for you for some unknown reason. He’s definitely witnessed some of your low moments; you don’t want to think those have anything to do with how he’s been lately.

The meeting with the management support team ends before lunch time, and you work on the minutes and the other things Jungkook had asked of you during the time that he meets with Yoongi in his office. That takes another half hour, and by the time they’re done, you’re done with your tasks, too, so you send those documents to Jungkook for checking in the afternoon.

Another one off the list, you think to yourself. At this point, you’re just going over all your deliverables with a focused mindset and waiting for the day’s end so you can spend time for yourself, just on the couch watching variety shows and movies until the weekend comes when you can do that for longer hours.

Having your friends over or traveling to Daegu are the only other things you look forward to. You used to look forward to spending the night at Hajoon’s, too; you could at least feel something pleasurable - the closest you could get to any form of intimacy that didn’t require you to bare yourself other than your body. But that’s a thing of the past now - there’s that amazing life-changing toy that Soomin got you last Sunday that’s got you thinking that you’ll be fine being alone for the rest of your life.

“Long day, huh?”

You look up and see Yoongi, his curious eyes scanning your desk full of papers, folders, and half-eaten biscuits.

“It has been,” you sigh.

“I see. It’s also only just 12 noon,” he points out.

“What a shocking revelation, Min Yoongi,” you grunt. “I don’t need to be reminded that I have another six hours here.”

“Hmm, just like me. So, what are you looking forward to when you clock out?”

“My leftover stir-fry for dinner that I’m going to add beef to,” you respond. “And The Zone. I missed it last Monday.”

“You and your variety shows,” he chuckles.

“What other reason do I have to laugh, hmm?”

“I’d say me, but you don’t find me funny.”

“You aren’t, sorry,” you smile, your first of the day, and Yoongi smiles back, knowing you haven’t been doing it the past few weeks.

“So–”

“Ms. Cho,” Jungkook’s voice cuts Yoongi off, as your boss stands by his open door with curious eyes that flit from you to the man in front of you. He recovers though, as he instructs, “the minutes are fine. Send it to the team now so they can work on their tasks.”

“You’ve read it?” You speak too soon, realizing a second too late that the words didn’t stay in your head. Your widened eyes don’t help you though, as Jungkook scowls at you.

“Are you asking me if I’ve read the file that I just approved and instructed you to disseminate?”

Yoongi purses his lips to hold off a laugh, and you glare at him because his teasing isn’t really what you need right now.

“I meant, uh, you’ve reviewed it already, sir? I… thought… you were going to prepare for the lunch meeting instead,” you reason, which isn’t even a lie.

“I have. Father hasn’t called me up so I just reviewed the minutes while waiting.”

You look at the file and see that nothing has been added. “And? That’s it?”

“Ms. Cho, are you questioning my ability to review?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he starts to look displeased, although they seem harmless compared to his frustrated expressions from the past.

“No, Mr. Jeon, I apologize,” you say. “I was wondering if you didn’t have anything more to add, that’s all.”

“There’s none,” he clarifies. “Just send it to the team and uh… get ready for the meeting.”

He glances at Yoongi before closing the door.

“Questioning your boss’ ability to review now, huh?” Yoongi teases.

“Shut up. He’s just been weird,” you pout.

“That’s new. How so?”

“He hasn’t been an asshole for a few days.”

“Well, that’s quite the standard but I get you, I guess,” Yoongi hums. “In what way has he been out of character?”

“He just… hasn’t been pointing things out and correcting my submissions or asking a lot of questions about the reports I review,” you say. “Or just… you know, he hasn’t been him. He makes Mr. Ri pick me up every morning, he doesn’t email on the weekend, I get to leave on time, I get to eat properly…”

“In short, he’s been a decent boss recently?”

“I guess… I mean, it’s been two weeks since my mishap. He’s been quite tolerable these past few days. Maybe he hit his head and some loose screws tightened. Maybe he had a bad dream and the ghost of the future me visited him. Maybe he had a change of heart… though that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he–”

“Realized he hasn’t been good to you and doesn’t want you to go through the horror of another Mrs. Byun,” Yoongi interjects.

Your curious eyes prompt him to continue. “We had a meeting the other day and I saw a folder on his desk with her name on it. Formal complaints are only available in physical copies; other personnel files are stored in the server, so the only documents he’d have of her are the ones of her investigation. And he’d only be interested in that because of you. Those include your written statements.”

“As do you yours,” you point out.

“Yes, he’d totally be interested in how his design lead witnessed a manager’s abuse of power three years ago,” Yoongi sarcastically says.

You sigh to yourself. You’ve never told Jungkook about your experience with Mrs. Byun, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok or even Yoongi has mentioned it to him. It’s an experience you don’t like to think about; you were a young woman who had everything to prove, who had a lot to lose, and conceding to someone taking advantage of you seemed like the only way to survive. Not once did you put your foot down, and not once did you stand up for yourself. You experienced all those then went home to an empty house and found comfort in your own warmth and your own breathing.

You don’t want that experience to determine how others would treat you after. Hoseok was all things gentle and warm and you know that whatever you went through wouldn’t have determined how he treated you.

But Jungkook… Jungkook is different. This isn’t his default state. This isn’t how he normally is. This isn’t how you started. The last thing you want is for him to feel pity for all that you went through - in the past and recently - and then treat you differently because of it. He’s been less critical, less judgmental, and less doubtful of your capabilities. You only wish it isn’t for anything that he’d read or seen you experience.

“I doubt it,” you shake your head. “A man that perpetually displeased doesn’t just decide one day that he’d give the bare minimum of decency to his assistant.”

“Look, ___. Jungkook is a lot of things. He has a lot of feelings that he doesn’t want to deal with, and a lot of emotions he doesn’t know how to express,” Yoongi tries to explain. “I wouldn’t be friends with him if I didn’t believe there’s an ounce of goodness in him. And there is. Maybe him showing it just isn't good timing. He’s terrible at that, too. In fact, he’s terrible at a lot of things, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. It doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of kindness.”

“Kindness,” you huff. That’s quite a reach, but Yoongi’s always been a good judge of character. You do want to believe what he says about Jungkook; it’s just not an easy switch to flip. “I’m just trying not to care much at this point,” you sigh. “I come to work, focus on my tasks, do whatever I’m asked, go back home, rinse and repeat.”

“Is it satisfying, though?”

“When was work ever satisfying, Yoongi?” You laugh bitterly.

“Well, I could at least recall seeing you enjoy organizing those events for Hoseok and even joining him in some,” Yoongi points out. “I… I saw you smile a lot. There was a bit of satisfaction there, yeah?”

“Somehow, I guess. But I just had to make do. Hoseok was great, but this is also my job, really the only thing going for me.”

“What are you working towards, then?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe at 30 I should know but I really don’t.”

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, softly, desperately. “Why do you stay?”

“And find out who I am outside of all this?” You wonder out loud. “What if I don’t like her? What if she isn’t good?”

“Then this place hasn’t been good for you if you doubt who you are outside of what you’ve done here,” Yoongi says. “You’re just 30; there’s a whole world out there where you can learn who you are and be someone you actually like. I don’t know what’s stopping you.”

A lot of things, you think to yourself. But when you find comfort in discomfort, when you find security in chaos, and when you find companionship in loneliness, it’s not that easy to leave all this behind, even if deep down, you know it’s what you have to do.

“I don’t know, too,” you lie. “Maybe I’ll find a good enough reason one day and that would be it; I’ll be out of here and then I can find out if I like myself outside of everything I know.”

“I think you would.”

I did, Yoongi thinks to himself. He knows you’d laugh and agree; he’s moved on from you and things can’t be any better than how your friendship is right now, but he also knows you’re not the best at feelings, a similarity he realizes you have with the person you supposedly dislike.

“I won’t know until then, I guess. So I just gotta bear with who I am now,” you say.

There’s so much of you that Yoongi doesn’t know. It’s why he wanted to, why he asked you out for coffee and why he felt a bit of a heartbreak when you turned him down. But there are parts of you that he does know, that you let him see, and sometimes he finds himself wishing you’d find someone you’d feel safe enough with to share everything else you keep to yourself.

He keeps these things to himself, too. He’s learned that the only way to keep you close is to keep his distance; you’ll reach out if you need to, even if it’s something you rarely do. But what’s important is that he’ll be there just in case; what matters is you know that there’s a hand available when you need it.

So he just nods and takes your word for it. You’ll find yourself somehow, in whatever way you will. And you’ll find a reason to leave, whenever that is. He could only hope it’s a decision you’d make on your own, one that you won’t regret, and one that’ll lead you to find whatever it is that you’re looking for.

“So what, they want to put a stop to the Arts Center? They’re not the ones working hard for it. And quite frankly, I don’t need their help in any way to make it happen.”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief, anger manifesting in the way he clenches his jaw and groans repeatedly. It’s a sight you’re familiar with by now, and for the first time, you feel for him. It feels as if with this project, he doesn’t seem to have anyone on his side, aside from Hoseok, who’s been encouraging and helpful in many ways.

“They don’t want to stop it, son,” CEO Jeon says. “They’re merely questioning some of your decisions about the prices you’ve set out.”

“In short, they’re undermining me,” Jungkook groans. “This is my project. We’ve done the necessary research. If they read the report, they’d know. But clearly, they just want reasons to doubt all this, to doubt me.”

“It’s just the first project of its kind,” his father reasons. “The arts institution from 2017 was a collaboration and it wasn’t this big. The Arts Center just isn’t the usual commercial establishment that the VP office undertakes. The Board just wants to be clear about the profits because it’s not as straightforward as the others. They want to know how the property will earn.”

“Exhibition entrance tickets, bookings, rent,” Jungkook replies. “What’s not straightforward about that? Might as well say they don’t understand or even value arts and culture because that makes money, and if done right and respectfully, it can make a lot of money. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not like I didn’t make those points, son. It’s your first big project. I think they just—”

“Don’t believe I can manage it on my own.”

“They don’t think you can make the necessary connections on your own,” CEO Jeon finally says. “We all know how important that is. They doubt you’d be able to forge good relationships with professionals in an industry we don’t really have strong connections to. And with a project this big, it’s the company’s resources and reputation on the line.”

There’s silence in the room, as Jungkook seems to process the core issue that the Board has with him. You can tell it’s affecting him so much, as the anger in his eyes slowly turns into resignation.

It’s no secret that Jungkook’s way of engaging with others leaves a lot to be desired. From what you can see, he’s used to thinking more, envisioning, planning - the concepts and designs are amazing in his head and there are others tasked to sell that idea, to make it connect with people, to express why it matters, and to make sure it earns. That’s what Hoseok is good at; Jungkook never seemed like the type who enjoys that aspect of the work.

“You should’ve thought about my outstanding interpersonal skills before appointing me as Vice President, then,” he says bitterly. “Clearly that’s what the Board and everyone else value more than anything.”

“Hey, Kook. We know you’re good for this role,” Hoseok comforts. “And we believe in your project, we really do. Just focus on that. Make sure you’re constantly adjusting and refining the plans, and remind the Board that your ideas are even better when they’ve come to life. You’ve done it with your other projects before. Eventually you’ll be able to show them that you’re more than capable of forging relationships, too. That’ll come naturally. But in the meantime, you just have to give them something to make them believe it’ll be good for the company and our image in the long-run. Make them envision it.”

“I have,” Jungkook argues. “And I’ll keep doing that. I just need father to be on my side. I just need him to back me up, to trust me and every single one of my decisions.”

