#and then i had to email the school being like hi. as you may know your teacher (who you were paying extra to supervise me)

[lostinlovingrevery]

Whistleblower

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: This is really different from what I usually write but I had this idea and I wanted to get it out there. I MAY make a smutty alt of this lol...

Plot: You're a doctor recruited to work at the research base Lake Alkali, where you eventually become the whistleblower on the immoral experiments used on mutants held inside, one particular man being the reason you finally spilled the secrets....

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of experiments, descriptions that could be a lil disturbing? reader get attacked (not by Logan teehee), reader is a mutant but no powers mentioned, reader feels bad for Logan lol, more of a plot based fic with some future romance implied?

Word Count: 4k+!

Fingers tapped rhythmically against a stack of papers. Jazz played in the background. A hot cup of tea, slowly cooling off as it becomes forgotten. 

You were sitting in your shabby little broom closet of an office. A ceiling light flickers above you. Filing cabinets stuffed full of documents and manilla folders lined the walls. A laptop sat on your desk, open to an email that you have typed out, attached to the email was files, and pictures.

Lots of pictures.

You looked up, at a shitty motivational picture of a person looking at a landscape of a mountain, and a quote plastered in bold text at the bottom, 

“AN IDEA WITHOUT ACTION IS NOTHING”

You had an idea. 

Whether you were brave enough to take action is the issue.

You’re a doctor. A scientist. Majored in medicine, and went back to grad school for biology, and even dabbled in some psychology. Your name was… controversial. Your studies and research revolved around mutants, and supported mutants. You have been torn down by other scientists, doctors, and even colleagues for your work. You didn’t care.

 A few years later your work got noticed by some higher-up government officials.  Another scientist by the name of William Stryker recruited you into his mission. A top secret base located at the beautiful and scenic lake Alkali. You were told that you would be helping the future of mutants and humans alike.

That was a fucking lie.

Initially, you didn’t know anything. You were moved onto the base, given your own personal quarters, something with a bedroom and bathroom and a space big enough to be a living area. You were given small amounts of clearance. You had weekends off. It was a 1 year contract.

 Your job at first was to check the physicals and health statuses of soldiers, give out flu shots, and occasionally run a physical on a “volunteer” for the experiment programs they ran in the base, experiments you didn’t have clearance on. You didn’t think anything of it at first, everything you saw seemed clean, and people were treated with respect. Time went on and suppose they began to trust your persons, so you moved up the ladder and took part in studies that were more your style. That’s when you began to feel like something was wrong.

Some of the research didn’t feel…ethical. It felt that the mutants were being treated like..animals. They talked about them like animals. At face level, the people who came in were volunteers- participating in studies in the name of science, sometimes a monetary reward was offered. Then you would notice that said volunteers never officially left. 

It was when you did some snooping around that you discovered some horrific truths. You found files, pictures, classified things that weren’t meant for your eyes. You were caught- of course you were caught. This was a top secret government research base. There were eyes everywhere. 

You were taken to Stryker, who gave you a firm lecture- as if he was scolding a child. He then asked you if you were still wanting to stay a part of the research team. He had noticed your wonderful work ethic, and your bright mind. Thought you’d do great to help out. He also implied your inevitable murder if you were to say no.

You said yes.

Not because of the bullshit excuse of “This is for the best of humanity and mutant-kind”. To perform immoral and cruel experiments on mutants in the name of discovery and America. Fuck that. You were smart, you had ambition. You also had empathy and a moral compass, unlike these arrogant pricks. 

They didn’t know you were a mutant too- at least, they never implied they did. Not that it matters. You were raised to be accepting of everyone, to treat people with kindness, to lend a hand. That’s why you became a doctor. You were half tempted to use your powers to create a rebellion, take the place out. There were too many people though, all prepared, they had weapons and tools meant for controlling mutants and subduing them. It would be over before it started. You weren’t exactly a fighter, even though your powers were strong, but you were clever.

You reread the email you have written out for the millionth time. You used a fake email. You had multiple VPNs and several other spyware you installed in an attempt to hide where the email came from. Honestly, though, it probably wouldn’t matter. They’ll know it’s you the second you hit send. They’ll come in, knock you out, and use you for their sick experiments too. 

Perhaps though, if this email goes to the person you’re hoping it does. Maybe it won’t take so long. It won’t be so bad.

You agreed to stay for a reason. For information. For evidence. You had to be careful of your reactions, of your words. They watched your every move. Looking for signs of any infractions against them. It took time but you earned the trust of the staff and the mutants. 

You were kind, you provided comfort to them. You whispered promises that you will help them and that they will be free. All the while you took discreet photos and made copies of files and reports secretly. You’ve been storing them in the vent next to you; you made a secret compartment inside so that when the head of security comes in for their monthly inspections they never find anything. Chief Hanlon. That guy is a huge dick. 

You thought back to the faces you’ve come to know. People with tortured eyes and permanent scars. It tugged at your heart. You felt guilty, for ever taking part in something like this, for ever agreeing to come to this hellish place.

The next face you think of is what pushes you to hit send. 

“Weapon X-” 

Dr. Stryker was walking you down a long, poorly lit, concrete corridor, guarded by men in military gear, holding assault rifles- all of them eyeing you suspiciously. Stryker was walking with a cocky smile and a swagger. It was 2 weeks ago, before you had been pushed to finally compile your evidence and find someone who could help you.

“My biggest achievement in my career.” He continues. You both stopped at the end of the corridor, and he punched a code into the keypad. The metal doors open, and you step into a large room. Surrounded by large machinery, scientists, and guarded personnel, sat a huge glass tube, filled with some kind of substance, and a man who sat suspended inside it. He motioned to the tube, almost like he was presenting it grandly to you. “My pride and joy.” 

It made you sick to your stomach at the sight. He was suspended in the tube- floating in the clear liquid-like substance. He had no clothing on, and you could make out the tense muscles of his body. Despite his burly appearance, he looked unhealthy- his skin was pale, his hair grown out, wild and untamed, from his head, down to his chin, his beard scruffy and long as well. Even his stomach seemed sunken in. 

Are they even feeding him?

 The metal wires that were attached to his skin went in various places, his arms, his chest, his legs, and his head. The Holter monitor at the bottom that sat in front of you reads his heart rate; It was faster than it should be for an average person. You made out dog tags around his neck- the only article of clothing on him. There was a large oxygen mask, covering his nose and mouth. 

His eyes were open- and staring at you. 

“A soldier I met in Vietnam. He’s a mutant- obviously, claw-like appendages that protrude from his fist.” Stryker explains. “He has an extraordinary ability to heal. He can recover from anything- bullets, stabbings, broken bones. He has heightened senses, incredible strength, and a fierce rage, making him the strongest weapon in the world.” He says proudly. “A few years ago, I convinced him to partake in an experiment that bound adamantium metal to his bones. He’s indestructible.” 

You swallowed, not taking your eyes off of him. This poor man, what must he feel? How much pain is he in?

“The machine keeps his body supported and alive, but the substance- something I invented- keeps him frozen in place, which is why the machine is needed. He wouldn’t be able to breathe, no heartbeat or anything. He’s come back from death plenty of times, we’ve researched that- but we rather not risk fully killing him, y’know?” Stryker laughs. You grimaced at him, your eyes turning to look at the man, examining his body - that’s when you saw the twitch of his pinky. 

Didn’t Stryker say he was frozen in place?

“What’s his name?”

“Name?” Stryker says, a bit surprised at your question. “Logan.” 

You were glad to have a name for the face. Calling him Weapon X, felt nothing but wrong.

“What is his…purpose?” You ask, tearing your eyes away, not mentioning the twitch. You knew what Stryker would say. 

“We use him to carry out missions that cannot be failed,” Stryker says. “He’s nearly impossible to control, hence why we keep him in this- and when we send him out, he’s equipped with a helmet that helps us keep track of his whereabouts and sends signals to tell him what to do.”

“Mind control?” You asked. You use him to kill people.

“Kinda.” He says, turning to the computer and typing in a few things. “Your job here will be just to monitor his vitals. We noticed spikes in heart rates and blood pressure lately. Rare moments, but something we’d like to keep an eye on. If it gets worse, you’ll be tasked to come up with a solution. He’s too valuable to lose.” 

You nodded. You could still feel Logan staring at you. 

After Stryker finished explaining everything, you were sent back to your day. Logan's face lingered in your head. The way his eyes stared at you. What was he thinking?

It was that night you began looking for help. Your mind would wrack through people you have met through your years when you remembered someone- someone from when you were in college. A kind man, who approached you regarding your paper of mutant psychology. A paper you wrote in research regarding how mutant lifestyles can be affected by their powers. It was widely controversial, considering mutants weren’t- and still aren’t- quite accepted in your society. Your peers and professors had tried to sway you from writing it, but you refused, not caring about the consequences. Mutants were forever treated as evil people, the news constantly reported the “bad” mutants. Nevermind the fact that there were still plenty out there, living normal lives. 

The man wanted to know more about you, your paper, and what you wanted to do after college. He confided in you that he had a school for mutants and invited you to come see it. At the time, you were too busy- but you always kept his card. You didn’t know how or why- but something about him told you that maybe he could help. You prayed to whatever God was out there, that this man, 

Charles Xavier

Could help you, Logan, and the others who were trapped here. 

After that, you spent the next week discreetly putting together everything to send to Charles. Anxiety wracked your head. What if he can’t help, what if he doesn’t help? Maybe he confided in his secret school of mutants, but what if he was just like Stryker and it was all a sham? 

You were doing your usual responsibilities when you went to check on Logan. It was two weeks ago today that you were in charge of monitoring his health. Your intuition told you that his spiked heart rates, the twitch of his pinky, and the way his eyes watched your movements- even though he shouldn’t be able to move at all, were not a coincidence or a sign of a failing health state. 

It was just you and a few guards that were stationed at the door.  You were observing the latest changes over the last 24 hours. The two guards were silent, and then one of them started talking, bringing up some workplace gossip.

“Hey, y’know, me and Miranda, we got a date Saturday night.” 

“Shit, she said yes to your dumbass?” 

“Man fuck you.” 

They were talking, and distracted. You turned to scowl at them, which they didn’t notice, both facing each other wrapped up in their own conversation. You looked back at the monitor, tapping your fingers on the table when you noticed movement. Your eyes glanced upwards, and you noticed the twitch of his toe. You looked farther up and his eyes were staring down at you. 

You looked back at the guards. Hesitating before silently standing up and moving closer to the tube. Your hand went up to the glass and gently pressed. You looked back at the guards once more, still gossiping and distracted. You looked up at Logan. Staring right into his eyes, and you mouthed to him, 

“I’ll get you out of here”

You’re not even sure if he would have understood you, if he could lipread. The others say his mind was too far gone to understand what’s going on around him, and the helmet is what gives him directions. They called him an animal.

“He’s a man. Not an animal.” You corrected them. They simply stared at you. You could feel their silent judgments. Has everyone lost their humanity here? How could you look at him and not see a person?

The way his eyes moved- staring at you, you felt there was something there, someone there. He was thinking. He was observing. You wanted him to know you were on his side. 

You had no other choice at this point. You were at your wit's end. Who cares about your safety, your own life if you get caught. These people deserved better. 

Now back in your office, you sent the email. Hopefully, Charles is good about checking his email- that he knew what to do, or you and everyone else here is fucked. You went to bed that night, unable to sleep, Logan’s eyes tearing through your mind. 

You walk on eggshells for three days, waiting for the moment someone confronts you, for them to break into your room and stick a bag over your head and throw you into a jail cell where you get to await whatever Stryker thinks you’ll be good for. 

You were starting to wonder if anything was going to happen, while you were sitting at your desk once again in your little office. Filling out various medical files- one on a woman who had snow-like powers. Stryker had ideas to use her against hot and dry environments, turn them frigid cold, in order to incapacitate enemies who were prepared for hot weather. At one point you believed this research wasn’t about warfare, or violence. You thought you would be helping mutants, understanding what made you, you. How you managed to let the wool go over your eyes you didn’t know. 

The blare of the alarm startled you out of your thoughts. Announcements of guards and soldiers to get into position, alerts of intruders coming to the base. 

You thought you were going to puke. 

You got up from your chair, unsure of what to do. Another announcement told staff to stay where they were. You tapped your fingers on the desk behind you as your brain wracked for ideas, should you go out and see what’s happening? Who were these intruders? 

Maybe it had something to do with the whistleblower email you sent several days ago.

You could hear footsteps of soldiers running down the hall past your door. 

What if this is my chance?

You could help them escape the mutants. The soldiers, the security, they were distracted by whoever was attacking - people you hoped were on your side. You knew the codes, you could fight a little bit yourself- even if it wasn’t your preference. You grabbed your lab coat off your chair, making sure your badge was still attached for access, throwing it on and you opened the door, peeking out into the hallway- empty.

Your heels clacked on the floor as you ran down the maze like hallways that you’ve become familiar with the last 6 months towards the elevators. The lights shut off suddenly, leaving you in darkness until emergency lights kicked on. The alarms were off now. The only thing you could hear was faint gunshots happening thankfully far away from you. 

You could barely see, the red lights of the elevators and stairway signs led you to the direction you wanted to be in. You carefully walked towards them, your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you went to the stairway door, pushing it open. 

Soft orange glow lit up the otherwise dark and very cold stairway. You could hear more gunfire. You turned to look back at the hall you came from, searching for any signs of people that may have been around, before going into the stairway, and climbing down the stairs.

With the power off, the captive mutants are likely escaping themselves already, which may explain the occasional gunfire. People fighting back you can only assume. If they’re fighting, you’re going to fight with them. 

You carefully made your way down the stairs, cautious to not trip due to the lack of lighting. You reached the floor that would lead you to the captive mutants. Your mind wandered to Logan. He was a few floors down. Maybe you can help him too?

You chose to go farther down the stairs. You had to do something. How could you not? 

You reached the floor you wanted to reach, and carefully pushed the door open, peeking out into the hall. Only small red emergency lights lit the dark empty halls, but they provided enough light for you to make out multiple bodies strewn across the floor. They were still, unmoving, and against your better judgment, you moved inside into the hall, checking one of the bodies.

It was one of the soldiers that usually stood guard in Logan's room. You kneeled down to check his pulse. No pulse.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, as you carefully walked down the hall, checking each body for pulses. You may have thought everyone who worked here was scum - but you were still a doctor and if there was something you could do, you would do it. 

After the 5th body you could confirm was dead, you quickly walked down the hall to Logan’s room. The door was wide open - and you could see from where you were, the tube that kept Logan immobile and suspended was broken apart. The substance that kept him frozen was leaking into a large puddle on the ground- where you could barely make out several more bodies on the floor. 

He was free

Judging by the state of the soldiers, you’re not sure if that’ll be a good thing for you. 

You took a couple of steps back, only to feel a hand on your shoulder, swinging you around- you felt a sharp punch to your face, knocking you harshly to the ground. Pain radiated from your nose down to your jaw, and you felt blood trickling down your nose over your lip as you brought a hand up to it. Looking up fearfully, you recognized him, the chief of security.

“You bitch.” He hissed, fists clenched at his side. “You fucking did this didn’t you? I told Stryker you couldn’t be trusted. I should have put a bullet in your head when I caught you sneaking around the first time.”

“No-!” You yelped as he reached down, hand against your throat and pinning you to the floor, your head banging against the concrete making you yelp in pain. You clawed at his arm, kicking your legs in an attempt to get free as you felt his fingers tighten against your throat. You looked up at your attacker, his eyes furrowed, as he gritted his teeth, squeezing your throat tighter as you began to gasp for air- your chest growing tight.

In a flash, you heard a scream, and something warm and wet splatter on your. His hand was gone, and you watched in horror as he was lifted into the air, sharp metal points sticking out through his chest, and you saw Logan, holding him up in the air- a sharp snarl escaping him.

You heard a snikt! And you crawled away as the chief's body fell to the ground. Your heart pounding out of your chest, tears fell down your face, as a shaky breath escaped you- looking up at the towering and terrifying presence that now stood above you.

The red light illuminated him, making him look almost devilish. He was hunched, hands in fists, covered in blood, completely naked. There were a few wires hanging haphazardly from his arms and legs - and the helmet, the one you assumed is the one they use to control him. 

They’re not controlling him now, are they?

You waited, waited for him to kill you next. Surely he will?

He straightened himself, a scowl on his face as his nostrils flared, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He stared into your eyes. You swallowed, and pushed yourself up from the ground. Your body was shaking, and you stepped forward towards him, over the body of Hanlon. 

“Logan?” You said his name, your voice hoarse, and cracked. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You blinked a few times, and you reached your hands up, they’re shaky and unsteady, but you reached towards him- to the helmet.

He flinched back a moment, before stopping, letting you do whatever you were going to do. His eyes unceasing their hard stare, his nostrils flaring with every breath- making you nervous that those famous claws you’ve heard about - and just seen in action are going to make their appearance and turn you into a shish kebab. 

He didn’t do anything, and you finally made contact with the cold metal. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, as your fingers found bolts and clips, undoing each one until the helmet came loose from his skull. 

You saw relief flood his eyes, his hands reaching up as you slowly moved yours back, returning them to your side shaky as ever, as he pulled the helmet off and dropped it to the ground. 

He blinked a few times, looking around, a small breath of relief escaping him before looking at you again. 

You both stood there, unsure what to do next.

1 Year Later

Your fingers nervously tapped along the files in your lap. Your leg crossed over the other as you sat on the very uncomfortable chair provided to you while you waited. You laid your hands flat across the folder, as anxiety twisted in your gut. 

“Nervous?” 

The voice drew you out of your anxious thoughts as you looked up and smiled.

Logan stood there in front of you, clean, healthy, happy. He wore a clean dress suit, his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed. He gave you a thin lipped smile, his eyes regarding you with softness. 

It had been a long year to get to where he was, with you there to support him as best as you could.  

It was Charles Xavier's people who came and caused chaos at the base. A group called the X-men, a group of talented and powerful mutants who work in the name of helping mutants- which is right up your alley. You- nor Logan didn’t join right away, but accepted Charles' invitation to stay at his school, alongside other mutants who were rescued, in order to wait for the dust to settle. 

The dust was finally settling. Stryker and his men were on trial before congress. You were the piece to finally put things to rest. The evidence you compiled, the things you witnessed. You were about to go before congress, and speak on the behalf of mutants that had become victims to Stryker. 

You stood up from your chair, hugging your files to your chest. “A little bit.”

“Don’t be, you’ll do great.” He says. “You always stood your ground about things like this. Just cause it’s a bunch of assholes in Washington don’t make it any different.”  

You got to know Logan, who he was. He became someone you admired like no other. He rose up from the trauma and pain he suffered in Alkali, refusing to let it harden him. He was still a bit rough around the edges- but for you he was soft. 

During his time in Lake Alkali, he was waiting for a chance to escape. The scientist said he couldn’t think clearly but it was far from the truth. The only time he went into an animalistic haze was when the helmet was on- it blocked his vision and his senses, made his brain fuzzy. 

When the X-men breached the dam, they were about to let Logan out to wreak havoc on the intruders. They put the helmet on him and he managed to keep himself together that time- escaping and slaughtering guards along the way. It was hard, it set his teeth on edge, it made him confused, unsure of what he was doing.

It was you that kept him from losing himself again. He heard your heartbeat, and your cry when Hanlon punched you. You removing the helmet was the final step for his freedom.

“I just hope it’s enough. You know politicians, how they are. You saw how they treated Jean.” You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ll convince them bub.  Quite worrying.” He says. His hand reached out, placing over your arm, his thumb running across your skin in a soothing motion. You nodded, attempting to let his reassurance calm your nerves. “After this, we’ll get some lunch, yeah?” 

You smiled and nodded, Logan paused, observing you before he stepped closer. It made your breath hitch, his proximity to you, your nerves becoming more worried about him now, instead of the trial. Lately, you and Logan's friendship that has formed over the last year has felt to be turning into something more. You weren’t quite sure what yet, and Logan didn’t seem to know either. 

You had an idea though.

The door behind you opened. 

“Ma’am? They’re ready for you.” A young man greets you and you nodded, looking back at Logan. He smiled supportively, and you quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek, before turning to walk into the room. 

“Wish me luck.” You called after you, before the door shut behind you, leaving Logan alone in the hall, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, thinking about how nice your lips felt on his cheek.

You were led to a desk, where the young man- you believed to be an intern pulled the chair out for you allowing you to sit. You quietly thanked him, smoothing your skirt out and setting the papers you were holding on the desk, you looked up and stared at a room full of men in suits. 

“You are here today to present evidence before congress against Dr. William Stryker, as well as numerous other names in this trial. Do you have that evidence before you?” 

You opened one of the files, and one of the first things you see is a picture of Logan. Weapon X. It made you sick to remember him like that. You looked up, lips pulled tight, eyes filled with determination.

“Yes.”

[anguilliforme]

because how of the autralian linguistic culture around respect works i haven't called any teacher anything but their first name in nearly a decade. the exception to this was when i spoke japanese, and now its hardwired into my brain to call any teacher-figures sensei. it's something i have to actively and constantly have to avoid doing in educational settings but i still slip up and get a chuckle from the teachers.

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (03) | 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: 14.8k

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: I've been thoroughly enjoying your asks and replies about this story (sorry I can’t get to each one!) I see that a lot can relate to what OC's going through and I'm sending you hugs! 🤗 Again, I appreciate your love and excitement. And uh... Golden JK in that white tank. YUP. 🤭 Hoping you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

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

The spring in your step tightens the closer you get to Jungkook’s penthouse the next Monday. Walking here to start another week, there’s a mix of emotions you’re carrying with you. 

You got to spend a proper weekend. On Friday, you made yourself some cold noodles and then watched a movie with Jimin and Soomin on video call, who’d said they’ll be visiting you in a week. You took the train to Daegu on Saturday, went to the park, then stayed in to enjoy Min-woo’s cooking and the girls’ stories about school and their youth clubs. You then buried yourself in your mother’s embrace as you told her about your week. You didn’t want to say too much, not wanting her to worry that her daughter isn’t being treated well at her job, but you suppose you said enough. 

“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from everything,” she’d told you softly. “All I can do is just give you hugs and say words of encouragement that might not even mean much.”

“And you still are, mom. I look forward to being with you because of those hugs. But more than that, you were strong enough to protect me from the bad guys,” you’d assured her. “Jungkook is many things but he’s not a terrible person. I can handle him.”

And you meant it. He may be hot-tempered sometimes but he’s not evil. But just because he made you go home early last Friday, it also doesn’t mean he’s suddenly redeemed in your mind. Sure, he didn’t email you at all over the weekend unlike last time, but he also still didn’t apologize to you nor show remorse. 

Perhaps that small nod after he called you telling you that you could go home was his way of saying sorry, or maybe it just isn’t in his vocabulary. You wonder if Hoseok had told him off but even then, it’s a pretty quick change, if you could call it that. 

Regardless, you felt like a human being again these past few days; you just wish Jungkook woke up on the right side of the bed this morning and doesn’t find a reason to complain about you. 

Unlocking the door, you’re surprised to hear silence - there are no grunts and deep breaths nor the sound of leather hitting leather from his morning workout. You scan the floor before walking around - a habit you’ve developed after finding that laced underwear last week - and then peep into the door on the right, only to find untouched equipment and no other traces of him. 

You’re in the living room when you hear another door close, prompting you to turn around and see a woman appearing from the hallway on the other side of the penthouse. Her hair’s a bit disheveled and she’s wearing one of Jungkook’s coats that you saw in his closet. 

“Uh, who are you?” The woman scoffs, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised now. 

Taken aback, you just stare at her, until you realize she’s not wearing anything underneath so you look away.

You try to make sense of who she is and how you could get out of this situation. You know for a fact that Jungkook doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least that’s what Lucas had told you, but who knows what Jungkook’s been up to since he got back? There was that red laced underwear from last week after all. Maybe he does sleep around like what Do-hyun said. Maybe this woman just doesn’t know Jungkook has a female assistant. Maybe he’s—

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says, sounding more annoyed now. 

“Oh. Uh, I’m Mr. Jeon’s—”

“She’s my assistant,” Jungkook answers, catching you off guard, given that you hadn’t noticed him walk in. 

He’s not in his usual workout attire, although him in a white tank top and gray sweatpants with mussed hair somehow seems more overwhelming than him in nothing but gym shorts. You glance at him as he stands next to the woman, whose face suddenly lights up. Not wanting to look at her, you shift your gaze towards the ceiling, trying hard not to look awkward as you’re rooted in place. 

The woman looks at you from head to toe and you feel her judging you, assessing you, while Jungkook stands there, yawning and combing his hair with his fingers.

“Just your assistant?” She asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah. What else would she be?” Jungkook answers nonchalantly. Looking at you, he nods ever so slightly that you almost miss it, another hint of acknowledgement you’d seen last Friday. “Just eggs on toast. And coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you say, exhaling the breath you were holding and then walking to the kitchen to start on his breakfast. 

“I don’t know, another one of your girls? I see you with a new one every time,” she huffs, sounding bitter, but Jungkook doesn’t sound amused.

“What are you still doing here?” He asks, walking to where you are then taking the glass of water you prepare for him. “I called a service for you last night.”

“I was too tired,” she says, and you don’t miss the sultry tone of her voice now. “You tired me out, Jungkook. I could barely get off the bed.”

“And why are you still here?” He asks, clearly not having it with her teasing. 

“Because I’m still tired,” she smirks, having followed him to the kitchen. 

You feel tense once more; you definitely don’t want to be part of this conversation in any way nor be privy to it, especially given what obviously happened between them last night. And especially not with Jungkook looking and sounding the way he does this early Monday morning.

“And I was thirsty,” she continues. 

He sets his glass down and opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water that he hands over to her. 

“Ugh, how romantic,” she rolls her eyes, finishing it in a few gulps. 

“I have to go to work,” he tells her, frustrated that she’s being stubborn about not leaving when he no longer seems to want her around. 

“Actual work, or, you know, work?” She says, gesturing towards you.

You make the mistake of looking at her smug face, the insinuation not lost on you. It’s insane how she can just make claims like that, and you feel that just like you, Jungkook’s getting pissed.

“Can you just leave?” He says much more sternly now. “I can’t start my day with you still here.”

“Ooh, how rude,” she giggles. “Should’ve expected you’d be like that even outside of bed. I like that.”

She walks back to the room, leaving you and Jungkook on your own. You continue to work on his eggs while he stands by the counter, rubbing his temples. You’re unsure if it’s because of her or from last night’s alcohol, but you get aspirin and also a bottle of energy drink and set them in front of him before returning to preparing his meal. 

The woman comes back shortly in last night’s attire then walks towards Jungkook.

“I’m leaving,” she announces, tilting his chin so he would face her. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”

Jungkook turns away and does not respond, leaving her to laugh as if there’s a joke that only she’s in on.

“Going all quiet on me now, huh?” She says. “You weren’t like that last night. I can still hear your moans, actually. Fuck, they sounded so good and so loud.”

You almost hit your finger as you slice the apple, clearly not expecting for this stranger to say something so intimate, knowing there’s another person in the room with them. You don’t know if she wants to intimidate you for whatever reason or maybe just make you feel uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it’s working, as you’re unable to focus on the task at hand now. 

Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, and it’s what prompts her to finally say goodbye. 

“Fine, I’ll leave now,” she whines. “But that was an amazing first time. I hope it won’t be the last.”

Her giggle annoys you for some reason, even more when you mistakenly look her way. Her smug face unnerves you as she holds your gaze while she says, “I’ll see you again, okay? I’ll make sure you’ll scream my name next time,” the words obviously directed at Jungkook. 

She finally exits the penthouse but she doesn’t take the tension with her because in this large apartment with you and him, you feel a little too hot, a little too alert, yet somehow a little too curious.

Jungkook groans now as he finishes his energy drink, and he doesn’t know what he’s more frustrated about - the fact that the woman whose name he doesn’t remember didn’t go home, or that you’d found out about it in the most embarrassing way and he’d done nothing to stop her attempts at making you feel uncomfortable because that’s definitely what she was doing. 

He doesn’t know how it affected you but even he can tell that it wouldn’t have been good. Not that he’s ashamed of his lifestyle but it’s different when you, of all people, get to see what that looks like. You did see the laced underwear on his kitchen floor last week, and he knows you definitely tried to pretend you hadn’t. Perhaps the image of arrogant, playboy Jungkook just solidified in your head and the fact that maybe that’s what you think of him is making him feel uneasy. 

Not that he cares about what you think - he definitely does not - but he just doesn’t want that to affect how you would treat him in a professional sense, as if he’s some reckless man who works too hard and parties much harder, even if that’s kind of what he does. 

The hangover doesn’t help at all; he shouldn’t have chugged that wine while the woman was giving him head, which was amazing, he reminds himself. He just knows he won’t be seeing her again after this morning because she’d been stubborn and shameless, and definitely not because of how she spoke to you and the insinuations she made.

“Mr. Jeon, your breakfast is ready,” you inform him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He takes a seat on the table and you sit next to him, taking out your iPad to start your rundown of last Friday’s meeting and this week’s schedule. 

“So—”

“Wait, give me a minute,” he stops you, and he realizes just how little sleep he actually got and he’s gonna have to push through today’s busy schedule despite feeling physically out of it. 

“Okay, sir,” you say softly.