You’ve never heard desperation in Jungkook’s voice until today and you’re surprised with how much it’s affecting you, not just because you know how much effort he’s put into conceptualizing the place but because you’ve come to believe in it, too.

“Ms. Cho.”

CEO Jeon’s voice pulls you away from Jungkook, and you turn to the older man and ask if there’s anything he needs.

“Your thoughts,” he responds. “What would the Arts Center mean for the company? Do you think it will yield profits?”

They’re not questions that are new to you. Hoseok would often ask you these things about the smaller projects that go through him. CEO Jeon has asked you the same things in informal situations before, not so much to gain new insight - although he claims that your thoughts are interesting to him - but to gauge your belief in the project. He has a good read on people; you’ve observed him ask questions and pick apart not what they said but how they said it. You suppose that’s what he’s doing now, too.

“You’ve mentioned a few times that you want to expand the company’s market, Mr. Jeon,” you start. “And if I remember correctly, the Board agreed. Efforts to cater to expats and the middle class have been successful, but perhaps another type of expansion is in engaging the field of the arts and culture and its creators and consumers. More people from all walks of life and all over the world are gaining interest in Korean art and culture in all forms and the company has the resources to create a space for it. Like what the Vice President said, there’s an opportunity to earn from it while, of course, respecting it.”

You see CEO Jeon and Hoseok nod, a sight you’ve seen before as well. But Jungkook looks at you with curiosity, with a look of anticipation, as if he’s hanging onto every word you’re saying.

“The Arts Center was conceptualized and designed to be a hub for all things creative,” you continue. “Making general admission free makes the arts accessible to people, and once that appreciation grows, they’ll pay to see it, to experience it. Just go to any online forum and you’ll see that the public wants to experience art, not just observe it. They’d travel for it. The Center has spaces for that. I think that’s the ultimate goal - for anyone to be immersed in it. And that can happen through art pieces in a gallery or in a garden, through books, music, or spoken poetry, or even a photoshoot. Patrons can book rooms for private events, they can buy from the gift shop, they can do art themselves. It’s like a canvas and they can take part in creating meaning for the space. That’s what we’re selling. And that’s something people are willing to buy.”

“I see your point, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says, nodding satisfyingly at you. “And it’s a good one.”

“It’s what Mr. Jeon has been saying all this time,” you counter. “It’s easy to understand and to buy into the idea… if only the Board would listen to him. If only they’d open their mind to what he envisions.”

“Well, that’s one way to get through to them, then,” Hoseok voices out. “Invite them to the arts event, treat them like creators and consumers, not as Board members.”

“That’s a good idea,” CEO Jeon says. “Maybe then they can see how you engage with the guests, which I hope you’re working on. And while you’re at it, work on your relationship with them, too. That means initiating conversations, seeking them out… It's part of the job, son. The Board are our stakeholders, too, you know this.”

“Aren’t some of them based in Japan and Singapore?” You wonder aloud, hinting at another suggestion that you want would come from Jungkook himself, given his scheduled plans to fly there.

“Yeah. Maybe I can meet them the next time I go,” he says, picking up on your thoughts.

Jungkook isn’t really fond of engaging with them. He always just left the socializing part to his uncle who used to head the Southeast Asian office. When Jungkook would be in Seoul, he let his father, Hoseok, and Ji-woo deal with them, with nothing but an acknowledgment on his end. He tends to stay at the bar on his own just to drown out the sounds. Yoongi sometimes joins him but most times, Jungkook finds himself alone even during such events; being with a lot of people is tiring, lonesome, isolating. With this new role, he’s started to accept that he has to do more. It doesn’t mean he’ll enjoy it though.

“I’ll have that arranged for you,” you tell him.

“Well then, that’s one way to revamp your image,” the older man smiles. “You just have to keep that up moving forward. That’s why Ms. Cho is there. She’s used to these events and these engagements with them. You’ll be fine.”

You give a reassuring smile to Jungkook - a genuine one, as you see it’s what he needs, given all that you learned from today’s meeting. He merely nods, and you think that should be enough of an acknowledgment from his end.

Hoseok wraps it up, going through a few policy-related items and then reminding the other men about upcoming social gatherings that they all need to attend. He asks to briefly speak with Jungkook, whom he pulls aside, while the elder Mr. Jeon approaches you.

“Thank you for standing by Jungkook, Ms. Cho, especially since I haven’t been able to show my support the way I want to,” he says. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“It hasn’t, but he made me believe in his vision for the Center,” you respond. “I’m starting to see what he sees. And it’s quite beautiful.”

Jungkook overhears the exchange, as he zoned out on Hoseok once he heard his father address you.

It’s something that his cousin picks up, as he repeats what he just said, totally unbothered by it.

Hoseok, of all people, knows how important it is that you have Jungkook’s back. He also knows how difficult that must be for you, given how the man has been towards you all these weeks.

But you’re unwavering. You’re able to withstand the challenges, and while Hoseok knows that you do have a tendency to also allow yourself to suffer through it, he also knows you’ve learned, and you’ll stand your ground if you need to; he’ll back you up, and he can only hope you know that.

You all exit the private room of the restaurant and head back to the office across the street. It’s 4PM by the time you return to your desk, given that Jungkook called for a meeting with the management support team after what transpired during lunch.

You immediately work on the minutes and action points, finishing two hours later and then deciding that you’ll work on your next deliverable tomorrow.

Jungkook exits his room, informing you that he’ll be leaving for an early dinner with Hoseok at a nearby restaurant, and that Mr. Ri can drop you off at your place. You’ve contested the service that was offered to you, and you and Jungkook settled on a compromise that you can go home on your own except for late nights.

“Mr. Ri will just be waiting for me anyway. No harm in driving you home tonight,” Jungkook says, knowing you were about to turn down the offer.

“Okay, sir,” you reply.

You do last minute things and pack up immediately to go home, taking this chance to get proper rest because you know the last two days of the week are going to be tiring.

The next day, Jungkook does conference calls and closed-door meetings, leaving you to do summary reports and other administrative backlogs that have your eyebrows scrunched the entire day. If it wasn’t for Do-hyun reminding you about lunch that you promised to have with her, you would’ve totally forgotten.

You’re in the zone as you go through the afternoon - two meetings straight that have Jungkook rubbing his temples constantly and you doing the same. But you pop in some aspirin and ginseng jelly next to his cup of tea, feeling satisfied when he takes them.

You go home on time, not wanting to be offered a ride for a consecutive night, and you get proper rest to face the final day of the week.

It’s all going well, as you find a rhythm early on as you work on your deliverables while Jungkook remains focused on his own tasks. You’re the one who reminds him now to eat his lunch, and seeing the blueprints sprawled on his desk, you offer to buy him one yourself.

He nods in appreciation as you state his usual order for confirmation, and you eat your sandwich while waiting for his curry rice bowl in the food hall. You get back to your tasks, thankful for the unusually quiet and uneventful Friday.

You see now how hyper focused Jungkook could get. He’s got his blinds closed but you can tell that he’s immersed in his designs and proposals and plans. He’s not allowing calls or visitors, and he only rings you to ask for coffee, which you’ve given him four times so far. Towards the end of the day, you’re the one who asks to go in, informing him that the Board meeting has been moved to a week earlier than scheduled; it’s two Fridays from now, which means his team has to finalize everything soon.

It’s his first one since becoming Vice President, and given how he used to question you, you’re surprised when he asks your proposed timeline to prepare for the meeting.

“Manager Lee is already consolidating all the departmental reports,” you respond. “You can instruct him to finalize the VP report with all those by Wednesday; the presentation can be due on Friday so you can go through all of them. We can submit the report for CEO review the Monday after that and then you can prepare for your run through until the meeting.”

“Sounds good,” he replies. “I’ll send them an email with the instructions shortly.”

“Noted, sir,” you say. “I’ve also submitted the minutes of the past two days’ meetings as well as the policy guidelines you asked for.”

“Oh, right,” he says, taking his iPad. “I’ve looked through them. The minutes are good; you can disseminate them accordingly. I’ve highlighted the parts for the condensed version you’ll send to the CEO and the President. I also have minimal corrections and remarks on the policy guidelines and I’ve edited them directly on the file. Just proofread again and then affix my signature once you’ve finished.”

“Y—you’re done?” You ask. You hope he doesn’t pick up the shock in your voice.

“Yes, and I’ve read them. Thoroughly,” he answers.

You smile in embarrassment after the other day.

“Does that bother you?” He follows up.

“N-no, sir,” you say, knowing he’s waiting for an answer. “I guess I was expecting you to take longer because, you know, more comments. And you’ve been busy all day, too.”

“More comments… Is that what you’re expecting?”

“Sort of,” you admit. “I mean… you made a lot of them before.”

You pout in reflex as you realize how you sound. You’re basically pointing out how critical he used to be, and if you’re being honest, you do wish he still was. At least that tells you that he’s still the same, that no knowledge of your past experience with your former boss has made him change his disposition towards you.

Jungkook sees your pout, and he crosses his arms and legs to keep himself from doing something as stupid as wiping it off you. It’s a little disarming for him, if he’s being honest.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” you clarify.

Liar, you think to yourself.

“Well, if I used to do it a lot and I still do that after a month in, wouldn’t it reflect poorly on you and me if you still haven’t learned from all that?” He asks.

You think about it and eventually nod. He does have a point.

“You’ve adapted. I’d be worried if you continued to do things the way you used to,” he adds.

You nod again, taking in all his words. Much as you appreciate them, there’s another thought still bugging you.

“May I be honest, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, your heart beating fast now as he looks at you curiously.

He nods anyway and asks you to continue.

“I don’t think you’d lower your standards or anything when it comes to my work,” you start. “So I don’t want to believe that you pity me just because you know what I experienced in the past.”

He looks at you questioningly, as if to ask what you’re talking about.

“I spotted Mrs. Byun’s files on your table,” you lie. “I assume you’ve read about how she treated me. And I… I don’t want to be pitied, Mr. Jeon. If it’s that, please don’t. Please don’t let it affect how you’d treat me. It wasn’t even that bad—”

“It was,” he interjects. “This company doesn’t tolerate people who abuse their power. I only knew about your case because I’m thorough with my work. And that includes looking into my staff and their past. I did it for everyone,” he lies as well.

Hoseok and Yoongi had mentioned something about a past experience and Jungkook did dig deep. It was so he could help you professionally, he convinced himself.

“You should also know that I don’t make compromises when it comes to the quality of work of my staff and that means I don’t pity people if they fail to meet my standards. But I suppose you think that I do because of how I was in the beginning,” he continues, surprising you. “I admit I was being too critical. And I don’t have an excuse, just that I absolutely hate change. I’m not good at managing it and I reacted in a way that I’m used to, which is not a good way at all. I know now that I was not fair to you.”

The apology doesn’t come, but you know that the admission means enough already. It’s definitely taken a huge burden off of you. You didn’t dream up all those incidents and it wasn’t entirely on you. That itself gives you relief.

“My father and cousin were right. You’re a fast learner. You pick up on the comments, work on them immediately, and adjust accordingly. It’s a good trait to have, Ms. Cho.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Jeon.”

“May I be honest, too?” He asks, surprising you again.

You nod, anticipating what he’d say, knowing he’s never been this quiet nor looked this nervous in all these weeks you’ve known him.

“What you said to my father about the Arts Center the other day, I appreciate that, too,” he says. “I guess you could’ve said something general or basic but you didn’t.”