He munches on his toast with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, his gaze falls on you, sitting upright on the chair looking clean and proper in your blush blouse and beige skirt. You seem to be reviewing the reports from last week, your eyebrows scrunched as you scribble on the screen. He knows you took the hours-long trip to and from Daegu over the weekend; the visit, just like any, must have been tiring. Yet you come to his place everyday without fail, ready to do what he needs you to do, and he doesn’t even know if you’ve had anything to eat yet. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He asks.

“E-excuse me?”

“Breakfast. Have you had it?”

“O-oh. Yes, I had some crackers and fruit on the way. I ate on the bus,” you respond.

He remembers your address from your staff profile. You live about 40 minutes from him, almost double if you commute. You come at 6:30 everyday, so he can only imagine what it’s like for you every morning. 

“Why don’t you drive?”

“I don’t have a car, sir.”

“Shouldn’t that be part of your contract? Or a benefit of some sort?”

“It isn’t. I believe only the CEO’s assistant does,” you respond. 

“Bitna has a company car.”

“Ms. Jung requested that when she was still President.”

“Then I’ll request one for you. It's… it’s too early. And you can’t always be assured of public transportation. There could be delays. Or an emergency that would require you to drive.”

Of course, he’d want you to get a car so that you’re more accessible to him. Just when you thought there’s actually a bit of his heart working this time, he reminds you why there isn’t.

“That’s true, but nothing has happened so far. And there are other options should there be,” you say. “I also don’t know how to drive so there is no need, Mr. Jeon. I leave my apartment early enough to make sure I get here on time, and I’ll let you know if I will be late.”

Jungkook just hums, even if there’s more he wants to know. What about late nights? What if there’s a storm? Well, he does know - he did see you miss out on taxis and then just walk last Tuesday; he wonders how you got home then, and how many hours of sleep you had after all that. 

He lets it go; it’s too early to think about this.

“Good. We can run through the minutes now,” he says.

So you do, stating the points and confirming your actions for each one and then noting down his as well. You try to focus, and you’re able to for the most part, but it’s not easy when he sits just a few feet away from you, with his bare arms propped on the table that’s just hard to look away from. 

You’ve always liked tattoos on other people, and the art on his right arm looks so delicate and personal; you wonder what someone like him would value enough to ink permanently on his skin. Even his untouched arm is mesmerizing, toned like every other part of him, with beauty marks that you spot as well. It doesn’t help that his slightly long hair keeps falling over his eyes, prompting him to comb them with his fingers every time. 

What also doesn’t help are the woman’s words from earlier, as she’d managed to make you think of Jungkook in a very different way, given her descriptions of how he’d been last night. You don’t know what she intended by doing that, but you didn’t miss her insinuations about your relations with him, which are definitely far from the truth. Learning that he’s rough and loud in bed is also knowledge that you could’ve done without. Somehow, he sounds like how he looks - expressive of negative emotions, and the type to drain the other person. 

He also sounds like the guys you’ve slept with.

The thought alarms you. These are things you shouldn’t be thinking about your boss, about the man who pays you, about the one who makes you miss meals and buses and who makes you angry because of how he treats you. 

You try to dispel these ideas by coughing - the loud sound helps, and you also want to distract yourself from how distracted you are at your task because somehow he keeps getting more and more attractive after every glance. 

He stands up, and just when you thought he’d be angry after your disruption, he surprises you by placing a glass of water in front of you.

“You can drink, you know? You can make yourself a cup of coffee. You can even cook yourself breakfast if it’s just crackers you eat in the morning,” he says. 

Yes, you think to yourself. You’ve been wanting to try his coffee because of the fancy machine but breakfast sounds… too domestic. 

“Thank you, but I’m okay. I mean, the snacks fill me up just fine.”

“It’s not proper breakfast, though,” he argues. 

“With all due respect, sir, eating takes time away from all the things I have to do. I manage just fine.”

Expecting an annoyed expression from him because you did just imply that you do too much, you instead see the tiniest hint of guilt on his face, as if he actually feels bad that you’re unable to take care of yourself because of him. 

“You’re not a servant, Ms. Cho. You’re not disallowed to do basic things just because of your job.”

“You have standards, Mr. Jeon,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You don’t expect to see his face fall a little, and you’re surprised that you seem to care. “I need to meet them, and I’m still familiarizing myself with how you want things done, and that takes time. I don’t mean to imply that you treat me like a servant because you don’t. I just… I want to be able to do things right and I’m still learning.”

The words hit Jungkook. He knows he’d been too critical during these first weeks, and that’s more because he’s unable to manage the initial attraction that he’s trying so hard to temper. He could’ve gone on correcting you constructively, with no need for harshness the way he did with Lucas when he started. 

You’ve also been doing this for a few years. You’ve been working for the VP’s office longer than he has - you know the people and the processes more, yet you’re the one claiming you need to learn and do things right. Even he thinks his father, whom he never thought was the best at looking out for his people, wouldn’t be angry at those below him for irrational reasons. Somehow he thinks he’s worse than his old man now. 

But the word sorry isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d rarely ever said it, and the only reason he’d heard it a lot growing up was because people caused his inconvenience, and not because they’d hurt his feelings. He doesn’t know what that’s like - forgiving and wanting to be forgiven. They’re foreign to him, but somehow those are what you’re making him want to know. 

“I—”

“Can we move on, Mr. Jeon?” You interrupt him. “You have a scheduled check-in with your father before the 8:30 team meeting.”

“Right, that’s today,” Jungkook says, letting go of any form of apology he could muster. 

He nods then stands up to head to his bathroom, and you follow shortly after to arrange his outfits for the week. You clean up in the kitchen after and wait for him to come out, with you reflexively walking up to him to fix his tie and make sure all the creases on his clothes are fixed. 

Jungkook tries to remain still as you, like everyday, make sure he looks proper. It always took him a long time to get ready because he used to do all this on his own, but with you taking on the unofficial stylist role - which he admits you do a great job at - he’s relieved of that added stress of looking the part of a Vice President. It just also means that every morning, he has to look unaffected as you stand close to him like this, with you tightening his tie and your fingers grazing his clothed chest.

You smell like roses. It feels warm and nostalgic, like it’s familiar but also something new. It’s refreshing on you, and it wafts through his nose and paralyzes him a little. He tries to hold his breath like always, only briefly glancing at your focused eyes as you make sure he looks impeccable. 

He’s caught off guard when you look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t react, but he does linger and surprisingly, so do you. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how to. He just hopes you feel it somehow with how he looks at you; he’d like to think you do, as you gently bow and step back, taking your things to go down. 

You go through his schedule while in the car, noting his dinner meetings and that the food tasting for next month’s event with the art industry professionals that you’re both organizing has been moved to next week, freeing up his Thursday lunch hour.

“I’ll schedule my visit at Taehyung’s tailor shop that day then,” Jungkook states. “I’ll have a few suits done.”

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you reply, adjusting his calendar. 

He doesn’t say anything after. He takes his leather notebook and sketches like he often does, looking out his window only a few times as he’s engrossed in his drawings. Even with all that he is, you can’t deny Jungkook’s talent. You only know he took an architecture course but you don’t know if he actually practices it. 

You start to wonder if Jungkook wanted that to be his profession but couldn’t pursue it because he’s expected to manage the company with his cousin. You wonder if he’d always been into drawing and the arts, if it was an outlet the way reading picture books was for you; you’d wanted to become an illustrator but your mother couldn’t afford drawing classes and that profession just didn’t seem like it could sustain you financially. You wonder what Jungkook thinks when he sketches and what his subjects are, if he feels at peace the way he looks, if he hopes he could just spend his days doing this. 

The seeming warmth in your thoughts about this man concerns you, prompting you to turn away from his direction and stare out the window instead. You remind yourself that this is the same person who’d made the past two weeks miserable for you; he doesn’t deserve warmth from you in any form, even if, for the briefest moment earlier after you fixed his tie, that’s what you gave him. You learned that he’s quite mesmerizing when he doesn’t talk or when he isn’t scowling. You also learned you’re quite quick to fall into it when you let your guard down a little. 

You groan internally. There’s a lot you don’t know about him and you don’t really care to know more; what you know is enough to put you off anyway. And so these moments of weakness - of curiosity, of concern -  should not happen again. 

Except, they do happen, over an hour later after Jungkook returns to his room from his check-in with his father. He sits on his chair, his eyes closed and jaws clenched, unmoving for a good few minutes, and you watch from your seat, wondering what transpired that’s got him this disturbed. 

It happens again an hour later. He moved the team meeting to the afternoon and he’s now furiously typing on his desktop, making calls, sketching, making calls again, then sitting still with his eyes closed once more. Hoseok walks in, merely nodding at you, then enters the room and speaks with the younger man. Jungkook closes the blinds, and you’re left to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors and what’s got him angry and frustrated.

You take your chance at finding out when Hoseok emerges, asking him if everything’s okay, if Jungkook is okay.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hoseok says, a half smile on display, something you’re only a tad familiar with. “He’ll manage.”

He rushes out, saying he has a meeting to get to, and you nod, glancing at the closed door and blocked window, wondering what troubles Jungkook is handling on his own. If it’s personal, it’s clearly not your business. But if it’s work-related, then it is. You’re there to make things easier for him, after all. You also don’t want to be surprised and be bombarded by new tasks just in case, so it’s better to know if there’s something you can help in resolving things as well.

You walk in his room then place the ginger lemon tea on his desk, a common home remedy for hangovers, just in case last night’s events are still affecting him. You inform him that you’ve sent the reports already for his sign-off, and he responds that he’ll get to them tomorrow.

Glancing at his drink, he halts his typing to look at you. 

“Do I look hungover to you?” He asks pointedly.

It’s clearly not what you meant, but you suppose the insinuation isn’t what he needs right now. You want to be swallowed by the ground. He was already calm towards you, civil even, and now there’s another reason for him to be upset at you. You wanted to avoid any possibility of that as much as possible, and now you’re here, at the verge of being told off again, just because your stupid brain decided to care the tiniest bit.

“I, uh, no, Mr. Jeon,” you stutter. “I just…”

You don’t have a reason. Clearly, you can’t tell him that he hasn’t seemed okay all morning - whatever that means - and that just in case it’s last night’s alcohol affecting him, there’s a cure. You stare back at him with worry, but instead of challenging or questioning you, he just sits back with his eyes closed again and dismisses you. 

“You may leave,” he instructs. 

“What about lunch, sir?” You ask. 

You’d never cared before, why the change now? 

“I’m fine,” he responds. “Call me when the meeting’s about to start.”

Your stubborn self takes the box of biscuits from the coffee table and places it in front of him. You’re pushing it, you think, but there’s a meeting he’ll be leading and he can’t be unfocused; when he is, it’s all the worse for you. 

He doesn’t react and you walk out. When you enter an hour later to call him, you spot the empty cup and the crumbs on the saucer, and you can’t help the tiny smile that you make internally.

It’s short-lived though, as that whole afternoon, he acts unusually - he barely makes comments at updates, he doesn’t make eye contact, and doesn’t ask further questions. He just nods when you say you’re heading out at 6PM, giving you no added tasks to keep you from leaving.

You enter his penthouse the next morning to the banging of leather hitting leather, prompting you to jerk from the loud sounds. He’s grunting and panting heavily, and you just know that whatever it was that transpired yesterday, he’s releasing all his emotions right now, through this. 

He exits the gym and walks to the counter where you are, finishing the water you laid for him in three gulps. 

“Do you need that tended to?” You ask. 

He looks surprised. You gesture towards his hands and he looks at his bruised knuckles; he really let it all out this morning, it seems. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. 

You didn’t think those two words from him would ever make you feel discouraged, but one thing you’ve come to learn about Jungkook is that he easily expresses his anger and frustration towards other people. It’s when he keeps things in that they seem more serious, and you wonder what words he heard yesterday that might have made him this closed off, this quiet, this much more distant.

But fortunately, your feeling of worry fades with each day that passes, as he slowly returns to his normal self after - the focus, the perpetually serious look, the attention to detail, the sketching on his notebook. Perhaps Jungkook just needed a particular kind of release and he’s maybe handling things better now. 

For his sake and yours, you wish the issue has been resolved, otherwise another blow up might happen and that wouldn’t be good for your newfound dynamic that’s a lot more civil than anything. 

It’s Thursday when you get a call at 5 in the morning, just as you’ve woken up to get ready for work, and Mr. Ri’s voice greets you on the other end.

“Hi, ___. How are you this morning?”

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you yawn, curious as to why he’s checking up on you this early. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he hums. “I was instructed by Mr. Jeon to pick you up today.”

“Why would CEO Jeon ask that?” You wonder, as you sleepily walk to the bathroom to wash up.

“He didn’t. Jungkook did.”

You stop on your tracks. You don’t recall being informed about this, nor do you know of any particular reason why you should be at his place so soon.

“Oh, uhm, okay. I should be ready in–”

“I’ll be there in about 50 minutes,” Mr. Ri interjects. “Sleep in a bit more and have some breakfast. I’ll see you shortly.”

You try not to think about what prompted Jungkook to have you picked up, so you focus on getting ready and then whipping yourself some fried rice using the leftover seafood from last night. You won’t lie, it tastes delicious. It might be that you just haven’t had proper weekday breakfast in a while, but it could also be that you’re energized enough and not pressed for time that you’re able to make this as good as it is. 

You decide to bring some to Jungkook’s place just in case you get there late. Sure, Mr. Ri will be driving you, but you don’t know how the traffic is at this time, and this change in schedule is somewhat making you anxious. But then again, there’s always bread or cereal for him to eat; you just think that a little act of thanks wouldn’t be so bad.

Mr. Ri arrives exactly 50 minutes later and he assures you that he’ll get you to the penthouse in half an hour. You trust him of course; he’s been with the Jeons for decades and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Seated in the passenger seat, you try to figure out what about today has got your boss a little kinder than usual. 

“I arrived five minutes late yesterday,” you wonder out loud. “Is that why? He has a meeting with a local artist in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be late. That should be it. Ugh, stupid,” you groan. “I should’ve taken the first bus I saw, but it was so full and–”

“___,” Mr. Ri stops you. “Five minutes isn’t much. Plus, you always arrive 10 minutes before 6:30 and then just wait at the lobby. I don’t know why you do, you could always just go up to the penthouse when you get there, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Mr. Jeon has boundaries and clearly likes keeping his distance. Going to his penthouse before I’m supposed to be there feels like I’m intruding,” you argue.

“You’re literally his assistant, and you go to his bedroom and his closet, fix his things, prepare his meals… there’s no intrusion happening,” Mr. Ri counters. “I know the man. He’ll probably just look at you curiously then go about his routine.”

“Well, since you know him so well, then why did he have me picked up this morning?”

There’s a brief silence before the man next to you responds.