“Your father wouldn’t have minded what I said,” you reply. “What mattered was how I said it. I guess as the person who’s privy to a lot of things about the project, he sincerely wanted to know what I thought about it, if I genuinely believed in it.”

“Well, it was a good way to convince him. And it seemed like he believed you.”

“I’m not a good actor, Mr. Jeon,” you chuckle. “He believed it because I meant it. And he saw that I was on your side. As I should. I still meant it, though.”

“That’s… encouraging,” he huffs. “At least one person is.”

“I’m sure he does, too.”

“It’s ironic that people like Mr. Ri think that my father and I are so alike, yet we don’t see eye to eye most of the time.”

“It’s because you are alike. You both think you’re right all the time,” you joke, teetering on the edge and sighing in relief when he laughs, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard.

“You make a good point,” he smiles a tiny bit, something you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him do. “But I’m still adjusting to working directly with him, and in a bigger role, too. We'll probably butt heads a lot.”

“You will. I already know it. In fact, I can already see it,” you laugh again.

It’s a moment you share with him that you didn’t imagine you ever would. He’s being honest about his concerns and you’re giving comfort in the way you know how and neither of you seems to mind.

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help, Ms. Cho,” he says so softly, his eyes turning away from you. “I’m gonna need your assistance. Not just in seeing the Arts Center through but in everything - navigating this role, dealing with my father, dealing with people. I… I know what I’m good at. So I don’t really focus on the things I don’t do well in but this position forces me to confront those and I… I’ll need help.”

For someone who doesn’t seem to like being vulnerable in front of others, seeing this side of Jungkook makes you sympathetic. The soft tone of his voice, the lack of eye contact, the crossed arms… they’re familiar because it’s how you are, and you know it’s difficult to be this honest with another person, especially when it’s about what you need.

More than wanting to help him because it’s your job, you find yourself wanting to see him succeed, too, to see him manage it all. That way, when you do eventually leave the company and search whatever it is you’re looking for, you can rest easy knowing that he’ll be okay, that the team will be okay, that the Arts Center will be all that he imagined it to be.

“I’m here, Mr. Jeon,” you assure him. “I’ll do my best to provide you with the assistance you need.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say those words with such sincerity to you, too.

You bow in acknowledgement and head out, leaving Jungkook in a haze, as he realizes that in your presence, he’d done what he's been trying to avoid ever since you walked in his life - be honest. He’d told you his concerns, his needs, and it seems that his honesty is something you appreciated as well. There was that acceptance that he wouldn’t have expected from you, not because you aren’t the type to give it but because he hasn’t given you a reason to. But you gave it regardless; you let him feel that it was okay.

It’s another half hour before he’s packing up to head home. It’s been a tiring week and he just wants to have a long bath, watch sports, and drink a cold beer over grilled meat. He’ll probably get some work done but maybe he’ll drive to some resort out of town, have a good workout, get in a sauna, and have a massage. He’ll have a nice meal with his friends and then go to a club. Or maybe he’ll just stay in. There’s something about being honest that makes him want to keep to himself for a while. He’ll start with that tonight, as he turns down Taehyung’s invite to another one of his client’s party.

Jungkook walks out and sees your desk empty, but he does hear your voice coming from the management support team’s room, telling them about your weekend plans as well.

“I’m going to the film festival in Incheon,” you say. “And probably just stay at a hostel.”

“Are you going by yourself?” Do-hyun asks.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply.

Hajoon was supposed to go with you. He invited himself, actually, and you should’ve read into the fact that he’d wanted to experience your interests with you. You hadn’t minded, and that’s clearly out of the picture now.

“I usually go to them by myself,” you add.

“Well, if you decide you want to invite one of us or hang out, you can always let us know,” Chin-sun teases, knowing you probably won’t.

“Let’s wait until we’re not too tired and busy, okay?” You chuckle. “That way, we can afford to do whatever we want on the weekends.”

“Yup, that’ll probably never happen,” Do-hyun pouts. “When are we not tired and busy? It’s probably worse this time because we don’t get to laugh and joke around like we used to. Are we even getting a holiday? Will we have an out-of-town team building? Or dinners and karaoke like how Mr. Jung used to treat us to?”

“The team-building is budgeted so yes, we’ll have it,” you tell them. “And dinners? I can maybe suggest that to Mr. Jeon. And come on, no one’s stopping you from laughing or joking around. You can still do all that.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I’m not allowed to because it might seem like I’m not serious about my job because our boss is too serious and it doesn’t seem right,” Do-hyun whines.

And for the first time, you feel genuinely bad for how they think about Jungkook. You don’t blame them though, but the man you saw earlier who broke into a small smile is definitely capable of laughter; you just don’t know how to elicit it from him again.

“He’s just been under a lot of pressure, but he doesn’t prohibit you from finding joy in anything,” you say. “Just… give him some time, okay? He’ll come around. Let’s just focus on our work and then focus on ourselves when the weekend comes. So all of you, pack up now and go home to your families and your pets. We’ve got a long few weeks ahead.”

Jungkook hears a collective okay then heads out right away, the initial thought of saying goodbye to the team having dissipated. He can’t blame them for voicing out their frustrations over the change in how they’re being managed. Hoseok was loved. He built a competent team whose spirit Jungkook is afraid he’s now breaking. But he’s not like his cousin, and he doesn’t know how to reach out to them in a way that’s genuine. He let the pressure get to him too much early on and while he’s not the type to forge connections with his staff, he’s seeing now how important it is for him as Vice President to do that.

But it’s too much to think about for today. He’ll let this affect him a little bit and then figure things out. Based on what he heard though, he’s not on his own. You were on his side again, even when you thought he wasn’t around. There’s something about the way you stand up to him and stand by him that’s refreshing. There’s honesty there, too, and he’s learning that it’s what he needs.

He makes it to the elevator but then holds the door once he hears rapid footsteps. You mutter your thanks as you enter, and he feels the tension build as you’re together after the exchange earlier. He hasn’t gotten over that yet, so he’s unsure how to talk with you.

It seems like so are you, as you drum your fingers on the strap of your bag and focus on the door while you both wait to make it to the ground floor. Jungkook is tempted to offer you a ride with him but he decides against it. Even then, he slows his steps so he could walk alongside you, as you both head out the main doors.

“Get some rest, Mr. Jeon,” you finally say. “And have a good weekend.”

You look at him with sincerity in your eyes, your smile soft and assuring, something he’s never seen you direct at him before. It’s even different from earlier. There’s more understanding, he thinks. Perhaps there’s care.

“You, too, Ms. Cho,” he replies before entering the car. “Get home safely.”

You bow to him and wave at Mr. Ri before walking down the pathway to the street that leads towards the bus stop.

Jungkook lets himself be comfortable in the seat while he forces the image of your smile out of his head. The sun has set and it’s Seoul at its busiest on another hot Friday evening. There are more cars than usual and so movement is slow, but that’s how he sees you - walking down the sidewalk in the midst of all these people. And there you are, somehow looking at peace. There’s an air of isolation that surrounds you, but you don’t look lonely. Just… alone. There’s still that warmth in your eyes and your smile that he finds himself wanting to see more of.

This is when he realizes he might be in trouble. There’s a line he shouldn’t cross, but there’s this desire to get to know you, to know your thoughts and your feelings and your words. He reminds himself that he needs you, in a way that an authority figure needs support and assistance. He needs you to be focused and capable, and he needs to be the same.

With his attraction that he can’t get over, he knows that the only way to make sure that he keeps things professional is to keep his distance - not just physically, but more so emotionally. You’ll definitely be spending more time together and he needs to constantly remind himself of who you are and who he is. That much as he feels safe and honest with you, he can’t go any further; he can’t let you get any closer. He doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but that’s one other thing he’ll figure out.

Series Masterlist

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

Series Taglist: @xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junniesoleilkth @junecat18 @peachytokki @baechugff @coralmusicblaze @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows

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

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countingdots-tc · 1 year ago

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TEACHER/STUDENT BOOK RECS

*if you want me to add a forbidden romance list, let me know*

𓃠 This is a list with hyperlinks to books that have teacher/student, age gap, and experienced/less experienced themes that I have read! These are in order from most recommended to least recommended based on my opinion.

𓃠 This will be updated as I read more! Think something should be added to the list? then let me know!

𓃠 Happy reading!

⭐️= highly recommend/changed my life

😇= no smut

🌶️=contains smut

💦=read to really get your rocks off

highlighted=warning

PROFESSOR/COACH BOOK LIST

The Unrequited by Saffron A. Kent-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent & mental health themes

Cute little poet embarrassingly falls for her grumpy professor. Beautiful slow burn and perfectly describes what it feels like to want someone and not feel enough for them. She is such a realistic female lead and reminds me a lot of y’all 😂. This is THE teacher crush community book. If you don’t read anything, read this!!

The Professor by Invi Wright-⭐️🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Cute romance by young, new, and self published author. Very relatable female lead. If you enjoyed The Unrequited, you will like this book for all of the same reasons. Quick and easy read, only 240. She isn’t perfect, she’s clumsy, and I wouldn’t even say she’s socially awkward, she’s just a normal college student in her early 20s. She’s a fun narrator. This author has a lot of potential and her writing will only get better.

Gabriel’s Inferno by Slyvain Reynard-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent

Such a good dark academia book. Beautifully written and actually has a movie adaptation. I would definitely recommend this if you want a realistic couple but a bit more serious. Characters have so much depth

Off Balance Series by Lucia Franco- 💦

CoachxStudent

Warning: female lead is age of consent NOT legal age.

If you want something really forbidden and fucked up, read this. If you want the MOST insane sex scenes, read this (MINORS STOP). I really don’t even want to add this series to this list but for the girls who wanna go there, have fun. I started this when I was still in high school, read the 3rd one as an adult, it’s not as easy to read now. Take that info as you please. With that being said, it’s one of the best writing and plots I’ve ever read. Lucia Franco’s other work is 😍

The Professor by Skye Warren-🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Also an ex-boyfriend’s dad book! This book was amazing! Read it in a day and immediately pre ordered the second. The plot twist in this book made me throw my phone! Narrator/FMC is a bit less relatable for me. Has a secret society plot! Potentially brooding Professor

The 4th Degree by Nikki Castle- 💦

MMA CoachxStudent

Warning: parent death & parent w/ chronic illness

Coach is so broody but has a big heart, he just doesn’t like to show it. FMC has so much depth and is really mature for a 19 y.o. Coach is a quiet character with a dirty mouth. Doesn’t talk much but when he does??? The tension between them is chefs kiss. Not too much a a slow burn. “Will they, won’t they, will they, won’t they” vibes.

Lessons In Sin by Pam Goodwin-🌶️

TeacherxStudent with 18 Y.O female lead

Troubled rich girl gets sent off to a catholic boarding school and falls for the asshole Dean of the school. Smut is pretty good, plot works. I’m not going to say it’s bad, I think whether or not it’s enjoyable depends on the person. It wasn’t bad, I just wasn’t obsessed. If you’re just trying to live vicariously through her (aren’t we all), then it works!

Teach Me by L. L. Ash-🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Really good start, and I do mean GREAT start… I just feel like the sex scene came too soon (Ch. 9/32) and it threw me off but I also like SUPER slow burns. It’s still a good book. I enjoyed the male love interest, Professor Harlo. They’re cute together. Grump and Sunshine.

Waking Olivia by Elizabeth O’Roark

CoachxCollege Athlete & mental health themes

Great concept! Rare that you see two moody & broody MCs… not my favorite execution of it. It’s not so bad that i think it’s objectively bad. I could see where someone else likes it. But I don’t. Why are they grumpily ogling each others bodies by the 3rd chapter? If you just need ur fix, it works. Has potential

Dark Notes by Pam Goodwin-

TeacherxStudent & themes of abuse

Probably DNF-ing

AGE GAP BOOK LIST

Something In The Way Series by Jessica Hawkins-⭐️😇

Sister’s Boyfriend/Husband & “I saw him first”

Most beautiful romance series I’ve ever read, best written books by Jessica Hawkins. I recommend all of her other books. Lake is 16 when she first meets Manning but nothing sexual happens between them for another 3 books until she’s in her 20s. Beautiful slow burn with characters full of depth.

Sinner by Sierra Simone- ⭐️💦

Brother’s Best Friend & religious themes

Amazing character creation and mapping. These characters feel real! This book is about “teaching” a girl about sex before she becomes a nun. It’s not just a bang bang, hump hump book. It has heart and it really good. If you enjoy religious themed romance, you may enjoy Priest by Sierra Simone too. I didn’t 💀

Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas- 💦

Ex’s Dad

Most popular forbidden romance so whatever you’ve heard about it, dump it. This might be the most tame book on this list. Pacing is good, well written main character. Insane amounts of smut but it doesn’t drive the story forward so feel free to skip it if you get tired.

Love Unexpected by Q. B. Tyler- 💦

Ex Stepdad & parent death

This book is HOT! However after the first few scenes, I got a bit tired of the smut. Well written enough female lead with a rushed ending. However if you just need something to read and not despise it, it’s good enough.

Strictly Off Limits by Jessica Hawkins-🌶️

Dad’s Best Friend

Jessica is my favorite author so I’m a bit biased but she definitely isn’t a smut writer. This novella would’ve been better without smut however it isn’t super present and doesn’t really drive the story forward so don’t feel like you’re missing anything if you skip the smut!

The Doctor by Nikki Sloane- 💦

Ex’s Dad

personally didn’t care for this book, smut starts off way too quick and I’m more of a slow burn girl. It is a novella yet, it was still too quick. However! You may love it <3

𓃠 If I’m not reading fast enough for you and you want to see what I will be reading in the future here is my Amazon TBR, have at it!

𓃠 If you want to see a more organized bookshelf of what I’ve read, here is my Goodreads!

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glossdebut · 2 months ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 02

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: aqua uses her journalism degree to write a fake article, lots of yoongi pov, MC lore drop, extremely brief descriptions of sexual acts, some questions are answered but not many, sope cameo! also seokjin cameo! do you detect a hint of hyyh yoonkook-ism? because you should! EVENTS TRANSPIRE! (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 5.2k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: damn i always drop early don't i? here's a pre-holiday gift for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading SO FUCKING FAST LOL <3

p.s. from here on out updates are going to be much slower. we’re getting to the Real Plot now and i have to use my brain a little bit more. plus i want to make time to write other, shorter things! so be sure to check out my other fics if waiting for this becomes unbearable lol

CH. 02: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

Love in the Spotlight: Is "Burn The Stage" Singer Falling for a Scandal Magnet?

It’s the love story that’s rocking Seoul—and leaving fans divided. Jeon Jeongguk, the smooth-talking, chart-topping frontman of “Burn The Stage,” has been the subject of intense speculation after rumors surfaced that he’s been secretly seeing one of South Korea’s most talked about models, YLN YN. And while Jeongguk’s millions of fans would do anything to claim him as their own, it’s YN’s wild reputation that’s making this relationship one to watch.

The dating rumors of the two surfaced online when YN was seen on the balcony at Wasteland during the final show of the Burn The Stage’s world tour. Eyewitnesses claim that after the show, the two were spotted backstage together, sharing a private moment.

While Jeongguk’s image has been polished and pristine despite his rock star persona, YN’s name is frequently linked with controversy. From a string of public feuds with fellow influencers to rumors of reckless behavior, she has garnered a reputation for attracting scandal wherever she goes—a trait at odds with what fans have seen from Jeongguk. So what could possibly draw the two together?

Some fans are already sounding the alarm, warning Jeongguk that dating someone like YN could tarnish his squeaky-clean image.

“I don’t know why Jeongguk would choose her,” one concerned fan commented on Instagram. “She’s trouble, and he’s too good for her. His image will be ruined if this is true.”

Despite the criticism, others are rallying behind the couple, suggesting that Jeongguk may be the one to help YN change her ways. “Everyone has a past,” one fan posted on X (formerly known as Twitter). “Maybe Jeongguk sees something in her that no one else does. People can grow and evolve.”

While neither Jeongguk or YN’s companies have released an official statement on the matter, YN hasn’t been shy about fueling the rumors. In a recent post on her Instagram, she shared a photo of herself wearing a Burn The Stage hoodie, captioning it, “i guess i’ve got good taste 👀” which has sent fans into overdrive speculating that she’s sending a not-so-subtle message about her relationship with Jeongguk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi groans to himself. He can’t read any more of this drivel. The wooden table in front of him suddenly looks all too inviting, perfect for him to bash his skull into.

You’re everywhere, completely inescapable for the past week. Apparently, Yoongi’s bi-weekly breakfast with Hoseok is no exception. The first one they’ve been able to have since the tour, too. God forbid he wants to mindlessly scroll on his phone for a second while he waits for his friend to return, because there you are, taunting him.

After the concert, Yoongi had been so annoyed by seeing you again. Pissed off at the circumstances. Ready to do anything in his power to extricate you from Jeongguk as fast as possible.

The past week has dulled his rage considerably. The endorphins of playing live have died, as have the potent emotions that come with them. Yoongi’s logical adult brain has set in, leaving him with only a headache.

“Woah,” Hoseok says, snorting as he slides a coffee into Yoongi’s field of vision. He slips into the booth across from him, taking a sip from his own cup with an amused look on his face. “You look much more homicidal than I left you. What could’ve possibly pissed you off in the last five minutes?”

Wordlessly, Yoongi hands Hoseok his phone, the article still displayed on the screen. Hoseok silently reads the first few paragraphs, and when he scrolls back up to look at the photo attached, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh?” he says, zooming in on your face. On Yoongi’s phone. The audacity. “This is the Innisfree girl, right? She’s dating Jeongguk?”

“Allegedly.”

“Is her skin really that nice in person?”

“Not the point,” Yoongi hisses, snatching his phone back from Hoseok’s grip and hastily closing the article to get your dumb face off of his phone. Dumb, poreless face.

“Okay, touchy,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in surrender. “Please explain the point.”

“I don’t trust her,” Yoongi says, tapping his foot under the table. “The relationship is bogus. She’s after something, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Right. Because your intuition is never wrong,” Hoseok says, tone laden with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you weren’t the biggest fan of me when we met?”

“I thought you were annoying,” Yoongi agrees. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask a smirk. “Who says I was wrong about that?”

“I’d probably be hurt if you hadn’t essentially bought us couple rings last year,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Aish, they weren’t couple rings,” Yoongi complains. “Stop saying that. The wrong person is going to hear you and think it’s true.”

“Your ears are pink!” Hoseok exclaims triumphantly, pointing at the evidence. “Your mouth says one thing, but your ears always give you away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi grumbles, pulling his beanie down. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Right, right. Sorry, hyung, you’re just so easy to tease,” Hoseok says, not even bothering to stifle his snickering. The bastard. “Jeonggukie’s new lady love. Go. Wait, do you want to fuck her?”

“What?” Yoongi sputters, eyes widening because what the fuck? “No—what? Look, it’s not just intuition, okay? I’m right about her. And you saw what the article said—drama follows her wherever she goes. Maybe she thinks dating Jeongguk will rehabilitate her image, or something like that.”

Yoongi had been so confident that wasn’t the case, since you’ve maintained all of your brand deals even in the midst of your many scandals, but maybe he was wrong. He still doesn’t know why you’re doing this, and it’s like the closer he gets, the less he can see.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “She’s also just a bitch.”

“Okay,” Hoseok concedes, crossing his arms. “If you say so. She’s a bitch who you don’t want to fuck. What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I have that dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking of talking to Jeongguk after or something.”

“And telling him that his girlfriend is the devil? I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jeongguk is a stubborn kid, but he knows I wouldn’t ruin something good for him. If I word it right, maybe he’ll listen.”

“You’re not wrong. For whatever reason, Jeongguk trusts your judgement.”

Yoongi glares at him. “Go fuck yourself, Hob-ah.”

“Whatever, hyung,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s talk about something else, please. I haven’t seen you in months.”

Yoongi relents easily. He doesn’t really want to be talking about you either, not when it feels like an ice pick is being jammed into his temple.

He’ll just have to figure out what to say to Jeongguk later.

★ ★ ★

“Wow,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of jjapaguri. “He really hates you, huh?”

He’s fresh out of a long shift at the hospital, but he still headed straight to your apartment at the promise of food and celebrity gossip—his two biggest weaknesses, especially when the food doesn’t have to be made by him and the celebrity is you.

“Seems like it,” you sigh, using your chopsticks to push your noodles around aimlessly. “Normally I wouldn’t care, you know? Like, get in line, asshole.”

“But you care.”

“But I care.”

“Because of Jeongguk,” Seokjin says knowingly.

You drop your chopsticks and groan, stifling the sound by covering your face with your hands.

“Yes,” you concede. “But not because of that. I just want to help him, you know? He got me through a really rough spot last year. I’d feel like shit if I agreed to do this for him and then it ended up blowing up in our faces because of me.”

“Mmm,” Seokjin hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m sure the fact that you’re in love with him is a big motivator, though.”

You pick up your head, glaring at him. “Love is a big word, Jin.”

A very big word, you think, picking up your glass of wine to take a long gulp. God help you.

“A fitting one, too!” he says gleefully. “Come oooon. No judgement here. He’s hot. Not as hot as me, of course, but I have to give credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, you’re a god among men,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t love Jeongguk. Not like that, at least. Do I need to remind you of the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah, the secret girlfriend,” Seokjin says, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re spending a lot of time with him, is all I’m saying. The tides may turn in your favor.”

Wow, and you thought you were delusional.

“Fat chance,” you deadpan, polishing off your wine. “Especially if Yoongi is as persistent as he’s making himself out to be.”

“What’s his beef with you, anyway?” Seokjin asks, snorting to himself as he picks up a piece of steak with his chopsticks. Hilarious. “I feel like he’s going a little far for it to just be protectiveness, you know?”

Right. When you’d given Seokjin the rundown via text, you’d left one pretty substantial piece of information out.

“He said, um,” you start, picking at one of your nails nervously—a habit that Hyerin would smack you on the back of the head for, if she were here. “He said that he knows… more than I think.”

Just like that, all of the humor drains from Seokjin’s expression. “Meaning…?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wobbling just a bit. “I don’t know, but if it does mean that… It makes the idea of rolling over and doing what he says pretty enticing, not gonna lie.”

“Fuck that,” Seokjin says firmly, your eyes widening in response. “If he’s the type of guy to use something like that as blackmail, then he’s a piece of shit. I don’t care if he is trying to protect Jeongguk.”

“He can’t know, though,” you groan, fully resting your head on the cool marble of your kitchen countertop now.

You’ve been wracking your brain for days now, trying to figure out if it’s even possible for Yoongi to know anything. You’re pretty confident the answer is no, but there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure without confirmation from the man himself. And you’d honestly rather die.