“He did note that you were late for the first time, but that wasn’t his issue,” Mr. Ri says, appeasing you before you react negatively and think that your tardiness was a big deal. “He asked if I knew how you got to Hoseok’s place before and I said you would just take the bus; it was closer to your place so it was fine. They have someone to make his breakfast, too, so you didn’t need to come early; plus, you only went every Monday.”

“What a change, huh?” You attempt to poke fun at yourself and the new arrangement you’re in. 

Not that you’re complaining; you know of other executive assistants who do much more for their bosses and what you have with Jungkook isn’t even that bad. But it is quite the shift compared to what you did for Hoseok. You’ve figured out your own routine, though. And the commute isn’t always terrible, for as long as you’re not one of the unlucky ones, given the recent incidents. 

“It’s quite the change. I don’t think he realized that until yesterday. He also asked me if I know if you eat properly in the morning. Maybe he thinks you don’t?”

“I’ve skipped meals…” you trail. “And well, I told him that I just eat crackers on the bus. Maybe he thinks I’m losing focus some days.”

“Maybe he’s just concerned.”

You snort at the absurdity of the statement. 

Mr. Ri sighs. He knows that Jungkook hasn’t been his best self since he arrived in Seoul, and especially towards you. He’s noticed the young man’s indifference, the occasional passive remark, the frustrated looks, and the tension every morning. He’s noticed your faraway eyes, too, your constant anxiety, and unusual lack of confidence in your usual tasks, given that you look to be second-guessing everything you do. 

As someone who’s worked for the Jeons for so long and who’d watched Jungkook grow up, he’s used to the detachment, but it was always because the young man often lived in his own head. There are always lots of thoughts and ideas, and lots of feelings he keeps bottled in. 

But he’s also seen Jungkook’s kindness that he doesn’t always show, the guilt and anger that restrain him from expressing his emotions, and the care that he seems to put a brake on when he shows too much of it to someone, and so it isn’t much of a surprise to him to him when the young man gave this specific instruction to pick you up, not just today but everyday moving forward.

“The news on the radio reported on the robberies and complaints of sexual harassment against female commuters last night,” Mr. Ri continues. “They attack at any hour now. I’m sure that’s why. He wants me to drive you home everyday, too.”

“Mr. Ri, that’s too much,” you protest. “That’s not part of my contract and it isn’t his responsibility.”

“Maybe, precisely why I think he’s concerned. It isn’t about making sure you’re not late to work or anything. He’s worried that something might happen to you. And I agree. It isn’t safe, ___.”

“It’s not safe for me anywhere. I just… it’s too much,” you sigh. “I don’t need this kind of service. I’m not entitled to it.”

“He’ll insist though. Will you argue with him over your own security? I mean, it’s either this or he’ll pay for your driving lessons and then request for a car for you to use.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. You don’t think you deserve it but you also can’t deny that the concern makes you feel a certain kind of way for him; gratitude, for one, and something else you can’t exactly name. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Good. It’s about time he makes it up to you,” he chuckles. “Boy’s been a brat these past weeks. I wanted to just knock some sense into him.”

“Hmm, not like I expected any less,” you huff. “He just looked grumpy or disinterested during the times I’ve seen him before. Unhappy people like that aren’t always the kindest. Has he always been that way?”

“I wouldn’t say he has. I mean, he just wasn’t joyful or expressive, not like his brother. Jungkook liked to keep to himself; Hoseok often tried to push him out of his comfort zone but the boy wouldn’t really budge. I think as he grew up, that just amplified. People who prefer being alone have their reasons, don’t they?”

They do. You know this just like anyone, perhaps as much as Jungkook. It’s comfortable being alone; there’s no one to hurt you and no one you could hurt. You wonder if his reason is the same, and if, like you, he feels the loneliness creep in every once in a while. 

You nod in silence and the conversation doesn’t continue until you arrive at Jungkook’s building. You have five minutes to get to his unit and you get there in three. When you enter, you hear grunting from the gym, and it’s shortly after when he exits and drinks the glass of water on the counter.

“What’s that?” He gestures at the plastic container next to you.

“It’s fried rice. I made it this morning because I had time to eat breakfast at home,” you say, softly smiling and then bowing at him to show your gratitude. Whatever his reason is, the act was appreciated. 

“And you’re gonna eat again?”

“I was actually–”

You stop midway. You actually meant to serve it to him in case you arrived late, which you realize is pretty ridiculous. 

“Actually what?” He asks, leaning forward on the counter now, with his bare arms from his tank top blinding you a little. 

“I didn’t know what time I was gonna get here so I thought as a last resort, I’ll bring this to heat up and serve to you but then I realized that that’s pretty stupid because it’s leftovers and definitely not high-quality ingredients and it’s… just silly. Plus, you don’t eat rice in the morning.”

With his scrunched brows, he asks, “is it good?”

“It’s pretty delicious,” you say. “I mean, I liked it. I don’t know how sophisticated your palate is… Mr. Jeon.”

You smack yourself internally for rambling. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? If it’s good, then it’s good.”

“I’m an ordinary person, Mr. Jeon. I have normal people’s taste buds.”

“So that makes me, what? Abnormal?”

“No… I–” you unknowingly pout. You shouldn’t have brought this in the first place. 

Jungkook is disarmed again at the sight of your pouty face. If this is your way of thanking him for this morning, he’ll take it. The fact that you’d brought something you cooked from your own place to feed to him is already enough to make him feel hazy, which is why he needs to get away from you right away.

“Just heat it up. I’ll have that. There’s not much food in here anyway,” he says, walking away, leaving you no room to resist.

You do as you’re told, not wanting to overthink and change anything. You do check the cupboard and see a stashed pantry, and you wonder if he’d wanted to find something to criticize about your cooking, too. 

He walks in and lets you fix his tie again, and for some reason, you feel more nervous than you normally do today. You sit and busy yourself with responding to emails as he eats his breakfast, careful not to look at him while he does.

“It’s good, a little better than how I do mine,” he says, surprising you.

“You cook?” You ask too quickly.

“Of course,” he frowns, looking a little offended. “I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?”

“Hiring people to do it for you,” you shrug. 

Peeking at him once again, you see that he’s almost finished with the dish, and you can’t help the little smile on your face at the thought that he might actually enjoy it. It’s just fried rice, but you let yourself feel the shallow happiness from this. He’s at least not berating you or anything.

He finishes his meal as you go through yesterday’s meetings. There’s not much about the Arts Center he says, just like yesterday and the day before, and you start to wonder if the issue with his father has anything to do with that. 

You let it go, opting to just follow his pace and let him talk about it when he’s ready, if he ever will be. 

The morning goes by smoothly. Jungkook meets with Yoongi in his office then reviews the reports you’d sent last Monday. He sends you an email, saying that they’ve been approved and for you to attach his signature for sign-off and dissemination, leaving you perplexed at the lack of any other comments again. 

He goes for a quick lunch at the dining hall while you eat a sandwich at the pantry, and not long after, you’re back in the car to head to Jungkook’s appointment with his best friend.

Kim Taehyung’s tailor shop boasts of classic European design. It’s elegant in all the ways that he is, as he stands by the desk in his working space, a smaller room on the mezzanine floor with an exquisite couch and displays of his work. He’s donned in an orange suit that you think only he can pull off, while his brother, Seokjin, sits on a chair in an impeccable black 3-piece. 

You know as much that Jungkook grew up with both men, but while the brothers are often a hot topic on the news because of their wealth, their successful businesses, and colorful dating lives, you now wonder how Jungkook managed to stay out of the spotlight despite being a lot of the things that they are. 

You bow at them after Jungkook introduces you as his assistant, and you’re surprised when Seokjin reaches out his hand to shake yours, bowing as well and offering you a kind smile. Taehyung does the same, and you can’t help but feel the warmth on your cheeks. They’re clearly incredibly handsome men with amazing styles, just like your boss, but they’re obviously respectful and gentle, unlike him. 

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cho,” Taehyung smiles. “So, what events do I need to dress my best friend for?”

He looks warm, friendly, and you can’t help but mirror his smile as he offers you a seat and some tea. You take out your calendar and enumerate at least three big events in the next months, which would require standout designs. Jungkook also wants four additional everyday classic suits, and Taehyung starts sketching on his pad as you speak. 

“Make one for my event, too,” Seokjin says. “I’m launching my traditional alcohol brand in Singapore in September. It’ll be a big thing so Jungkook needs a fancy piece for that as well.”

“That soon?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, it got pushed early,” Seokjin replies.

Jungkook asks you to check his calendar for any activities in the Singapore office, and you state that there’s nothing scheduled during that time. 

“There’s a landscape designer I want to meet while I’m there. Schedule one with her later,” Jungkook instructs you, and you make a note to coordinate with Lucas, who will continue to serve as the assigned assistant for the Vice President’s Southeast Asia trips. 

Taehyung finishes the rough designs quickly, given that he’s already familiar with the style his client wants. He’s done a lot of Jungkook’s suits, which you know from all the weeks of preparing his clothes, and you do admit that he looks best in these custom-made pieces.

As Taehyung takes Jungkook’s measurements - given that, as per his words, Jungkook has gotten wider since the last time - he asks if you have something to wear for those big events, too. 

“Uh, yes,” you say. 

“Are they from company events from before?” Taehyung asks.

You nod shyly. It’s not like you’re paid enough to afford a new one every time nor can you wear them anywhere else; there aren’t exactly regular fancy dinners and social occasions you get invited to.

“Have new ones made, then,” Jungkook says, his back turned to you.

“Uh, there’s no need, Mr. Jeon. The gowns still look new and they’re well-made,” you insist.

“Store-bought?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow cocked.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Kim.”

“Nothing beats custom-designed ones though. And I must say, I’m kinda good at them.”

“I, uh… it’s really not necessary,” you stutter, feeling a little too shy and definitely undeserving. It’s Kim Taehyung; his name is the brand.

“I believe it is,” Jungkook says now, turning to you. “They’re big events and we’re organizing one with the arts professionals. Some dignitaries will be coming, too, including the culture minister. I’d prefer if you looked the part of working for the Vice President, Ms. Cho. You represent me in that way.”

“I��� uh, okay,” you sigh, knowing you don’t seem to be in a position to turn him down. 

“Great. Start thinking of designs, then!” Taehyung beams.

It’s some minutes later when Jungkook’s measurements have been taken and Taehyung calls for you. You sit on the chair facing his desk not far away while Jungkook and Seokjin talk about sports and this new club that opened in Gangnam. 

Seated in front of you, Taehyung takes his sketch pad and starts asking what design you want.

“Something simple and comfortable since I’ll be moving around,” you say softly. “And nothing form-fitting or revealing since, uh…”

“I understand,” Taehyung smiles, revealing a gentle side of him that the paparazzi and tabloids clearly don’t capture. 

He starts drawing your silhouette, glancing at you then at Jungkook before speaking.

“So, he’s been in this role for a few weeks now. Has he been nice?”

“Define ‘nice,’” you respond, earning you a chuckle. 

“I guess that’s my answer, then.”

“I don’t mean to say he isn’t,” you backtrack. “Mr. Jeon just has a different leadership style as Mr. Jung’s, that’s all.”

“I suppose that’s quite a difficult adjustment for you, huh?”

You purse your lips and Taehyung laughs, the soft way he does it is something new and refreshing to you. You didn’t realize how deprived you are of such gentleness, of such acts or sights as simple as a smile. Hoseok is no longer your source. Your team hasn’t been as jolly these past weeks. The only other person you talk to regularly at work is Yoongi, and while he’s definitely been smiling more, it’s a lot more teasing than it is comforting. You’ve been missing your best friends more because of that, you think - Soomin’s smile is blinding, Jimin’s is sweet and infectious. Perhaps it’s why you haven’t been smiling much yourself. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures you. “I just wanted to check on him. This whole move has been tough but he doesn’t say much. I’m guessing he doesn’t tell you, either, but he’ll definitely show it.”

“He has, actually,” you say softly, knowing now that even with his closest friends, Jungkook tends to keep things to himself. “He’s pretty stressed most days, always working and stuff. He’s been a little hard on me but I guess that’s a natural reaction for some.”

“That’s not an excuse though.”

“It isn’t, but… it’s okay. I can handle it.”

It’s not as much of a lie anymore as it used to be. Jungkook hasn’t been overly critical about things as he was just last week. He rarely makes comments on your minutes now, doesn’t correct the reports you reviewed, doesn’t talk over you or doesn’t yell. There’s been a change, definitely, and you wonder what triggered it. 

“He doesn’t really smile, does he?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Taehyung’s laughter is one of disbelief and pure amusement, catching the attention of the other two men but he waves them off. 

“He still does, just not as much,” he responds. “It kinda stopped after the breakup with Chaerin but I guess that’s what heartbreak does, right?”

“I… wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he hums. “I don’t wish it on anyone.”

You glance at Jungkook, briefly letting yourself imagine a version of him that’s a lot more carefree, relaxed, perhaps happy. Maybe it’s the loneliness and that you’d understand; that, you’ve experienced. It’s both liberating and isolating. You wonder if that’s how he’s been feeling all these years since then.

“I’m done,” Taehyung announces, showing you three designs that are exactly what you asked for. 

“These look nice. And way out of my price range,” you laugh.

“Perks of having a rich boss,” he winks. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay? You’re my client and I want you to wear these with confidence. Now, if you’re okay with all this, I’ll get one of my female assistants to get your measurements.”

You nod in response. There’s absolutely nothing you would change about those designs. And if you’re being honest, you now can’t wait for those events just so you could wear them. Hoseok had obviously paid for the gowns you had to wear for the big events, but those were store-bought that A-yeong helped you choose. Some were your own purchases, but this is the first time that you’re getting measured for custom-made clothing designed by Kim Taehyung. 

You walk towards the fitting room at the corner where one of his staff meets you. She’s meticulous, which is why it takes longer than usual just to get this done. With her silence, however, you’re able to hear the conversation happening outside, with the brothers now asking Jungkook about the same thing you’ve been wondering about.

“By the way, what was up with you last Monday?” Seokjin asks. “I thought that was gonna be night 4 of you going home with a new woman. But you passed out before you could even ask. And that was just 9PM.”

“Four nights isn’t much, though,” Taehyung laughs. “Didn’t he do that with seven women on seven straight nights when he was in Singapore? That was wild. Was it that stressful there? Or were there just so many to choose from?”

“Shut up. I’m not proud of that,” Jungkook groans. “And that was one time. It never happened again.”

“It never happened seven times straight again,” Seokjin corrects. “You were really living your life out there, huh? Stressful job, a rooftop bar in your apartment building, chauffeur and butler services 24/7, women from all over the world begging to sleep with you…”

“It’s called the post-break up stage,” Taehyung says. 

“For six years?!” Seokjin asks incredulously. “It’s either you loved Chaerin that much, you blamed yourself too much, or you just really sucked at moving on.”

“I vote all of the above,” Taehyung states.

“Me, too,” Seokjin claims.

“Fuck you both,” Jungkook groans again. 