“Nobody knows except the people involved and you. You’re the only one who didn’t sign an NDA, and I’m pretty confident you’ve never met Min Yoongi. Not to mention you just wouldn’t—”

“Share that information? Hell no, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin interrupts, scoffing. “Okay, well… Regardless of whether he knows anything, he honestly just sounds like a dick and I think you should kill him.”

You snort, lifting your eyes to look at him from where your head rests on the counter. “Maybe that can be plan B,” you offer.

“Fine, then what’s the plan A?” Seokjin counters, crossing his arms and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at you.

Fantastic question, one you’ve been thinking about the answer to since you abruptly left the afterparty that night. It’s not like you can tell Jeongguk what’s going on and risk having to tell him the whole truth. You trust Jeongguk, but…

No, it’s not an option. You don’t want anyone else to know. So, if Yoongi’s going to insist on being a problem for you, you might as well return the favor. It’s only fair.

You grin, lifting your head and leaning closer to Seokjin.

“I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi hasn’t touched a cigarette since he was twenty one years old.

He picked up the nasty habit at sixteen, when one of his friends doled out African Ice Jacks amongst the group, bragging that his hyung had bought the pack for him. As soon as the lighter was flicked on and the bittersweet taste of bubblegum and tobacco filled Yoongi’s lungs, he was hooked.

It was stupidly easy to get his hands on cigarettes before he was of legal age, even when his friend’s hyung couldn’t supply them for whatever reason. All of the adults around him smoked, including his parents.

It felt as though cigarettes were an extension of his hand, felt wrong when he didn’t have the option to light one up. During school hours, Yoongi’s fingers would twitch on his desk as he waited for his last class to end.

He was a fucking anxious, wound-up kid. Smoking was the only thing that helped, sometimes. If he had a shit day, at least he could have a cigarette.

When the band got signed, though, things changed. Despite the fact that the majority of the population in Korea smoked, celebrities were vilified for it in the media. For whatever fucking reason. Yoongi didn’t care much what the media had to say about him, but he reasoned that it would be pretty stupid to let his dream die over Ice Jacks. So he quit.

It was hard at first, but it’s been five years now. After so much time, it’s rare that cigarettes even cross his mind, even when others smoke around him.

Sitting across the table from you now, though, Yoongi’s fingers twitch just like they had when he was in grade school staring at a clock.

He and the band started frequenting Yoojung Sikdang long before there was any real hope for fame. It was their chosen spot after every practice. The ajumma who owns it knows their names, remembers their orders by heart. Over the years, the only part of the restaurant that’s changed is their autographed photos on the wall. They’ve celebrated every single milestone here, big or small, just the five of them. Alone.

Wrapping up their first world tour should be no different. It’s their biggest milestone yet, and all Yoongi wanted was to eat ssambap with his best friends. Remind himself that none of the fame matters as long as they still have this.

But here you are. Of course. Encroaching on everything Yoongi’s built, everything he holds dear to his heart.

The only time it’s ever been more than the five of them here was the night they signed their contract, accompanied by two label executives. Even if you’re allegedly riding Jeongguk’s dick, no way are you that fucking important.

Yoongi would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed off. You are such a fucking pest. He just can’t shake you off.

“You don’t like what you ordered?” Jimin asks you, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts.

Yoongi’s made an effort to keep to himself for the majority of the dinner. No use in ruining everyone else’s night—it’s still a special one, after all. Besides, he’s still trying to be an adult about things. You may have ruined his plan to talk to Jeongguk tonight, but it’s not like he’s going to cause a scene in front of a restaurant full of people—

“Oh, I’m just not very hungry,” you say. Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

All you’ve been doing all night is burrowing into Jeongguk’s side, barely touching your food. Lipgloss still perfectly in place. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t care—he’s not paying for it. He wastes food on the label’s dime all the time. At Yoojung Sikdang, though?

“Why did you come, then?”

The words come out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop them, sharp and pointed. He’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut, eat his food, and then go home. Maybe buy a pack on the way. But now they’re out there, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to care. Certainly not to feel bad.

For the first time since you’d walked in on Jeongguk’s arm, you make eye contact with him. On purpose this time—challenging. Yoongi’s not a little bitch, so he stares back.

“Because Jeonggukie invited me,” you say, faux sweetness dripping from your words as you lean your head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Eyes still fixed on Yoongi. “I figured it would be okay, since you all gave me such a warm welcome last time.”

Yeah. Yoongi’s buying that pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always welcome to come out with us,” Taehyung coos, like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Knowing Taehyung, he probably does.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on that front, too, except Yoongi who rolls his eyes as he shoves a ssam into his mouth. Whatever.

“It’s gonna be hell getting you out of here, though,” Namjoon adds from Yoongi’s left. He leans over to glance at the crowd of people peering through the front of the restaurant, cameras at the ready, desperate to get a glimpse of you and Jeongguk. Not that you’re making it particularly hard.

“We’ve never had a crowd like that out there,” Jimin says, in awe. “I’m not surprised, though. Those articles about you two have been getting tons of clicks.”

“Ah,” you say. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d think you sound almost sheepish. “That, um. That might be my fault. I told my manager I was coming here. She must’ve tipped someone off.”

Of course.

“Anything for a photo-op, right?” Yoongi sneers, unable to help himself. It’s such an easy shot, after all. You’re being so transparent.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as if he’s appalled.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, tilting your head at him. That little flash of a challenge is still in your eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t like it one bit. “Do you have a problem with me being here?”

Yoongi scoffs, sitting up. When he speaks, it’s laced with bitterness. “We just don’t normally come here with guests, that’s all. I guess I didn’t get the memo that that’d suddenly changed.”

“I invited her, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “She’s my girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around you protectively and, fuck, you’re good. You’re so good at making Yoongi look like the asshole.

“I get that, Guk-ah,” Yoongi tries, his voice considerably softer now. “But, come on… Here? And the mob outside, I mean… Do you really think that was just a harmless mistake?”

“What are you implying?” Jeongguk grits out. He’s angry now, that much is clear, and it’s Yoongi’s fault.

You have him trapped. He’s surrounded by landmines, unable to come up with a single response that could possibly defuse them.

“Come on, guys,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi pointedly. “We’re here to celebrate.”

“If Yoongi-ssi is uncomfortable that I’m here, maybe I should go,” you say, making to get up.

Jeongguk reaches for your arm, stopping you. “No,” he says. “Yoongi-hyung, you can either get over it and stay with us, or you can leave. You’re the only one who doesn’t want her here.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi scoffs, looking around at everyone. Is this really happening to him right now? This is his band!

The table is deadly silent. Everyone refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes except you and Jeongguk, who raises a challenging eyebrow at him. It’s immediately apparent to Yoongi that he’s not winning this one. That somehow, he’s ruined the night meant to celebrate him and his friends.

Bitterly, Yoongi laughs. “Fine.”

No one protests when he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, and that stings much more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He catches your eye as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, anger flaring at how pleased you look.

“Have a nice fucking dinner,” Yoongi mutters, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Leaving his friends to face a crowd of photographers and fans that you called.

As he walks out into the cold, dodging the phones being shoved in his face, all he can think about is the way Jeongguk had looked at him.

★ ★ ★

You met Jeon Jeongguk a year ago, give or take a few months. You just remember it was cold.

Less than twenty-four hours after a particularly nasty breakup with a guy you didn’t love but liked enough, you were back on the clock. Zipped into something tight and expensive, wearing the best waterproof mascara money could buy.

You hated those events to begin with—the galas, end of year ceremonies for awards you were no longer viable to win. They were torture for you. But the sting of being freshly single only made things worse, so you had decided to make the most of it.

You may not have been able to win a KMA, but you were well within your rights to treat the KMAs themselves like your own personal dating pool. No better way to rid yourself of your ex like getting with someone new, you thought.

Which is where Jeongguk came in, devastatingly hot in his tailored suit. You’d ran into him on your way from the bathroom—much like you had with Yoongi, now that you think about it—and you instantly found yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring. Jeongguk, as it turned out, was very interested in showing you.

You were both a little drunk, but the attraction was real. Instant.

One very handsy cab ride later, and you were in his apartment, grinding on his lap as you experienced first-hand just how little of an obstacle a lip ring can be if the man who has it knows what he’s doing.

Things were going so well—Jeongguk’s tongue exploring your mouth as you felt his cock stiffening beneath you. But it all came crashing down as soon as his hand slid under your dress.

The fact of the matter was, you’d just been dumped. Regardless of how strongly you did or didn’t feel about your ex, you’d still been dumped and it still hurt. As soon as Jeongguk really touched you, it became all too apparent that you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Luckily, at the slightest bit of hesitance from you, Jeongguk’s hand immediately retreated from under your dress.

He was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. Valiantly ignored his erection and offered to listen instead, which made you laugh. Comforted you even though you hadn’t thought you needed it. Let you sleep in his bed anyway. When you left the next morning, kindly offered to be your friend, because you clearly needed one.

You’ve been friends ever since.

Not in the same way that Seokjin is your friend, of course. Seokjin is your best friend, has been since you were both kids. But Jeongguk just… He gets the industry, in a way that Seokjin never will.

Which brings you to last month.

Last month, when Jeongguk called you nervously in the middle of his tour schedule. Asked you to be his fake girlfriend in guilty, hushed whispers.

You didn’t need to know why. You were always going to say yes.

But Jeongguk explained anyway. He explained that he has a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, who isn’t from your world. That he hasn’t been able to see her nearly as much as he’d like to because he’s terrified of the backlash she could receive from being connected to him romantically.

You read between the lines—you have nothing to lose, at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone online doesn’t have something to say about you, reputable or not.

He explained that in order to maintain the lie, no one in the industry could know the truth, not even Jeongguk’s bandmates. According to him, they wouldn’t understand why he felt the need to go to such lengths. You didn’t completely agree then, but having met Yoongi now, you get it.

His girlfriend knows about you, he’d told you. She knows who you are, knows about that night last year, and that she still agreed to let him ask you this. She doesn’t see you as a threat.

It stung, a little. Of course it did. You and Jeongguk may be friends, but you’ve always felt a hint of something else there. Maybe it was the kindness he’d shown you when you met. Maybe it’s just him. But you never said anything, convinced it was one-sided.

Clearly you were right.

Still, you want to do this for him. You care about him, and just because you can’t maintain a stable relationship doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t deserve a chance at one.

You think, if Yoongi knew, he’d feel the same.

★ ★ ★

Five years down the drain, Yoongi thinks. Ashes his cigarette. Oh well.

Honestly, it’s not even really about you, although Yoongi would love to pretend otherwise. If he pins it all on you, it makes his mission to get rid of you all the more noble. The label breathing down his neck. The impending deadline of an album he doesn’t know if he can write. Dongsaengs that don’t know how to stay out of trouble. If it’s all your fault, it can’t be his.

This—the smoking—was bound to happen, with or without you. You just helped the process along.

He’s perched on his windowsill, puffing his way through cigarette number two, when his phone buzzes next to him.

Namjoon doesn’t call him nearly ever. Yoongi has a way that he likes things done, and Namjoon is probably his only friend that actually respects it. Emails for work. In-person or texts for personal shit. Video calls never. Phone calls only if Yoongi needs to hear it now and there’s no other way.

Yoongi picks up.

“Joon-ah?” Cautious. He likes phone calls the least because phone calls mean trouble, like someone is in the hospital. He’s gotten that call before, more than once.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “Do you have a minute?”

Namjoon wouldn’t be asking that if someone was in the hospital, so Yoongi allows himself to unclench. Just a little. “Yeah, I have a minute.”

He hears rustling on the line, like Namjoon is fidgeting. But Namjoon is always fidgeting, so that could mean nothing.

“I figured, given the events of tonight, that it would be a good call to warn you ahead of time. I would’ve come by your apartment, but I’ve got meetings all morning tomorrow and it’s late. I didn’t want to wait until next time I see you though, so…” Namjoon starts, trailing off.

Yoongi works his jaw. “Spit it out, Joon-ah,” he says, because Namjoon is shit at delivering bad news. He’s always beating around the bush, trying to soften the blow. It’s great for the kids, but it makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to have to bury his first-born or some shit. Yoongi likes clear, direct.

Namjoon knows this, so he always gets it right on the second try.

“YN is going to the Jeju house with you guys,” Namjoon says. Clear and direct, but the absolute last thing Yoongi wants to hear right now.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She has literally no fucking reason to be there, Joon-ah,” Yoongi grits out. The cigarette secured between his index and middle knuckles has burned down to nothing, singes his fingers. He hisses and flicks it out the window. “Is she going to help us write an album? Is that it?”

“Hyung—“

“No, she isn’t. She’s going to distract my lead singer the whole time and make the whole point of the trip fucking impossible,” he interrupts, because once he gets started he can’t stop. “Who signed off on this? Doesn’t she have a job? Isn’t there a goddamn camera that needs to be smoldered at?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s using his manager voice, and Yoongi shuts up instantly.

Namjoon uses this voice on the kids all the time. Realistically, it’s not a big deal. It’s his job. But he’s never had to use it on Yoongi before.

He deserves it, though. Yoongi knows that. He knows that he’s been insufferable ever since you showed up, and he doesn’t like it either. He’d wanted to talk to Jeongguk, to have a heart-to-heart with him about it, but that’s proven impossible given that you’re always around. And Namjoon is their voice of reason.

Yoongi tries again.

“I don’t like her,” he explains, keeping his voice level. “I don’t think she has Jeongguk’s best interests at heart. I’m just trying to look out for him.”

The line stays quiet for a long moment, like Namjoon is taking special care in choosing his next words. It would make Yoongi nervous, but that’s just what Namjoon does.

“Hyung, you need to leave it alone,” he finally says.

What the fuck.

Yoongi could have foreseen plenty of responses from Namjoon. He’s been on the receiving end of Namjoon’s sage advice more than he’s proud of. Yoongi worries a lot, and Namjoon is particularly good at quieting those worries, particularly when they pertain to the kids. And they usually do. But he sure as shit wasn’t expecting to be blown off like that.

“Joon-ah, Jeongguk is gonna—“

“Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him.”

Lose him? Is Yoongi going insane? Is he fucking missing some integral piece of this puzzle that everyone else seems to have?

The notion of losing Jeongguk is completely absurd. How could he lose Jeongguk over something like this? Jeongguk, the college freshman with the huge eyes who followed Yoongi around like a puppy. Jeongguk who sang so softly when Yoongi asked, who beamed with pride when Yoongi told him he had something special. Jeongguk who dropped out alongside Yoongi, took a risk because he trusted his hyung to take care of him.

It was Yoongi and Jeongguk before it was anyone else, and Yoongi has never let Jeongguk down once, won’t allow himself to. This is the thing that’s going to change that?

“What are you even talking about?”

“Just… leave this one alone, Yoongi,” Namjoon sighs. “She’s coming whether you like it or not, and you need to at least pretend to play nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child who’s the cause of his parent’s headache, not by Kim Namjoon. The label dickheads are one thing, but the one person Yoongi has entrusted with everything for the past five years? Before that, even? Fuck that. Namjoon doesn’t talk to him this way, and that’s not about to change because of you.

“Namjoon-ah, if you’re going to blow me off, at least put my cock in your mouth and do it right,” Yoongi spits, hanging up before he can think better of his words.

Fuck.

Yoongi hasn’t bitten Namjoon’s head off like that in a long time. It doesn’t feel good to be back in old patterns like this. Yoongi knows why he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t know what it is about you that makes it so—urgent. Like he’s a wild animal primed to bite. To hurt. Yoongi isn’t that guy.

If what Namjoon said is true, if Jeongguk really is at risk of slipping through Yoongi’s fingers, he has to get his fucking act together. He has to try harder to handle this like an adult.

So, you’re coming to Jeju. Fine. Yoongi can be civil.

Even if the only way for him to be civil is not to speak to you at all.

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whimsyfinny · 5 months ago

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

——————————————————————

Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

——————————————————————

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

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#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut

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wholoveseggs · 2 months ago

Text

Stains {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} One spilled coffee, one ruined suit, and one infuriating man you can’t seem to avoid...

♡♡ Uh oh I wrote another series! Inspired by the many requests I get for another enemies to lovers fic ~ This is essentially a highly caffeinated version of Misbehavior ~xoxo ♡♡

3.7k words - Warnings: slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, eventual smut (duh), Elijah being Elijah about his suits, reader with a sharp tongue and a penchant for swearing, so so so much antagonistic banter, class dynamics, Elijah being a control freak (it’s his kink) && the tragic loss of a cappuccino...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

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It was one of those mornings where everything felt hazy, like your body was running on autopilot while your brain lagged behind. You were going through the motions, getting ready for work, but it all felt distant.

Finally, as you stood in line at the local café, you began to wake up fully. Glancing at your phone, you checked the time. You were cutting it close, but if you hurried, you could still make it.

When it was your turn, you stepped up to the counter and ordered your usual. While waiting, you observed the morning rush: people in business suits, jeans, or workout gear shuffled in and out, the chaos oddly comforting. You tried to keep your irritation in check as a few impatient customers jostled their way ahead of you.

At last, you grabbed your cappuccino and headed out the door, your eyes flicking to the clock on your phone again. Damn, you were going to be late.

You picked up your pace, speed-walking down the sidewalk. Cursing under your breath, you glanced back down at your phone… just as you collided with someone.

Hot liquid splashed everywhere, soaking through your shirt and bra. You hissed in pain, looking up to find the man you'd crashed into. His suit jacket and dress shirt were also drenched in coffee.

He glared at you, his dark eyes murderous. He didn't say a word as he yanked off his jacket and attempted to blot at the stain, which only seemed to spread.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, fumbling to pull out your wallet. “Here, let me pay for your dry cleaning. I’m really sorry.”

You went to pull out some cash, but he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Dry cleaning? No. You will pay for a replacement," he said with cold disdain.

His attitude pissed you off. He was just as much at fault as you were, yet he had this entitled, pretentious air about him that made your blood boil.

“It’s just coffee. It’ll come out with the right cleaner,” you said, trying to keep the bite out of your voice.

“It’s a custom-tailored vintage Italian wool suit. Do you have any idea how much it costs?” he asked, his jaw ticking as he glared at you.

“Well, maybe you should pay more attention to where you’re walking if you’re going to parade around in such expensive clothes,” you snapped, your temper slipping.

“Are you seriously standing there, telling me this is my fault?” he asked, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

“Yup. Because it is,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you met his icy gaze. “I’m not about to buy you a thousand-dollar suit when dry cleaning can fix it.”

“A thousand?” he repeated, laughing, and to your surprise, the sound was annoyingly pleasant. “This is a Brioni, not some off-the-rack garbage from Nordstrom. And I expect full payment. Interest included.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you snapped, throwing up your hands in frustration. Turning on your heel, you stomped away, your blood still boiling.

You had no idea what a Brioni was, and frankly, you didn’t care. He wasn’t going to bully you into paying for a ridiculously overpriced suit. You couldn’t even afford the cheap ones. And besides, what was he going to do? He didn’t even know who you were.

You didn’t hear his footsteps behind you, but suddenly, he was in front of you, blocking your path.

“I’m not done talking to you,” he said, his tone cutting through the air like ice.

“Yeah, well, I’m done talking to you. Get the hell out of my way,” you snapped, trying to sidestep him.

His hand shot out, grabbing your arm and holding you in place. You were about to slap him when his free hand darted into your pocket, pulling out your wallet.

“Hey! What the fuck?” you yelled, trying to snatch it back.

Ignoring you, he opened it and rifled through your cards and cash with infuriating calmness. He pulled out your driver’s license, glancing at it, and you could have sworn he smirked.

“So, Miss L/N, I’ll be in touch. And perhaps you should pay attention to where you’re walking. You never know who you might bump into,” he said, his voice full of smug amusement as he slipped your wallet back into your pocket.

Before you could respond, he turned and strode off down the street, leaving you standing there, fuming.

You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the screen, willing yourself not to think about the events from earlier. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept circling back. You couldn’t believe his fucking audacity.

The way he’d just grabbed your wallet out of your pocket… like it was nothing, and then had the nerve to smirk at you. The memory made your blood boil all over again. You were livid.

It was obvious he was wealthy, the kind of man who was used to getting whatever he wanted. But you weren’t about to be bullied by some rich asshole. You couldn't stand people like him, entitled, out of touch assholes.

But… lord, was he hot.

Your thoughts betrayed you, conjuring up his sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and those dark brown eyes that seemed to smolder even when he was furious. He exuded danger. The kind that drew you in, whether you wanted it to or not.

For a moment, your mind wandered, imagining what it would feel like to run your hands through his hair, tugging at it as he…

No. No.

You shook your head, physically trying to jolt yourself back to reality. You weren’t about to let your thoughts go there. He didn’t deserve a second more of your time.

After work, you were exhausted, and all you wanted was to curl up on the couch and watch something mindless. As you walked down the hall to your apartment, the sight of an envelope sticking out of the door made you frown.

You approached it slowly, pulling it from the door and turning it over.

The handwriting on the front was neat and tidy. The letter itself was a single piece of paper, folded in half. Your name was scrawled on the front.

Hesitating, you unlocked the door and walked into your apartment. It was small, barely enough space for you, but it was the only place you could afford.

Closing the door behind you, you opened the letter.

Miss L/N, I trust you found this note where I left it. Please see the enclosed invoice for the cost of replacing my suit. If I do not receive a response within five business days, I will have no choice but to involve my lawyers. Sincerely, Elijah Mikaelson

There was a paper inside, folded in half. Pulling it out, you found the bill:

Invoice: Total cost of suit and emotional damages: $20,325.00

What the fuck?

The number at the bottom made you want to vomit. How the fuck could a suit cost that much?

There was no way in hell you could come up with that kind of money. If he tried to sue you there was no way you would be able to pay it.

Fuck. Fuck.

You stared down at the invoice, panic starting to build. His phone number was listed at the top, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you dialed the number, your heart hammering in your chest.

After two rings, a deep, infuriatingly familiar voice answered.

"Miss L/N, I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten my note," he said, sounding amused.

"You can't be serious. That suit cannot cost that much," you snapped, trying and failing to keep the fear out of your voice.

"As a matter of fact, it can. You should feel lucky I'm not asking for more, considering the insult to my character. Or do I need to remind you of how you behaved?" he asked, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"How much emotional damage could a spilled cup of coffee possibly cause?" you scoffed, unable to stop yourself. "I'm not paying that. No way."

"Well, unfortunately, the suit is ruined. My dry cleaner tried his best, but it was simply too late," he said, his words clipped and precise. "Now, we can settle this between us. Or I can call my lawyer, and the two of us can hash out a deal in court."

"What the hell do you want from me?" you asked, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice. "You think I have a couple grand lying around? I can't even afford my rent, much less a suit that's worth more than I'll make in the next year!"

"Then I suggest you get a better job," he replied, his tone dismissive. "I have no interest in playing games with you. Either pay what you owe, or face the consequences."