“I think he also just missed us too much,” Seokjin adds. “Lucas was cleaning up your messes every time, not snapping you out of it. But we’re here now so I guess three straight nights is as far as you’ll go.”

“Two, if you stopped me last Sunday,” Jungkook points out. “You both always insisted that Sundays are a no-no. You were too busy with your own women.”

“May we remind you that you didn’t even make it to our table. You stepped foot in the bar then left five minutes later,” Taehyung says. “But really, what was it about Monday? You seemed angrier than usual.”

“Just… a bunch of things my father said,” Jungkook huffs.

“Did he tell you off again?”

“Not really, surprisingly. He just delivered a message basically, about what the board members were saying about me and my project. Bullshit stuff, you know? I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Did you?”

“Sorta,” Jungkook says. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s still happening, right?” Taehyung asks worriedly. “The Arts Center, I mean. You’ve been wanting to work on that since the building was abandoned five years ago.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook responds. “I guess. We already put money into it. I’ll just have to make concessions if my father doesn’t side with me on this. I hate to think he’s buying into what those old folks are saying.”

“Ms. Cho, we’re all done,” the staff member tells you, muffling the conversation outside that you couldn’t help but hear. 

It felt quite intrusive, hearing how life was like for Jungkook in Singapore, but then again, his personal life seemed to be the topic in the office comfort rooms, and you don’t know how to feel about getting confirmation about those rumors. It felt sad more than anything though, living that kind of life away from friends and family. You wouldn’t know what moving on from a breakup feels like, but you suppose people grieve a lost love in their own ways; you can’t blame them for how they choose to repair the parts of them that broke. 

But the bit about his conversation with his father is what bothers you. You’d hate to think that there’s a possibility that Jungkook’s plans won’t be fully realized, and whatever the reasons for that are, you hope they didn’t break his spirit too much. You know the plans now like the back of your hand and the more you learn, the more you believe in it. You hope Jungkook continues to believe in it, too.

You exit the fitting room, catching the end of a conversation where Seokjin suggests a wholesome weekend for the three men of just dinner and drinks. The two other men agree, and they all turn to you once you make your presence felt.

“All good?” Taehyung asks you.

“Yes,” you bow in thanks. 

“Great. The gowns will be ready at the same time as Jungkook’s suits will be. I’ll just let you guys know, okay?

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “But anyway, we have to get back to work. Thanks again.”

The brothers bid you and Jungkook goodbye, and you head back to the office with not much words said. Jungkook seems less frustrated, but the worry you feel suddenly returns. It’s the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel supported, that maybe what he’s doing isn’t enough, and that more than that, it's him choosing to deal with all this on his own, not even looking to his friends to comfort him.

Jimin and Soomin meet you for lunch at a restaurant that Saturday afternoon. The drive from Busan took longer than expected, they said, but you say you don’t mind. They’re visiting you like they always do every month, regardless of how busy they are back in their hometown, which was your home for a few years, too.

You were in the same class; your mom worked at the school, which was the only reason why you were able to attend a prestigious one in the first place. Even when you moved back to Daegu, you remained in touch with them. Despite the distance, none of you wanted to just let the friendship fade, and even when they had to stay back and you made a life out here in Seoul, they made sure to visit you as much as they could.

They’re why you were excited for the weekend to come and now, you’ll be enjoying a hearty meal, getting your nails done after, lounging at your apartment, and then heading to a club for a night out, which you only do whenever they’re around. 

“So, has the boss situation improved?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and laced with worry “Or should I storm the jerk’s house and give him a piece of my mind?”

“It has,” you chuckle. “So no need to call him names or fight anyone. I’m okay.”

“Well, you did call him a grumpy old grinch with nice hair the other week,” Jimin points out. “So… did he get a haircut?”

“No,” you laugh again. “And that was in the heat of the moment. I… I mean, he’s still grumpy but he’s not… as grumpy or unbearable. He’s been—”

“Oh hun, please don’t say he’s been kind and then give him a pass for how he’s been to you,” Soomin reprimands. “Mean people don’t just become nice all of a sudden. And if they do, that’s a controlling tactic - they want you to think they’re capable of change so you’ll soften up to them and then give them a pass every time they do asshole-y things again.”

“You watch too many shows,” you frown, although knowing her statement isn’t wrong; it’s just not something you can relate with Jungkook.

Sure, he hasn’t been the nicest, but he also hasn’t been the meanest. He’s just been… him, you suppose - a bit in the middle; frustrated at worst, quiet at best, stoic on most days. He does seem to live in his head a lot, and while you won’t go so far as characterizing him as kind, he definitely hasn’t been insufferable these past few days. 

“I’ve just dealt with too many assholes, ___,” Soomin corrects. “They’re all the same. Men are shit.”

“Except for Jimin,” you correct.

“Except for Jimin,” she concurs. 

“I accept the honor,” he bows. “But seriously, ___. How has it been? You… you seemed really sad last week and I would’ve driven here then if we didn’t have that work emergency.”

“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve experienced worse,” you try to assure them.

“You do know that having experienced something worse doesn’t mean it’s fine for you to experience something bad again, right?” Soomin points out.

“I know, but it also means that I know my threshold for bad behavior,” you say. “Jungkook was in a lot of stress and I did mess up. But I think he’s making up for that.”

“By apologizing, you mean?” Soomin cocks an eyebrow.

Your sigh tells her that’s definitely not what Jungkook has done. 

“Well, he approves my minutes and reviewed reports much quicker,” you reason. “And he doesn’t comment as much. But actually, I think he just pities me. And that’s worse.”

“Why would he pity you?” She asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I said that a tree fell on our roof and that mom got injured the weekend before my mishap,” you explain. “And then he found out how early I start my day just so I can get to him on time. He’s made adjustments after those and I… I think he’s guilty or something. And he’s just not being his usual angry self around me to make it up to me.”

“So in short, he’s still kind of an asshole,” Soomin says, prompting Jimin to snort and you to pout. “He could always just apologize if he’s guilty and realized he should treat you better.”

“Some things aren’t easy for other people to say, you know?” You say softly. 

“That’s not an excuse,” she points out.

“It’s an explanation,” you counter. “Or one of them, I guess. I don’t know him well enough, but it’s better to think that he’s a decent person who just struggles with emotions than someone who willingly makes people’s lives difficult. I mean, that’s easier to manage and accept.”

“If that helps you deal and he’s indeed improving, then maybe I won’t have to storm his place then,” she smiles, taking your hand and kissing it as she likes to do. 

She knows your habit of pressing your nails onto your skin, and she always said she likes to remind you that you deserve gentleness, too; she’ll give it if you can’t give it to yourself. 

The rest of the afternoon goes as you planned, with all the banter you’d expect from your best friends amid the pampering and then the chick flick in the background as you get ready in your tiny apartment. 

You smile at your reflection in the mirror. The high-waist trousers and sleeveless top ensemble is a refreshing sight for you, as you only really dress up like this for a night out. You’re in your usual pencil skirts and blouses otherwise, and in jeans and tops or oversized jumpers on a normal day. 

Soomin’s done your makeup and Jimin compliments you as he looks on, and soon enough, they’re ready as well to head out. 

“Where’re we going?” You ask from the passenger seat as Jimin navigates the busy streets of Seoul on a Saturday night. 

“Some new restaurant the guys discovered,” Soomin responds. “I think it’s not far from here.”

“Okay, good. Hajoon’s been texting, asking what time we’ll get there,” you tell them. 

“Geez, you were already with him last night. Tell him to be patient,” Jimin rolls his eyes. 

Soomin laughs from the backseat as she teases that he’s just being jealous, to which he points out that he just hasn’t seen you in a while so the man can wait. And you assure Jimin that you’d gladly skip a night with Hajoon to be with your best friends, no questions asked. 

You get there eventually, and you immediately spot the group because of the laughter coming from their table. There are four men; the two women are Soomin’s friends, which is how you got involved with Hajoon in the first place. You met some time last year and you’ve been hanging out with him since then - among other things - and you’ve been enjoying it, given the simplicity and lack of drama when he’s not being moody. He’s a warm body who knows how to use it and you’re a good type of relief, as he’d said; there’s really not much more you need as you just try to survive through life and make something out of yourself in however way you can. 

Hajoon waves at you from his seat, gesturing to his left to say he’s saved that spot for you. You head there after greeting your other friends, with Jimin and Soomin following you. 

Right as you sit down and greet the man next to you, you’re caught by surprise when he kisses your cheek and snakes his arm around your waist. 

“Hey, I missed you today,” Hajoon hums, smiling at you the way he did last night and this morning; it definitely wasn’t this sweet when he left for a work trip last month.  

“I… saw you today,” you frown, earning you a chuckle. 

“I know; I was still thinking about you, though,” he says. 

You give a smile - as genuine as you can make it - and then turn towards your friends to your left who are trying to hold in their laughter. 

You order a beer after he offers you a glass of wine, and then go for the pork belly when he says the salmon here is good. 

“Just craving for meat, that’s all,” you tell him. 

“Is there anything else you want? Just let me know, okay?”

You hum your yes and then turn back to your friends after Hajoon makes jokes with his.

“Since when was he this sweet to you?” Soomin whispers with wide, curious eyes. 

“Since never,” you reply. “I mean, we’ve never been affectionate outside of bed…”

“Is anything else different?” Jimin wonders, careful not to bring attention to your conversation.

You look back at how things were before Hajoon left and how it was when he was away. Nothing seemed different. You hung out at his place before he flew out, then you messaged each other every now and then during the one month he was abroad. He was more interested to talk, but given the time difference and the pressure and stress you’ve been under the past weeks, you didn’t bother much, neither did he. 

But you also think back to last night - how he picked you up from your apartment, which he’s never done before, and how he prepared a luxurious dinner. He made you breakfast this morning, too, whereas you both usually just sleep in in tangled limbs and then separate once you wake up.

“He cooked me fancy stuff but I just thought he wanted to show off what he learned during his cooking masterclass,” you shrug. “And well… he seemed sweeter than normal.”

“Maybe he hooked up with someone while he was away and he’s guilty about it,” Jimin suggests.

“He didn’t say anything about it and he knows I wouldn’t mind,” you say. “We’re not exclusive, even if I don’t hang out with other guys.”

“Maybe he’s over the fucking and wants to do the loving bit now,” Soomin offers. “I mean, he always seemed more into you than you were into him.”

“He’s hot and decent when he’s in a good mood; that’s all I need,” you admit. 

“But honestly, that’s probably it,” Soomin continues. “I think he’s hinting that he wants to be more.”

“But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re 30! When are you ever gonna be ready?” Soomin whisper-yells.

“Never!” You pout now. “I mean… Not with him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell him soon, then,” Jimin sighs. “Before it gets messy. And you hate messy.”

“What if men just don’t have feelings?” Soomin wonders out loud. “That way, you can’t hurt them.”

“So that way, they can hurt you?” Jimin points out. “No. I’m not letting any men hurt either one of you, okay? I love you both too much.”

“We know,” you and Soomin say at the same time. 

“But I agree with Jimin, ___. You’re gonna have to let that man next to you, who’s thankfully deaf, go. And then just find another person who can give you what you need,” Soomin continues. “Like, uh…” 

She looks around the semi-packed restaurant to find some random man to just point to, her eyes widening in awe as she spots a table close by with the type of men she was just thinking about. 

“Like them.” 

You laugh at her, not taking her seriously, but still, you look towards the direction of her cocked head, only to feel your throat dry up and your heartbeat speed up. Your eyes widen in reflex as they meet the piercing gaze of the man who’d given you a headache for weeks. He also happens to look unfairly handsome in his white top and slicked back hair. 

“Shit, I would totally go for them,” Soomin adds, “and I only even like men a quarter of the time.”

Your best friends look at you as they wait for a response, only to see a nervous look on your face, as if you’re seeing a ghost or something, and the way you turn to them and stutter almost seems like you are.

From the other table, Jungkook pants quietly. You finally looked his way, and he didn’t know what to expect your reaction to be - maybe a bit of shock, but definitely not this worried. Granted, you’re out with your friends at a restaurant that he and his friends frequent. It’s not the type of place they’d normally go for - this is a lot simpler, less private, and more accommodating than the exclusive restaurants and hotels they go to for dinners before heading to a club. But Jungkook loves their pork belly; he orders it every week, and tonight, he was craving for this specifically before going to a private party of one of Taehyung’s clients. 

Jungkook had seen you when you sat down, and he’d been taken aback when the guy to your right immediately kissed your cheek; it seems he’s barely let go of your waist since then, too. Perhaps the man is your boyfriend - and Jungkook doesn’t know what made him think you wouldn’t have one - but it also seems that the one to your left is into you, too, at least based on how he smiles at you sweetly but rolls his eyes at the affectionate guy to your other side. 

But other than the embarrassing obvious affection that both of them are directing at you, what made him lose his senses is how you look, and you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. Your hair is styled, your makeup is bolder than usual, and he won’t even start with how you’re dressed. It’s a lot more skin than he’s used to - you’re out, after all, and if he’ll go by what your companions are wearing, he supposes this is your stop before heading to some club to party, too. Whereas when you’re at work, you have the skirt and long-sleeved blouse ensemble that you wear everyday - still pretty, perhaps just a lot more reserved than what he’s seeing now. 

He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you entertain your suppose-boyfriend, even when you engage in hushed conversation with the man and woman to your left, and even when you stare back at him, the initial shock now wearing down to a look of curiosity. Perhaps you’re wondering why he keeps glancing at you, too.

“I told you he’s got it bad,” Taehyung laughs from the other side of the table. 

He’s noticed how his friend hasn’t said much in the last 10 minutes, his gaze directed at the loud table close by. One glance and Taehyung knew why. 

“Well, we told him,” Seokjin corrects. “He only ever acts out when he’s threatened and he’s apparently threatened by his pretty assistant.”

“I’m not acting out,” Jungkook scowls, finally breaking the staring contest with you.

“You’ve never been this much of a jerk,” Seokjin says. “So yes, you’re acting out.”

Jungkook ignores them, his eyes turning back to you, and finds you downing two shots of tequila consecutively, then using the beer as your chaser. His knuckles unconsciously clench when your suppose-boyfriend scoots closer, whispering something in your ear, his lips grazing your skin. 

Jungkook exhales deeply, trying to get a grip of himself. He’s acting foolishly. You obviously have a life outside of work, and it obviously includes going out for dinner and drinks with friends, having a boyfriend, and enjoying your youth the way he is. There’s a world outside of the routine you’ve both created, of the silence you both share, and the time you spend together, unknowingly learning about each other without meaning to, without wanting to.

“___,” Soomin calls your name one more time. 

“Huh?” You answer, finally tearing your eyes away from Jungkook, who’d unfortunately captured your attention after you noticed he was there. 