"Go fuck yourself," you hissed, hanging up and slamming the phone down on the table.

He couldn't be serious. There was no way. He was a sadist, clearly. Just an entitled, privileged prick, and you had no doubt he would go through with his threat.

Your phone started to ring, and you glared at it, tempted to ignore it. But you knew that would only make things worse.

With a sigh, you picked up the phone, answering it and pressing it to your ear. "What?"

"Well, that was rude," he said, his voice cold.

"Yeah, well, so is threatening me," you shot back.

"You're being unreasonable," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. "We can settle this like adults. If you can't afford the suit, perhaps there's another way we can work out our differences."

"If you're trying to blackmail me into having sex with you, fuck off. I'm not a hooker," you snapped.

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver, even as it enraged you. "Hardly darling, I don't pay for sex,"

"Then what the fuck do you want?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"An apology," he said, and there was something dangerous in his voice, a hint of a threat.

"Fine," you said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Now, leave me the hell alone."

"No, I want an apology in person, perhaps over dinner. After all, we never had a chance to get properly acquainted," he said, his voice smooth.

"That wasn't part of the deal," you hissed. "You said an apology, not a date."

"Are you trying to negotiate terms with me?" he asked, his tone amused. "Because I'm not sure that's wise. After all, if we go to court, I'll win. I have excellent lawyers."

"Are you seriously going to sue me over a stupid suit?" you asked, the anger in your voice fading, replaced by fear.

"That depends. Are you going to refuse my request?" he asked, his voice soft, yet firm.

You hesitated, weighing your options. On one hand, you could try to stand up to him. But there was no doubt in your mind that you would lose a court battle… you did damage his suit after all.

"Fine," you said, the word leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Excellent. I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven," he said, sounding satisfied.

Before you could respond, the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, furious. This wasn’t an apology; it was a trap. But what choice did you have? You’d give him his stupid apology…and then, hopefully, you’d never have to see him again.

At first you decided you were just going to wear a sweatshirt and leggings. Let him deal with it. You weren’t about to put the effort in. But a small voice inside told you that it would only make things worse. Besides, if there was any chance this would be the last time you had to see him, maybe you should look good. Show him that you weren't some charity case.

With a sigh, you put on the nicest dress you had, a simple black shift. You spent some time doing your hair and makeup, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, you felt a flicker of pride.

You could do this.

As you finished getting ready, you wondered if he was going to show up in another ridiculously expensive suit. Probably. It seemed like his entire identity was tied up in his clothing. A small, diabolical part of you considered ruining another one of his suits, just to spite him. But you dismissed the idea. It wasn't worth the cost.

Just as you finished slipping on your heels, the buzzer rang. Grabbing your purse, you headed down the stairs, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the front door.

There, waiting for you, was Elijah, looking infuriatingly handsome. He wasn't dressed in a suit this time, in fact what he was wearing was much less formal, and a lot sexier. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a dark blue shirt, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Was he aware of how ridiculously hot he was? Of course he knew... A man with all that wealth and confidence wouldn't have a doubt in his mind that women would fall at his feet.

"Hello, darling," he said, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he gazed down at you. "You look lovely."

"Don't," you said, holding up a finger and glaring at him. "I'm not your 'darling' and you don't get to call me that."

He chuckled, the sound making your skin prickle with heat. "Very well, shall we?"

He offered you his arm, and against your better judgement, you took it, allowing him to lead you to his car. You were surprised when he opened the passenger side door for you, but didn't comment, sliding into the seat.

"I expected you to be wearing another suit," you commented, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. "After all, they're such a large part of your personality."

He looked over at you, his gaze moving down your body, taking in the curves of your breasts and hips, lingering on your legs.

"And I wasn't expecting a dress, but here we are," he said, his eyes meeting yours, the challenge in them clear.

"You're insufferable," you muttered, turning to look out the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"I could say the same about you," he replied, his tone amused. "Though, I will admit, I admire your spirit."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" you asked, your brows furrowing.

"Yes, it is," he said, keeping his gaze on the road.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"A little restaurant not far from here," he said, not elaborating further.

You were tempted to ask him more, but you didn't want to seem overly interested. You were still trying to figure out his motives, but you didn't want him to think he was winning.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, and soon, he was pulling into a parking spot. He came around to open the door for you, and you ignored his hand, standing on your own.

You followed him into the restaurant, a quaint, homey place with dim lighting and candles on the tables. The waiter seated you, handing each of you a menu and taking your drink orders.

When he walked away, you turned your attention back to Elijah, studying his face in the low light. His features were strong, defined, and there was something oddly compelling about his eyes, the way they seemed to see right through you.

"So, what's your story?" you asked, breaking the silence. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a philanthropist," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I invest in various causes, and also provide grants to those in need."

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Of course you are,"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"You just scream old money, the kind of guy who's never had to work a day in his life, never had to struggle," you said, not bothering to mask the disdain in your voice.

He arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching up into a half-smile. "You're quite judgmental, aren't you?"

"Says the man who's trying to extort money from me," you retorted, your temper flaring.

"Sweetheart, you don't know anything about me or my struggles," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "I think it's best if you keep your opinions to yourself."

You glared at him, your jaw clenching. You wanted to fire back, tell him he was wrong, but a small, logical part of you warned against it.

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "I'm sorry...again."

"Apology accepted," he said, his expression smug.

Before you could respond, the waiter returned with your drinks.

"Are you two ready to order?" he asked, giving you both a polite smile.

"Yes, I'll have the steak," Elijah said, handing the menu back. "And she will have the pasta."

Your eyes narrowed at him. "No, actually, I'd like the salad,"

"Nonsense," he said, dismissing your objection with a wave of his hand. "Trust me, you'll like the pasta better."

The waiter nodded and collected your menus, leaving you alone once again.

"Did I say I wanted pasta?" you asked, irritated by his high-handedness.

"It's delicious, you'll see," he said, ignoring your question.

"So, is this how it's going to be all night? You making decisions for me, and me being pissed about it?" you asked, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of your voice.

He let out a soft chuckle, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Probably, yes."

You shook your head, biting back a scathing retort. Clearly, he enjoyed being an asshole. And you were determined not to give him the satisfaction of provoking you.

He was watching you closely, a smug smile on his lips. "So what do you do for work?"

"I'm a planning coordinator at a nonprofit," you said, your voice tight.

"That's interesting, what is the organization?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"It's an outreach program for the homeless, I manage all the paperwork and the grant applications, that kind of stuff," you said, shrugging.

"How noble," he murmured, his gaze assessing.

You weren't sure if he was being sincere or not, and the comment rubbed you the wrong way.

"It's just a job," you muttered, not wanting to admit that it was something that mattered deeply to you.

"That makes you very little money, apparently," he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, not everyone can be a rich philanthropist," you shot back, your temper flaring.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Fair point."

"Why are you really doing this?" you asked, unable to hold back the question.

"Doing what?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Blackmailing me into going on a date with you," you said, narrowing your eyes.

"You seem to have a lot of misconceptions about me," he said, his tone amused. "For starters, this isn't a date. It's an apology dinner."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. I've already apologized multiple times. Why did you really want to meet me?"

"You intrigue me," he said, his expression unreadable.

You were about to respond when the waiter returned, placing your meals in front of you.

"Here you go, enjoy," the waiter said, giving you a quick smile before heading off to another table.

You stared down at the pasta, it looked absolutely delicious, but you weren't about to admit that. You took a tentative bite, trying to hide your enjoyment, but it was no use. The pasta was amazing.

"Told you," he said, a knowing smile on his face.

"I'm not admitting anything," you muttered, taking another bite.

"Of course not," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

As you ate, you stole glances at him, trying to figure him out. He was a puzzle, that much was certain. But there was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface, a darkness that set your nerves on edge.

You were halfway through the meal when he spoke again.

"So, tell me more about yourself," he said, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

"What do you want to know?" you asked, keeping your voice casual.

"Anything," he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You considered his question for a moment before responding. "I work, I go home, that's pretty much it."

He gave you a look, one that said he wasn't satisfied with your answer. "That's all? There must be more to you than that."

"Nope," you said, popping the 'p' for emphasis.

"I see," he said, his expression giving nothing away.

"What about you? I know you're a rich asshole who is obsessed with their clothing and extorts money from innocent people, but other than that, not much," you said, a hint of a smile on your lips.

"You think you have me all figured out, don't you?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"Pretty much, yeah," you said, shrugging.

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What would you say if I told you that I'm an ancient vampire who runs this city with my equally powerful and ruthless family?"

You couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so you are crazy. Good to know."

He didn't respond, simply staring at you, his expression deadly serious.

You shook your head, finishing the last few bites of your meal. "Come on, really? Vampires? Don't insult my intelligence."

He smirked and shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Fine, don't believe me."

The waiter returned with the check, and before you could object, Elijah paid, adding a generous tip.

"Ready to go?" he asked, standing and offering you his arm.

You wanted to refuse, to insist on paying for yourself, but the rational part of you knew that it would be futile. Besides, maybe he'd finally leave you alone after this.

"Sure," you muttered, taking his arm.

As he led you out of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice how good he smelled, and how firm his muscles were under your hand. You hated yourself for it, but he was undeniably attractive.

"Are you done terrorizing me?" you asked, as you made your way towards the car. “Is my debt to you cleared?”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door and waiting for you to get in before responding. "The debt? Yes. Terrorizing you? Not even close.”

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #elijah mikealson smut

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love-of-the-red-star · 5 months ago

Text

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter five: Discovery Channel (In which you find out you have fans)

Warnings: Idk sort of Hi3 lore spoilers? Void Archives is his own warning

Why the hell did you even bother to think you could fix the absolute red flag that’s the divine key sitting on the chair next to your bed?

The more the Kirschtaria look alike spoke, the more you were convinced he should have been booted off the train. Too bad you couldn’t let your intrusive thoughts win in the meantime— Welt doesn’t know just how worse this guy could get, shared goal be damned.

“Okay so uhh, you were with Welt to fight a bunch of people in the sky right?” You said, trying to go along with whatever the fuck he was saying— it wasn’t like you didn’t know what they were doing beforehand, but it was easier to pretend you didn’t know shit.

“Yes, and we were in luck because Himeko had saved us.” He said, smiling. For a moment you would have been utterly bamboozled but you knew better.

You thanked your new brain that functioned as fast as a supercomputer, because you knew everyone in this train would be dead meat if you were slow.

“I see… that’s good to know she managed to get to you in the nick of time then.” You told him with a light hearted laugh, you swore that the more he looked at you, the more suspicious he became. If you were going to kick this man off the train it would have to be a vote of majority, but since he wasn’t acting up just yet you were going to postpone that meeting.

He was still on your watchlist, though.

Void Archives opened a bottle of expensive looking whiskey and poured it on a cup, and then another, and handed one to you.

“A toast.” He said, but you heard “An offering of friendship”. It was at least good to know he knew he shouldn’t fuck around with you.

You accepted the glass, drank it and grimaced.

“Not a fan I see.” He shook his head as if to mourn your lack of taste in the finer things in life. But what would he know? He’s a cube.

“I don’t like it, but I can drink it.” The taste of the whiskey burned in your throat. “Tastes a little funny though.” You murmured, Void Archives didn’t react much to your statement and continued to drink til he emptied the bottle.

It took him an hour, but at least the empty bottle signified he overstayed his welcome in your room.

“Let us meet again tomorrow morning, I want to speak with you soon.” He told you before he left.

Good grief, what a creep.

———————————

You never did end up speaking to him, instead heading towards Welt Yang, who you want to vaguely warn.

“I know you knew Void longer than you know me,” you began, but you already know Welt was more likely to believe you than the cube. “But keep an eye on him, he gives me a bad feeling.” Plant the seed of doubt, slowly but surely, so that the damage to the express can be minimized.

“I’ll.. keep that in mind.” Welt inhaled, stiffly nodding at your words as you patted him on the back.

“Great! Also, if things come down to it, you have my say in kicking him off this train.” You grinned, waving before disintegrating into particles as you returned to your original body.

Famous last words to be spoken.

Because five years later, on a Christmas Eve of all occasions, shit happened. And Void Archives was booted off the train like the red Amogus on a community vote.

Was it chaotic? Yes. Was it like a court hearing than an actual community vote? Also yes.

You had plenty of evidence presented, including the first instance you invited him to your room— because what do you know, the whiskey he gave you was drugged.

He did plenty of horrible shit, and even Himeko, poor patient Himeko, had enough.

You felt a little bad for Welt though having to deal with the aftermath, needless to say, everyone, except you, needed therapy on that train.

On the upside, someone better did replace the blonde and that was Dan Heng who joined you a few weeks before Void Archives was booted off the express.

“Well,” you blinked. “That was something.” You said out loud as Dan Heng shook his head. “Sorry you had to meet that guy.”

Dan Heng brushed it off, instead focusing on staring at the Christmas dinner that Pompom prepared for everyone and poked the turkey on his plate with a fork, before properly digging in.

It wasn’t exactly an ideal way to start your holidays and welcoming someone in the crew properly in a celebration, but you supposed it’d have to do.

It was at least one less toxic bitch off the train.

——————

You didn’t expect you’d deal with your own information being displayed in the databank though. Dan Heng wasn’t creepy about it at least, not that he knew you were an Aeon— specifically, the Aeon that ate Akivili (you still feel bad about that).

“Libertas, huh.” You let out a snort as you read your own little book. In there, it was written on how you were discovered, and what you stood for, along with a group that eventually became your followers.

You hummed, thinking it was rather endearing to see the Avgin there as some of your believers. It was interesting on how you got a following, no matter how small, in the few decades you existed in this world.

It wasn’t just the Avgin, there were others who you did not know too who believed in you, and others who you did see when you had peered into planets to see what people were up to.

It was sweet in a way, for them to cling to you for belief as they sought true happiness in the way of freeing themselves and others.

You wanted to keep it that way.

You read into the pages more, finding out what kind of worship people dedicated to your path; there was a statue of you in one city in some planet hundreds of light years away, in another planet there was you in a tapestry, in another you had a statue and a painting inside of a massive church akin to the ones you saw in photos of Rome.

It was a little overwhelming, and you felt a little shy at the recent discovery of all of this.

You closed the book and put it back on its shelf, exiting Dan Heng’s room to ask Pompom for tea after helping them with their chores.

—————————

Unbeknownst to you, Dan Heng knew you were an Aeon— and an Aeon he believed in in some way when he had heard of you in the whispers of the guards in the recent years he’s stayed in the Shackling Prison. It wasn’t exactly difficult to piece things together with the context clues around the place, not to mention, Himeko did end up telling him.

You wouldn’t be angry about it, she said to him. You were apparently rather human-like, and kind.

Himeko wasn’t wrong, and Dan Heng was going to trust that judgement. Is he wary? Yes, you’re an Aeon after all, you were plenty big of a deal.

But Pompom didn’t seem to be scared of you, and Welt spoke to you with a sense of respect. You regarded everyone in this train with a certain familiarity— Dan Heng did feel like you were a bit strange due to the feeling of “uncanny valley” you gave him, but you were kind to him and you were welcoming.

He was welcome in this place, he had a place to stay, and a purpose, as meager as it was.

Dan Heng thinks things would be alright from now on.

————————

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI (HERE), Part VII, Part VIII

Yeeeee this took a bit!!! Thanks for the wait yall, I know it’s calm rn, but it’ll get rowdy again at some point I promise.

#aeon reader #himeko x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #welt yang x reader #yaoshi x reader #boothill x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng #dan heng x reader

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chleem · 5 months ago

Text

Flashing lights prologue

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping, (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy/translate my work!

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter 1 | index

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Talk about a scandal.

‘Drew Starkey, rising star from OBX, impregnates girl and refuses to take responsibility.’ ‘Drew Starkey impregnates girl and forces her for an abortion.’ ‘All to know about OBX star that SA a girl.’

Even an interview starring a random girl that claims to be pregnant with Drew’s child.

If Drew knew going to the club a week ago would cause such big damage to his career, he would have never stop foot in there. But being stubborn and a sucker for fun, he just needed the relaxation that clubbing would offer.

His PR manager Henry, who Drew’s only sees once a year, is surprisingly quiet. He sits across Drew, staring at his laptop. His typing makes up for the quiet and tense (at least for Drew) atmosphere in his manager’s office.

“I’m sorry,” Drew starts, genuinely, his eyes shifting between his manager Jeff and Henry. “Look, I don’t know who that woman is. She’s lying, alright? I didn’t even talk to any strangers last night. Just my friends. And I was careful with how much I drank-”

“Calm down, we didn’t accuse you of it,” Jeff chuckles, also surprisingly calm and not scolding Drew. Normally, Jeff would scold Drew so hard that it took Drew back to the days of being coached by his dad. “I’ve worked with you for almost ten years, I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Hold up. Was this a dream? He fucked up real bad, why were his managers so forgiving? So… calm? This felt way too strange. They should be furious right now, thinking of a solution and threatening to kill Drew. So why were they so gentle with this situation?

Drew adjusts his hat, pocking his tongue against his cheek. Without thinking, he simply says, “What?”

Jeff glances at Henry, who nods, looking up from his laptop. Drew furrows his eyebrows at Jeff, who simply looks away as Henry starts. “Fine, Drew. We’re all fucking pissed at your mistake. Do you know how many sponsors have asked to break up your contract? Even after we’ve came up with a clean statement? For fuck’s sake, Drew. You’re fucking thirty now, and you still act like a fucking child!”

Drew licks his lips looking away. Okay, this was the Henry he saw yelling at other artists, and what he expected when he walked into the office this morning. But now that he was yelling at him, it felt horrible still. After all, who likes to be yelled at?

“I’ve had to pull multiple strings to help you, to clear your name up. So you better hope this is your last mistake,” Henry continues.

Drew couldn’t help but ask, “what did you do?”

“We’ve come up with a plan,” Henry says, walking over to the printer. He grabs the paper, taking a quick look before placing it on the table in front of Drew.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow, sensing something really strange.

And he was right. On the top of the paper, it read, “Fake dating Proposal.”

What the fuck. He reads through the first sentence in his head, with widen eyes, “In order to save Drew Starkey’s career, he must conduct a year-long fake relationship with Y/n Y/l/n.”

He falls back in his seat. “You’re not fucking serious. This is the strings you had to pull? This is fucking ridiculous! How is this-“

“Drew!” Jeff yells, making him shut up. His face was slightly red, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Drew, trust us. We wouldn’t cause more harm. This, this will save your career, save you.”

“but out of anyone-“ Drew adjusts his hat once again. “Out of anyone, and you chose her?”

“She’s the best choice of right now, and the only one who even agreed. Drew. You’re not in the place of choosing. You sign, and you accept it. Or it’s the end.”

He couldn’t believe himself right now. Literally. Out of every solution, every person, it had to be you. You, the one person he can’t stand. You, the one person that gets him worked up and annoyed. It was like the end of the world for him.

Worse, his manager seems to agree with this solution. As if he doesn’t know how much Drew despises you. Jeff places the pen next to Drew. “I hate to say this, but Drew, you’re screwed unless you do this. We see the vision, and in a few years, you’ll see it too. Just, just treat this as another acting class, okay?”

Do I have a choice anyways, he thinks. Drew rubs his face in annoyance. Fuck. Damn you and damn himself. Getting into this stupid situation in the first place.

He looks at the contract again. Sees your name again. And his head hurts a thousand times worse than a hangover.

He reads through the contract terms, cringing at it.

‘Must show up at five or more public evens together.’

‘Must show PDA at public events, such as touching, holding hands, kissing etc.’

‘Y/n Y/l/n must talk sweetly about Drew Starkey, and steer away any negative comments.’

‘During the course of this fake-relationship, being seen with any other costar of the opposite sex is forbidden.’

Much more was listed, at least twenty terms were on this contract alone. So this is the real thing.

And at the bottom, Drew sees what was offered. Wow. You get offered millions of dollars, while all Drew receives is a clear to his scandal.

He should at least get half the amount you’re earning, considering that he has to put up with you. “How can she get so much cash?” Drew asks, curiosity killing him.

“Because she’s got nothing to gain from being with you,” Jeff states matter-of-factly, that hurt Drew’s ego more than it should have. He also noticed how much money this was, almost all the money he earned from acting in OBX. Wow. So not only were you a moody bitch, but a greedy one as well.

Drew rubs his eyes aggressively, a frustrated yawn coming out. He so is going to regret this. The worst decision he ever has to make.

You better be the savior to his career, or he was going to kill himself.

Drew signs, pushing the paper away as if it had some kind of disease.

Henry forces a smile, grabbing the paper. Drew gets ready to leave, but Henry stops him. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I- that was enough for me.”

“No, no. You’re going to Y/n’s filming set.”

“What?”

“Yes, you heard me. Her manager gave the green light, so you’re going.”

“Fuck, it’s only like, a minute since I signed.”

“Hey, I’m saving you right now,” Henry says. “Now, you want your sponsors back or not?”

Drew curses under his breath, never wanting to punch a wall as much as right now. “Fine. I'll go. But I can’t promise that I’m hugging or touching her or anything. She’s a complete stranger to me.”

“We just need a couple of photos to leak out,” Jeff says, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Fucking hate you Jeff,” Drew says, walking out the office. “Henry you asshole.”

Either his managers heard and said whatever, or they didn’t care. But cursing at people who's helping him ‘save’ his career was the least of his worries. His head is just consumed with meeting you again, the brattiest bitch he's ever known.

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

word count: 1.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i'm sooo happy for the support and how much people liked the teaser! i was giggling seeing the reblogs and likes.

anyways, thought i should release a prologue first, to give drew's pov of this situation. apologies in advance for y/n's character and anyone who can't handle her! but i'm so excited for you guys to read ch1, which will be released later this week! like or comment to show support, really appreciate it <3

other | index | ch1

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #actor #actress #fanfic #series #drew starkey x you #fiction #obx #flashing lights #prologue #angst #fake dating #slow burn #enemies to lovers

281 notes · View notes

joemama-2 · 1 month ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: Early 2018

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks.

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff.

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened.

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight.

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings.

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say.

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon, his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart.

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her.

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake.

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone.

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse.

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself.

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation.

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are.

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears.

You hate the way things are now, but you’ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane.

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace.

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago.

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless.

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work. Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning.

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work.

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit.

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug.

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new.

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do.

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet.

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.”

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her.

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping.

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have.

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring.

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it.

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice.

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room.

The sight you see is more than startling.

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji.

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm. “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical. Your life isn’t.

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong.

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways.

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”

His silence stings more than any retort could.

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel. You won’t fight in front of him.

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper.

Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice.

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes.

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came.

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes.

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top.

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s’posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now.

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not?

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji.

Right?

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