You’ve been used to his impeccable looks in his fancy suits; you’ve even gotten used to his tank top and sweatpants post-workout outfits every morning, and while you’re still not immune to that look, his night out wear fit for a party leaves you more choked up than normal. 

Maybe it’s the black jeans that you spot as he sits on the edge of the couch, or the white button-up top with the rolled sleeves up to his elbow, or his haircut that makes him look a little more mature. Maybe it’s all that and the way he’s gazing at you, the look in his eyes something you can’t quite read. Perhaps like you, he’s surprised to see you here the way you’re shocked that he’d chosen this place to eat; it’s not exactly a fancy restaurant you know he likes eating at. 

But he’s here, and so are you, and suddenly you feel exposed, as if the world outside of work that you’ve kept to yourself is baring open to the man who stands at the center of what you do everyday. And you’re not sure how you feel about that.

“I was just saying… those men are pretty hot and they look interested, too,” Soomin wiggles her eyebrows. “ I mean, they keep looking here.”

“One of them is my boss,” you finally say. “Guy on the right. That’s… uh, that’s Jungkook.”

“Holy fuck, hun,” Soomin chokes on her drink. “Why did you leave out the part about your rude boss being a fucking god?”

“Does it matter?” Jimin scowls. “He’s still rude.”

“It’s different when the guy’s hot. It makes the anger more intense, you know?” Soomin says. “Attractive people elicit more passionate feelings sometimes.”

“Excuse me, that’s not why I was angry,” you pout. “He was really being unfair.”

“Well, he was. But I think my point also applies,” Soomin argues. “I’d just like to warn you that workplace hotties are a menace. Except for Yoongi - he was heaven sent. ”

“Ah, the man who could’ve been,” Jimin sighs. “We at least knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah, this dude over here is hot but he’s mean. And that’s your type,” Soomin smirks.

“Can we… not talk about this while he’s there? And while this other dude is right next to me?” You glare at your friends, especially at Soomin whose insinuation wasn’t lost on you. “It’s so… weird.”

“Hey, we’re here for you, okay?” Jimin softens as he looks at you. “Just let us know if one of them makes you feel uncomfortable. We can always just stay at your place and watch horror movies until morning and you and Soomin can lose your voices from screaming and then I’ll lose my hearing because of it.”

His words make you laugh. There’s a tenderness in Jimin that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Even when he’s telling you to stop yelling because you live for the thrill of a jumpscare, he says it so tenderly while laughing before pulling you both in his embrace. 

“I’m okay. I’m just… I don’t know, probably just not used to seeing him somewhere that isn’t the office or his home,” you reason. “And I feel a bit exposed, I guess. This is my world and his is… right there.”

You wrap your arms around your body subconsciously, realizing only you’d done it when Jimin asks if you’re cold, offering his jacket then taking it back because Hajoon might smack him or something.

You turn it down, knowing you actually feel hot more than anything. You’re dressed up and definitely dressed in less, and somehow having Jungkook see you like this is oddly making you shy, perhaps a little too conscious.

“Just don’t mind him,” Soomin advises. “It’s a restaurant. You obviously have a social life and he can’t fault you for it, nor make you feel weird about it. Just focus on us, okay? Or on Hajoon, if that’ll happen.”

You follow her words and try to block out Jungkook. You do slightly nod at him, as well as at Taehyung and Seokjin just to acknowledge their presence, but you continue on with your meal, as the dishes arrive soon after. 

The pork belly is a winner; you’ll probably come back here for that alone. You do manage to dodge Hajoon’s attempts at feeding you, and your other friends engage with the three of you at the other end of the table. It’s going well for the most part, until Hajoon starts to act a little wary, a little tense.

“Hey,” he says, leaning close to you. “The guy on the other table has been looking at you all night. It’s kinda annoying.”

You glance at Jungkook’s table and he looks away when you do. “Oh, just don’t mind him,” you wave Hajoon off. “Maybe I remind him of someone or something.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel him tense even more, as you look up and see that he’s staring down the man on the other side. Hajoon’s had a bit to drink, and you know he tends to be cocky and irrational when he is. You groan once he shakes his head, saying he’s gonna give “that stranger” a piece of his mind because “he can’t be looking at my girl like that.”

The initial annoyance you feel turns into panic once he stands from his seat and storms to the other table. You follow him, with your friends just looking in worry. His friends are more encouraging of what he wants to do though. 

“What the fuck is your problem staring at my girl like that?” Hajoon mumbles, acting all tough when he’s never threatened nor confronted anyone like this, even when he’s drunk. 

Jungkook seems taken aback. Perhaps it’s the aggression he didn’t expect, or maybe it’s finally having to acknowledge your presence in the restaurant, just in an unfortunate way. 

“Your girl?” He scoffs. 

The way the man is speaking to him is quite annoying, but he also knows your boyfriend is slightly drunk, so he dismisses him because Jungkook doesn’t need this drama tonight, especially not in front of you. 

Hajoon hates the way this stranger is looking at him and not taking him seriously. He’d seen how he kept glancing at you, perhaps trying to get your attention away from him, and he’s really had enough. His words are slurring but this is the courage he needs to stand up for you. You’ve said before how unwanted attention makes you uncomfortable, and he’s gonna do something about it before the man gets to try anything with you. 

“Yeah, my girl. You seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?” Hajoon grunts. 

“My only problem is you making a scene right now,” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re drunk and insecure and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your girl.”

Not that you expected him to back off, but you didn’t actually think that Jungkook would further press Hajoon’s buttons. The man is drunk and insecure and indeed embarrassing, but getting told so is a blow to the ego, especially in your presence. And so you’re not surprised that this just makes him angrier, and since you’ve never dealt with this version of him before, you don’t know how to pacify him.

You didn’t actually think that Hajoon had a daring bone in his body despite being the way he is, but when he attempts to lunge at Jungkook, you’re left in disbelief. You’re quick enough to pull Hajoon back before he lands a fist on the other man’s face, but he’d been worked up enough that he hits the glass of wine on the table, knocking it over and causing the drink to spill on Jungkook’s thin white top. 

“Mr. Jeon!” You shriek, pulling Hajoon back more forcefully before pushing him to the side so you can get ahead. 

You take the napkin from the table and wipe Jungkook’s wet clothed torso, slowing down immediately as you realize what exactly it is you’re doing. 

“I… uh,” you stutter, standing straight up and mirroring his questioning eyes. 

It was a reflex for you, considering that you constantly make sure that he’s dressed impeccably. 

“You know him?!” Hajoon asks in disbelief, tugging on your hand now so you’ll turn to him.

“He’s my boss, you idiot!” smacking him on the chest as you glare at him. “And you just put my job in jeopardy and for what?”

“Well, what can he do?” Hajoon challenges. “Get you fired because of me? Does he own the company and shit?”

“My father does,” Jungkook responds. “And I’m the Vice President.”

Hajoon just rolls his eyes but you aren’t amused. You glance at your table and gesture for one of his friends to take him, so one of them does. He stands up and pulls Hajoon away before he can do or say anything else.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your head bowed down as you apologize. “I…” 

The mess on his outfit is too much; the red has stained the white top and you know he feels sticky. He looks like he has somewhere to go after this and that makes it worse.

“I– I can call Mr. Ri to get the car in here. I can get extra clothes from your travel bag,” you say, knowing that Jungkook always has a bag filled with clothes for emergency flights or check-ins. 

You get your phone and make a call, telling Jungkook that his chauffeur will be here soon. You glance towards your friends who are still pacifying a drunk Hajoon, and you decide that they can handle all that. Right now, your priority is Jungkook.

You walk out towards the car that’s on hazard mode outside the restaurant and pick out the top that’s most appropriate for a night out, which happens to be a semi-loose black button-up. You head back inside, with Taehyung and Seokjin informing you that Jungkook has gone to the washroom, so you scurry towards there and knock at the door.

“Mr. Jeon, I have your black long sleeves here,” you say as your knuckles tap on the wood. “Just tell me–” 

You’re interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, the sight of Jungkook in his jeans hanging by his waist and his unbuttoned white top catching you by surprise. His hair’s a bit damp and so is his bare torso, as you see that he’s tried to clean the wine off his body. 

You catch yourself looking longer than you should, and you immediately look away as you hand him over what he needs. 

“Please let me know what else you need, sir,” you say, your eyes glued to the pretty wallpaper as you awkwardly stand outside the washroom. 

“Jungkook,” he says, earning him a curious look. “I mean, you don’t need to be formal. We’re not at work.”

You nod, realizing it does sound weird to address him as such in a casual setting. 

“Okay… Jungkook,” you mumble, but even the way it rolls off your tongue is a bit odd. You’re not used to it, and you hope you won’t ever be. 

He closes the door and you take this time to calm yourself down. You’ve been so worried since you saw the glass tip over and mess up his outfit, and given his hot-headedness, you’re a little surprised that he didn’t fight back. He does have a reputation to uphold but even then, stopping himself from punching Hajoon must’ve taken a lot. 

The door opens and you sigh in relief; his outfit still looks good and he’s fully clothed, so there’s no lingering looks this time anymore. You take the top that he gives you, and you take the chance to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” you start. “I don’t know why he— I mean, he’s a bit drunk and he’s not usually like this.”

“You’re not the one who should apologize so don’t,” he responds. 

“Well, he won’t apologize so I will.”

“You didn’t spill the drink and you didn’t come at me. That was him,” he counters. 

You just shrug, choosing to just concede. “I’ll just return this to Mr. Ri.”

He calls your name before you turn around to leave. 

“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and your boyfriend,” he says, much too low and too gentle than you’re used to. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer softly. “We just, uh, we just hang out.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to correct this misinformation. Maybe you just want to remind yourself because you’re not anyone’s anything; hearing Hajoon claim you as yours made you want to just create that distance even more.

Jungkook wants to push it, to ask more. The man clearly acts like he’s your lover, given the physical affection and the way he tried to stand up for you. But there’s a bit of shame as you state that you and the man “just hang out,” and there’s that wonder he feels - how can you be with someone without being with them, and if turning away people who are clearly into you is a tendency you have. There’s Min Yoongi, after all, who’d liked you enough to remain as your friend when you needed one despite how he felt.  

“Okay then,” Jungkook nods. “And your job’s not in jeopardy. Don’t take responsibility for a stupid act you didn’t do.”

You bow in thanks, not much used to this side of him that’s understanding and even calm. You suppose he’d seen you worry about your job, had seen you look embarrassed over something that you didn’t even do, and perhaps he saw the discomfort over how Hajoon was talking about you. 

You’re about to walk out of the hallway when his call of your name stops you again, prompting you to turn around.

“About earlier… did I… did I make you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, the worry in his voice surprising you. 

You debate over playing it down or telling the truth, but you go with the latter. 

“A… a little,” you admit, looking away. 

You hear him sigh, and there’s a look of guilt in his eyes as you turn to him. 

“I’m so—”

The footsteps of another diner in the hallway disrupts him, and you both make way so he can use the washroom, too. Perhaps you and Jungkook had taken so long, and you don’t want others to conspire about what’s happening, so you walk out and tell him again that you’ll just return his clothing to Mr. Ri. 

From your table, Soomin and Jimin watch the awkwardness of your parting of ways, with you scurrying out the door and Jungkook returning to his seat with a deep sigh before glaring at Hajoon.

“He does sound and look like an asshole, aside from being hot,” Soomin observes. “That’s totally ___’s type.”

“Are you saying she likes her boss?” Jimin asks incredulously. 

“I’m just saying that’s her type, not that she likes him,” Soomin corrects. “There’s a difference. I still hate him for making things hard for her. I wish he would stop treating her like that. You and I know she won’t quit anytime soon. Especially because he’s a Jeon.”

“I know,” Jimin sighs. “I wish we could protect her from all this, too. But she’s always done what she wanted to do. And we wait for her to tell us when things are hard; we just hold her hand whenever it is.”

“That’s all we can do, I guess,” Soomin responds. “Sometimes though I wish she’d just… let someone else do more than just hold her hand, you know? It could’ve been Yoongi, or even Hajoon before all this mess. It could’ve been you.”

“You know that’ll never happen,” Jimin laughs bitterly, with Soomin knowing exactly what he means. “You’re only ever just her friend or her lover; you can’t be both.”

Soomin hums in agreement, as she’d seen you draw the line with the men you’d come across with. You’d make it clear if friendship is all you want; you’d be straightforward if it’s just sex you’re seeking. You give either just your heart or your body and you’re always careful not to give both. There are parts of you that you don’t want to share, that you don’t want to expose to them; there’s a kind of hurt that you don’t want to experience. 

They watch you walk back inside and then head to their table, where you sit next to a buzzed Hajoon who still has half a mind to look at you guiltily. 

“I think I’ll head back home after this,” you tell the group. “Kinda not in a partying mood anymore.”

Your other friends apologize on Hajoon’s behalf, proceeding to ask you if that was really your boss and if he’d threatened your job because of it, remarking that it would be such an asshole move of him to do that or to even get mad at you for something you didn’t do. 

You come to Jungkook’s defense; he didn’t say anything to that effect at all. Perhaps you’d been the unfair one who assumed that he would - that he’d demand that you apologize, that he’d use this against you. 

“He’s… not like that,” you say, meaning it. You turn to your best friends who have disagreeing looks. “He… he tried to apologize for making me feel uncomfortable,” you say softly. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Look, ___,” Hajoon starts, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you sigh. “I’ll just pay my bill and head out.”

You, Soomin, and Jimin all pay accordingly and then leave the restaurant, with you turning to Jungkook and his friends, bowing as a form of goodbye.

“Hey, why don’t we buy desserts at a convenience store and have our own party at your place?” Jimin suggests as you all settle in his car. 

“That would be nice,” you hum. “This outfit wouldn’t be such a waste then.”

So that’s what you do, as your best friends treat you to all the snacks you love - a usual occurrence, really, as they used to do that back in Busan to cheer you up during the days when you were feeling sad. It’s one of the things that you allow them to spoil you with and they take advantage of that, as you go home with weeks’ worth of goods for you to enjoy.

You also picked up some drinks on the way, so you play some music and dance around with your wine glasses and take shots in between. It’s too early to be drunk but 11PM might as well be 3AM. You’re all seated snugly in your tiny couch as you watch some variety show on mute, laughing at the hosts' antics even if you can’t hear anything. 

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” you huff, leaning on Soomin’s shoulder as you doze off. “Both of you are all I need. Thank you for never disappointing me.”

They know you don’t always let yourself be this sentimental. They also know that when you do, all you want is for them to listen and to hold you. And that’s what they do, as you eventually clean up and fall asleep on the mattress with them, the events from earlier slowly fading away.

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[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[luvhughes43]

tuition payments | hughes!sister

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]

request: hi!! i love your work and would like to know if you could do hughes brother x younger hughes sister as the reader, who is short money to go to college and is afraid to ask her brothers first help hut once they find out they help her out?

word count: 0.6k

with your parents' new jobs, they were off the grid for awhile while they tended to their clients and hockey prospects. you knew that in advance, which is why your parents had paid for your tuition before their schedules became busy. so when you got an email on monday saying your tuition was overdue, you were shocked to say the least. 

there was $3 000 pending in your account, which meant your scholarship hadn’t gotten cleared again. you emailed your school back immediately, asking about the money and if your credit could be used, but you didn’t get a reply. all you received were multiple OVERDUE messages, each promising to add more money as a late fee to your already high balance. 

you didn’t have enough money in your savings or chequings account to cover the remaining balance, and so you hastily picked up shifts hoping you could make enough to cover the costs. your friends downright asked why you couldn’t just ask your brothers for the money - and in truth you could, but it just felt wrong. you felt so bad for being dependant on everyone in your family, so if you could help it you would work for the tuition money.

you had almost saved enough when you got the email that your payment had gone through. you sighed in relief, thinking your credit went through but when you checked the app you saw that the remaining balance was paid via card. 

you didn’t have a second to think before a call from quinn lit up your phone. 

“hey quinny?” 

“why didn’t you tell me about your tuition?” he asks, getting straight to the point. 

“how do you know about that?” “dad told me before he went on his work trip to check your accounts and make sure everything was paid,” quinn states simply, and you wonder briefly how quinn even got into your school account before realizing your parents have your passwords. 

“oh…”

“why wouldn’t you tell us you had tuition due?” your brother asks again, this time his voice full of confusion. “like, we could’ve handled this sooner. at least you don't have any of the stupid fees,” he trails off. 

“i just,” you pause, feeling that your reasoning was stupid now that you were about to vocalize it. “i feel like i'm so dependent on you guys. i picked up a few shifts to try and make the money up but it just didn’t happen,” you sigh. 

quinns quiet on the phone and you shift uncomfortably. “you know we don’t care right?” 

“i care!” you huff before putting the call on speaker and laying down on your dorm bed. 

“i’m a millionaire,” quinn states simply. “your schooling is important. you’re not working full-time so you can focus on your studies” 

“i know but i still feel bad…”

quinn sighs, “literally don’t worry about it. nobody feels like you're dependent. you're a university student it’s normal to need help,” 

“okay…” your voice is quiet, and you feel a pang of guilt hit your chest. sometimes you just wish that you didn’t have to ask your brothers or parents for help. 

“i love you y/nny, if you need anything just call” 

“i love you too,” you reply. the siblings stay on the call for a few more minutes, just debriefing on life and the daily dramas. you always know, despite how guilty you may feel, that you’ll always have your brothers if you need help.

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Handle It, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Blackmailing, Being Sick, Threatening to Kill Someone, Mentions of An Affair

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

Summary: Y/N stresses about not being able to take a test after missing it because she is sick, but good thing Rafe is here to help.

Masterlist

He can hear tiny sniffles coming from inside of his room. He opens the door to see the wet globs coming from her eyes and the tiny shrivel of her nose confirms his assumption that she is crying. Her hand tugs at the opposite sleeve of his oversized hoodie that she wears. As soon as their eyes lock, he rushes to sit on the bed and pulls her onto his lap. “What’s wrong, my sweet angel?” he coos, unsticking her hair from the wet trail on her face it attached itself to so that he can look into her eyes. She takes a second to steady her breathing, “Y-you kn-know how I had that test today, but I’ve been puking all week so I couldn’t go?” He nods his head for her to continue. “Well, I emailed my professor at the beginning of the week asking if I could do it another day. He said that I would need to show him a doctor's note before the end of the day for that to happen. I tried telling him that I tried everything all week to get one, but my doctor doesn’t have a free appointment, the clinic can’t give me one because they aren’t my regular doctor and the hospital won’t even see me. So, now, I’m going to lose 20% of my mark because I was sick.” 

Rafe listens carefully to her little rant, growing angry at each hoop his sick girlfriend had to go through just to get something as trivial as a redo test. She had been studying every chance she could get, even through her sickness. Rafe knows how serious Y/N is about her grades and school. After all, she needs some great grades to get into grad school. He would never think twice about losing 20% of his grade because all he wants to do is pass the class, which is perfectly doable without that. However, Y/N, especially with her anxiety, needs every percent she can get and Rafe wasn’t going to let some old shit with a stick up his ass stop her from doing so. “It’s going to be okay. Let me handle it, angel,” he assures, kissing her temple. 

——

The line to the professor’s office is three people deep. All of them are waiting to enter for his office hours, but Rafe is not going to take the chance of not talking to him. He stares down the first guy in line and walks to the front of the line. From the guy’s smell, he must be an engineering major. No one says anything about Rafe’s actions because he has a well-known reputation on campus. The door opens to the office and Rafe doesn’t wait for the student inside to walk out. The wrinkles on the professor’s forehead crate a v, a frown falling onto his face. “I don’t believe you are in any of my classes,” he states, trying to pinpoint if he has seen Rafe in any of his lectures. Rafe shakes his head in a low chuckle, “No, I am not, Professor Smith. But my girlfriend is. You may remember her from the email you sent her, Y/N Y/L/N.” “Ah, yes. I do remember her. Unless you have the doctor's notes or are a doctor, then I am afraid I can’t do anything. It’s not my fault she didn’t plan accordingly,” Smith comments, not looking up from his laptop. 

Rafe closes the teacher’s laptop. This causes the man to look at him and he gives him a threatening smile. “I’m sorry to say that I don’t have any notes. But my angel won’t be needing one,” he sings, running his finger along the desk. The elder’s head tilts, “Really? And why would that be?” Rafe’s grin turns almost psychotic.

“Because I know a little secret about where you like to spend your Sunday nights. I have a lot of photographic evidence that I’m sure the university and your wife would love.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Let’s not play this game. My frat brother also likes to visit the little lady you like to have a dalliance with and he told me everything she told him. If that doesn’t convince you, then maybe the piece in my nightstand drawer will.”

The bob of the professor’s Adam’s apple is very evident, “Are you trying to blackmail me?” 

“Nice to see you finally caught up on what is going on. Now, are you going to do what I asked?”

Smith looks at Rafe with wide eyes and the points of his lips stretch. He can see the seriousness on Rafe’s face. His head gives a small nod, “Y-yes. I think I can do something for Ms. Y/L/N.” “That’s great. Let’s type her a nice apologetic email. And if you even think about telling anyone about this, then you might just find yourself six feet under,” Rafe intimidates, reopening the laptop for the professor. 

——

Wind passes through her hair as she makes her way towards Rafe. Her smile rivals the sun and she jumps into his arms. Her legs wrap around his waist. He grips the back of her thighs to keep her up. “What has you so happy, my angel? Only I’m allowed to do that,” Rafe complains, peppering kisses all over her face. She giggles at the assault of his lips, “Professor Smith let me redo the test without a doctor’s note. I got a 100%.” Rafe lets out a cheer, spinning her around. “That’s so great! You work so hard. I’m so proud of you, angel,” he praises. She gives her his thanks as she tells him in detail about her test, talking about how she figured out a question she got a little stuck on. He nods and listens, spotting the professor out of the corner of his eye. Professor Smith becomes frightened and he quickly looks away from Rafe. He smirks at the professor’s reaction, returning his full gaze to his girl.

[gooondocks]

no one's ever had me (not like you) — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: when buck meets his high school sweetheart at the ten-year reunion, he learns that their lives may be very different now, but the spark is still there.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: fluffy fluff. no use of y/n, i'm british so probably inaccurate depiction of high school reunions. based on the song 'so high school' by taylor swift bc i heard it and couldn't stop thinking of this idea. crappy ending bc i suck at wrapping things up. enjoy!!!

─── word count: 2.1k.

     "DO YOU THINK ANYONE'S DONE US all a favour and spiked the punch yet?"

     When the email appeared in his inbox a few months ago — an e-vite, of all things, complete with the kind of graphic design prowess he hasn't seen since the early 2000s — Buck had been pretty intent on ignoring it.

     A hundred excuses had bubbled up in the back of his mind, because honestly, the thought of heading back to his hometown to attend a high school reunion made his skin itch. Trapping himself in a sweaty gymnasium, surrounded by dozens of almost-strangers engaged in a vanity contest of 'who's the most successful?' coupled with a shitty DJ blasting 2010's greatest hits?

     It's really not what he'd call a good time.

     Even if he could've talked himself into it, sharing a ZIP code with his parents for even a day or two was more than he was willing to tolerate. He'd left Hershey in his rearview almost a decade ago, and there's not a fragment of his whole being that regrets it for even a second.

     Except.

     Except the dates lined up with one of his rare weekends off work. Except when he looked up the flights online, just to see, he'd stumbled across a deal so cheap Buck honestly thought he was hallucinating for a moment.

     Except Evan Buckley believes in signs from the universe, and when Maddie gives him that look over lunch one day, even though Buck had absolutely not mentioned the reunion to anyone, it's the final nail in the coffin for him.

     He booked the tickets. He told the team he'd be out of town for the weekend, and bought a new shirt, and now he's standing in his old high school gymnasium. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, that sweat-and-hormones stink that never really goes away, and you're sidling up to him at the refreshments table, and the speakers are blaring an old Ke$ha song he hasn't heard in years.

     For a moment, he's seventeen again. The sound of your voice slips over his skin like a cool breeze in the desert and suddenly it could be the night of junior prom, and the pair of you have sequestered yourselves in a shadowy corner, laughing at the committee's subpar attempt at an 'Under the Sea' theme.

     Buck blinks, and he isn't seventeen, but he flashes you a wide smile anyway as you help yourself to a glass of bright red punch.

     "Hi."

     He says the word so quietly, he's surprised you even hear it. But there's a sparkle in your eye as you raise the cup to your lips, and he knows you heard him.

     You always could.

     The last day Buck ever saw you, he kissed you goodbye before you piled into your dad's old truck and drove out of sight, bound for college and big dreams and a future that didn't include him. Your lips had been damp with tears. On his loneliest nights, Buck swears he can still taste the salt on his tongue.

     It's been a decade, but you still look so similar to the wide-eyed kid he fell in love with. Your hair's a little longer, perhaps; there's a scar on your chin that wasn't there before, and the dimples around your smile have deepened, but that's all. You're still you. The thought makes his chest ache a little, but it's a good pain.

     He wonders if he's changed much. He wonders what you see when you look at him.

     "I suspect it was the first thing Marty Brandt did when he got here," Buck adds, louder this time, and you laugh, and he wonders how he went ten years without hearing that sound. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't see your name on the RSVP list."

     You shrug. "Jem bullied me into it. Emailed my boss to get the time off and everything."

     Even as you try to seem annoyed, a trickle of fondness finds its way into your voice. When Buck follows your gaze to the dance floor, it's hard to miss your childhood best friend throwing shapes to an old Maroon 5 song.

     "You two still talk?" He doesn't mean to sound surprised, except...

     Well. Staying in touch with high school pals hadn't been a priority when he skipped town. Hard to imagine a single one of his classmates he'd want to stay in touch with. Except you.

     A grin tugs at your mouth. "Worse. We work together." You tilt your head, still smiling fondly in Jem's direction. "Tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't let me."

     He knows a little about that. "Or was it the other way around?"

     "Wouldn't you like to know, Buckley?"

     He would, actually. He watches you grimace a little at the flavour of the punch when you take another sip, an adorable twist to your mouth that he once knew so well. A decade ago, the sight of your pout could've made him do anything.

     "Tastes like half a bottle of vodka," you tell him, and you take another sip even though he knows you never liked vodka. Remembers playing truth or dare at a party in junior year, and how you threw up in the bushes afterwards.

     Buck had held back your hair and tucked you against his side afterward, letting you snuggle into the warmth of him while you slept off the worst of your hangover.

     There's a distance between you now, but it's comfortable. Buck tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and the pair of you migrate over to a shadowy corner of the gymnasium, away from the prying eyes of your former classmates.

     "So," Buck says, as the DJ switches to another song, "how have you been?"

     He can't help but wince half a second later. Seriously? How have you been? He's never been to a high school reunion before, but he's seen plenty of movies, and he's pretty sure he's hitting all the marks of being a fucking cliché.

     To your credit, you don't laugh at him. Cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink Buck has ever seen, you manage to bite back the giggle rising in your throat.

     Buck wants to sink through the floor.

     "I've been okay," you tell him, swirling your glass of punch absently. The corners of your eyes crinkle a little as you smile at him. "Life, y'know?"

     He does. He really fucking does. "Any partners? Kids, spouses, anyone I have to worry about punching me?"

     You only mentioned Jem earlier, so it doesn't seem like you brought a date, but he isn't sure he'd love it if he found his partner cosied up in a dark corner with their high school sweetheart.

     God, he hopes you didn't bring a date.

     There it is, a flash of— something, there and then gone in an instant. Buck hasn't thought about high school in years. Hasn't paid any mind to the friends he left behind. Once or twice, his thoughts have flitted to you, though. The one that got away. Where you are, if you were happy.

     When he landed in LA, when he finally settled into his place at the 118, he'd thought of you. He'd hoped you managed to find a place you belonged. A family that loved you like his did.

     He thought this would be awkward. Running into you again. Your name hadn't been on the RSVP list, and he'd been so relieved, because what if there was some uneasy tension between you? Buck isn't sure he'd have been able to cope with that.

     There aren't a lot of happy memories from his childhood. His adolescence left a lot to be desired, but— you. A bright spot in all that grey.

     An uncomfortable reunion might have ruined that. Those memories are cherished, for Buck; locked up tight in his battered heart.

     But it's not uncomfortable, or awkward, or uneasy. Ten years and ten seconds have slipped by like sand in an hourglass and he wonders if there's been a moment in the last decade where he felt this at ease.

     You sigh at his question, quiet and fond. "There was an engagement," you say after a moment, chewing on your lower lip, "and a break-up. Two years ago, now. Amicable, but..."

     "But it still feels like you lost something." Buck knows that feeling intimately. It's been a long time since Abby left him, and even though he's over her, the memory of it still stings sometimes.

     You nod. "Yeah. One minute you're going to marry someone, and then you're not. Doesn't really matter why not, in the end. Still hurt a little. Not anymore."

     "No?"

     You smile at him. "No."

     Buck isn't sure how much time passes, how long you both remain huddled in that dark corner as the world continues to move around you. The DJ keeps churning out a series of early-2000s hits that he's fairly sure is just one of those throwback Spotify playlists, and you both make jokes when the Class President gets on stage to give a cheesy speech, and he tells you all about the ill-advised escapades of his early-twenties.

     Crashing his bike, dropping out of college. He glosses over the unsavoury parts of his youth, but the way your eyes soften, he knows he isn't fooling you. He never could, not when it mattered. Stories about Peru have you in stitches, and a particularly messy tale about his time as a ranch hand makes you laugh so hard, half a glass of punch ends up your nose.

     He missed that. Making you laugh.

     Warmth unfurls in his chest when he looks at you. It's the kind of familiarity people associate with coming home, except it was dread he felt stepping off the plane, and uncomfortable memories prickled at him as he drove through the streets of his hometown.

     You? You've always been that for him. Warm. Safe. Home.

     "You've heard all about my wild twenties. What about you?" he wonders, as the pair of you drift back to the refreshments table, seeking snacks that don't taste like cardboard.

     (Buck manages to find a bowl of chips that aren't completely stale, so he'll call that a success.)

     "Oh, the usual," you shrug as you refill your glass. "Finished college, got a job and an apartment and a cat and a fiancé. Lost the fiancé, got another cat." You take a moment to flash him your lock screen, a picture of two calico cats curled up on your couch. "Think I  traded up there, huh? Anyway, got a new job and moved out West about a year ago."

     "Oh, really? Where'd you go?"

     "California, actually. I'm in the History department at Berkeley."

     He blinks at you once, twice. Something inside his chest goes zing. "I'm in LA!"

     "Well maybe I'll have to come down and play tourist for you sometime."

     There's a coy tilt to your mouth that he's seen before, and something pleasant skitters down his spine. Your cheeks turn even rosier, and Buck suspects the spiked punch is only partly responsible.

     "Maybe you will," he says.

     His number hasn't changed since he left Pennsylvania, and maybe that's another sign, too. The shitty music starts to wind down, and his old classmates start to stagger out into the parking lot, and when you kiss his cheek and promise to get in touch, he wonders if there's such a thing as second chances.

     It isn't the same. He isn't seventeen and you're different people now. This isn't making out under the bleachers at a football game or skipping class to take a ride on his motorcycle. You're adults now, all grown up with a whole host of other problems, and it isn't the same. It isn't.

     Except.

     The next day, Buck's phone buzzes right before he boards the flight to Los Angeles. The number isn't familiar, but when he opens the message, he cannot fight the grin that creeps onto his face.

     Hope you get home safe. I'd hate to have to find a new tour guide x

     It's not the same, because he isn't in high school anymore and neither are you. But as he switches his phone to flight mode and tucks it back into his pocket, a giddy feeling sweeping through his chest, he can't help thinking that maybe this could be better.

[moonpascaltoo]

joel miller

MASTERLIST • PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS • 06/01/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs three

one two four five

𑣲 dirty laundry I @strang3lov3

Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

𑣲 death by flirting I @/strang3lov3

Five times you made Joel blush, and when he finally did it back to you.

𑣲 click here I @/strang3lov3

Joel should really stop clicking on links that Tommy emails him.

𑣲 where you belong I @jobean12-blog

You and Joel have been friends for a long time and the tension has been building. It's hard to ignore and when he comes to your rescue it's all the push you need.

𑣲 37 minutes I @criticallyacclaimedstranger

you wake up one morning needing Joel, and he comes as soon as you let him know that. And while his life may be busy, he takes the time to thoroughly satisfy you.

𑣲 pre-outbreak!joel I @forever-rogue

𑣲 put it in, coach I @magpiepills

you are an 18 year old high school senior on the cheerleading team, and Joel is the beloved and successful football coach. He helps you with some stretching after practice.

𑣲 snapshots I @pedrospatch

Moments of Joel Miller’s life in Jackson, Wyoming with his girls.

𑣲 screwed I @alrightieaphroditie

you find yourself drawn to joel miller when he arrives at jackson, though you can't quite put your finger on why. after seeing the town ostracize him, you decide to step up and befriend him.

𑣲 have a good night I @punkshort

Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

𑣲 night shift I @/punkshort

It was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room until a handsome contractor gets admitted and adds some excitement to your life.

𑣲 wrong delivery I @bitchesuntitled

Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

𑣲 you should probably leave I @skbeaumont

He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late. And then when he gets home you help him out, too, even though you both know you should probably leave.

𑣲 not home I @palioom

joel comes home and finds you asleep.

𑣲 like real people do I @mrsmando

a temporary arrangement leads to permanent feelings that joel can’t seem to shake — for you. but do you feel the same?

𑣲 prophesy I @softlyspector

you died but your ghost keeps visiting.

𑣲 catching I @/softlyspector

None of your partners had ever been able to make you come before. Joel changed that.

𑣲 garter I @/softlyspector

You and Joel got married. There's just one tradition you didn't get to complete.

𑣲 just and just as I @familyvideostevie

𑣲 postoutbreak!joel I @talaok

𑣲 home I @morallyinept

Joel returns home to you.

𑣲 untitled I @joelslastofus

Joel and you have a close friendship until Sarah’s mother returns and he rudely pushes you away. He never knew you were in love with him or that he himself was in love with you until Tommy wants to date you.

𑣲 pregnant!reader I @/joelslastofus

Joel deals with upsetting his overly sensitive eight month pregnant wife.

𑣲 delicate I @beskarandblasters

You play with Joel’s hair during a moment of anguish.

𑣲 gimme what i want I @atticrissfinch

the wrong number that texts you ends up being a man much hotter than you’d ever expect…

𑣲 bloom I @nothoughtsjustmeds

𑣲 puppy love I @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers

You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.

𑣲 meet me at bills town I @/absurdthirst - @/storiesofthefandomlovers

When Bill & Frank take you in to help care for Frank in his declining health, you meet Joel. Making you wish you had what the two men have together with him.

𑣲 sleep tight I @/absurdthirst - @/storiesofthefandomlovers

Fucking Joel in that sleeping bag.

𑣲 the road to a second chance I @/absurdthirst - @/storiesofthefandomlovers

You love Joel, and after a particularly bad run, you finally get to have him. Only to be heartbroken when he rejects you immediately after. Leaving you to flee the Boston QZ with Tommy. Nearly five years later, Joel shows up looking for you and Tommy and finds you living a surprising life.

𑣲 the last day I @/absurdthirst

The last morning before the world changes.

𑣲 lost and found I @/absurdthirst - @/storiesofthefandomlovers

Joel told you he would get Sarah and be right back for you. Twenty years later, he shows up with a strange girl and a lifetime of changes to your old lover. Giving you one more night before he promises to come back this time.

𑣲 sit right here I @/absurdthirst

You have to sit somewhere, right? Why not on Joel's cock.

𑣲 does anyone know where the love for god goes? I @shellshocklove

crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

𑣲 no time to die I @davosmymaster

The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

𑣲 white lies I @poeticpascal

Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

𑣲 saying thanks I @vivwritescrappythings

Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.

𑣲 love in the time of cordyceps I @sameheart-sameblood

when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

𑣲 privates I @eff4freddie

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

𑣲 touch I @/eff4freddie

You and two of your friends arrive at Jackson hoping to find refuge from a crumbling world. In order to stay, you need to demonstrate usefulness to the community. You can offer your healing hands.

𑣲 that’s a real fucking legacy I @wyn-n-tonic

When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.

𑣲 clouded judgment/clear mind part 2 I @bluebeary-jay

it was a long time since Joel had felt a maddening rage like this, but he weren't about to let anyone who dares to hurt you get away with it.

𑣲 hold me close and hold me fast I @/bluebeary-jay

It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

𑣲 how easy you are to need I @/bluebeary-jay

Joel notices that the peaceful life in Jackson has its consequences. he is not happy about it.

𑣲 that funny feeling I @/bluebeary-jay

pet names are something that's equally very easy and very hard for Joel

𑣲 reason I @/bluebeary-jay

things go wrong when you try to cross a small city. joel almost gets himself killed and you finally confront him about why he never seems to trust you with anything.

𑣲 texas sun I @from-the-clouds

Twenty years later, Joel still doesn’t know how to describe what you were to him. You’d never made any promises to each other, but you loved his daughter like she was your own. Had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have let you go.

𑣲 broken I @tofics

A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes... Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he'll never get.

𑣲 love tap I @gutsby

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

𑣲 failing part 2 I @toomanystoriessolittletime

Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

𑣲 the fisherman’s wife I @joelmama

The free-spirited Reader is arranged to marry a divorced Fisherman named Joel Miller. And although she protested this at first, she soon wonders if maybe she could be happy with her new husband.

𑣲 the gold… I @heartpascal

you don’t like the person joel’s become.

𑣲 blurb I @eufezco

𑣲 grumpy x sunshine I @luveline

𑣲 touch-starved!joel I @/luveline

𑣲 blood in the cut I @wheresarizona

You’re distracted while working with Joel, and it almost costs you your lives. Luckily, he knows how to get you out of your head—it’s just a little surprising because you didn’t think he liked you, but here he is eating you out like it’s his last meal.

𑣲 darlin’ I @charnelhouse

You are another means to an end. He needs a second pair of hands and you have the face to distract scavengers and the guts to kill people who need to be put down.

𑣲 request I @/charnelhouse

𑣲 see you, seeing me I @amywritesthings

After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

𑣲 yours truly and forever part 2 I @me-and-your-husband

you find ellie and joel in need of help, desperately. you take care of the two, when affection for joel creeps up on you and you can’t shake it. he can’t stay, but maybe, if you don’t think too hard about it, that won’t matter.

𑣲 here in you doorway I @swiftispunk

your fiancé tommy breaks off your engagement. you seek comfort in the arms of your best friend, who just happens to be your fiancé’s older brother.

𑣲 a mercenary named time I @thelastofhyde

as joel begins to age, memories of sarah are beginning to fade. though he wants nothing more than to talk to you about his troubles, there's something standing in his way: he never told you about sarah.

𑣲 the likeability paradox part 2 I @/thelastofhyde

joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank’s roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don’t like you, joel.

[thedensworld]

Doesn't Mind At All | Hong Joshua

Pairing: Secretary!Joshua x Baker!Reader (Ft. Boss!Junhui and Brother!Mingyu)

Genre: Romance, fluff, longtime crushing

Summary: Hong Joshua willingly agrees to pick up his boss's daughter from school, not realizing that this simple task would lead to an unexpected encounter with his longtime crush.

In the bustling halls of the company, Joshua was a familiar face. His presence was like a ray of sunshine, brightening up the office with his infectious smile and angelic personality. It was no secret that he held a special place in the hearts of many, having won the coveted title of "Best Office Crush" the previous year, even surpassing the CEO, Moon Junhui.

Joshua wore this badge with a quiet pride, knowing full well that his boss's concerns mainly revolved around the company's products and reputation. As he marked his sixth year as Junhui's faithful secretary and personal assistant, he couldn't help but marvel at the milestone. It was a record that stood unchallenged, a testament to Joshua's unwavering dedication.

Nobody understood Junhui quite like Joshua did, save for perhaps Junhui's own wife. When it came to the intricacies of Junhui's professional mindset, it was said that only Hong Joshua had the finesse to meet and exceed the exacting expectations. This was precisely why Joshua was regarded as the company's most precious gem.

Behind every successful CEO, there was an exceptional secretary, and for Moon Junhui, that shining star was none other than Joshua. Their dynamic was like a well-choreographed dance, a seamless blend of professionalism and camaraderie. They were the dynamic duo, the unsung heroes of the corporate world.

Joshua was renowned for his quick wit, tireless work ethic, and a personality that could charm even the most hardened hearts. His reputation had earned him a multitude of labels, particularly among the female officers, who couldn't help but marvel at the creation of such a seemingly perfect human being. Despite his friendly demeanor, Joshua was adept at setting clear boundaries, creating a distinct line and an almost impermeable wall when it came to romantic interests – a trait that some of the women officers considered to be his only flaw.

Approaching a group of women engrossed in a discussion (or rather, gossiping) about him, Joshua balanced a pack of coffee cups in his hands. With a gracious smile, he handed them out, congratulating them on the success of their recent event two days prior. "You're an angel, Mr. Hong," one of them swooned, to which Joshua graciously thanked her.

Another voice chimed in, "Mr. Hong, may we ask you a few questions? We've been discussing something about you, and it would be wonderful if you could satisfy our curiosity." Joshua settled into a seat, joining their circle. "And here I thought you guys were deep into discussions about our ramyeon drama project," he teased, eliciting chuckles from the others.

"We're actually really-really-really eager to know if you're single or taken," one of them blurted out, while another followed up with, "we've been speculating, and we have absolutely no idea!" Joshua's face reddened in response to the question, and he couldn't help but cover his face in playful embarrassment. What had he done to warrant such a query? Was he unintentionally giving off some sort of signal? The thought left him chuckling and slightly flustered, a rare sight for the usually unflappable secretary.

"Yeah! Absolutely. You gave us this. Yesterday you sent an email of appreciation to our rookie without her knowing that everyone received that as well and has been thinking that you like her. You've been committing a crime, Mr. Hong."

Joshua's brow furrowed as he listened to the explanation. "I can't do that?" he asked them, and they all simultaneously nodded in agreement. "Why?" he inquired once more, prompting a collective groan of exasperation from the women.

"You've been lavishing affection on the women in our company, the kind they haven't received from anyone else, all while displaying a sign that you have zero interest in dating any of them. That's just not right, Mr. Hong."

Joshua nodded, absorbing their words. "I'm sorry?" he offered, glancing down at the cups of coffee he had just handed out. "Should I take these back?" he gestured towards the beverages.

"Just stop sending affectionate emails and notes like this. At the very least, delete the heart emoticon," one of them instructed, holding up a note that Joshua had written, no doubt adorned with an affectionate flourish.

'Good job for the event guys! So proud of you🤍.'

"That's just a habit of mine! I'm sorry, I'll definitely work on that," Joshua offered, his voice carrying a hint of remorse as he mumbled his apologies.

"So, Mr. Hong. Are you single or taken?" inquired one of them. Joshua's smile widened as he answered, "I'm single."

To his surprise, this response was met with another collective groan from the group, leaving Joshua thoroughly perplexed. "Why? Did I answer it wrong? I'm not quite getting it," he admitted, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"You should never answer that kind of question with that kind of smile," one of them advised. Joshua nodded and hummed in understanding, contemplating whether he should spend more time observing and learning from this group of women. It seemed they held the key to deciphering the intricacies of office dynamics.

"Why are you single? I can't imagine it would be hard for someone with such an amazing face and personality to find a significant other," one of them remarked, their words laden with genuine admiration.

Joshua closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the shower of compliments. He joked that if they continued, he might just consider joining their group.

"I work really hard for the company, and I find it hard to make time for dating," Joshua explained, giving voice to their curiosity. "While I do find some women attractive, it's just that I struggle to strike a balance between my professional and personal life."

"Is there anyone you have in mind, perhaps?" another one queried.

As the seconds ticked by, a portrait of someone from his past suddenly emerged in Joshua's mind. He nodded slowly, acknowledging that there was indeed someone he had in mind. "Ah, my university crush," he quipped, breaking into laughter.

*

Joshua's gaze never wavered from his computer screen, immersed in the tasks that lay before him. The soft tap of approaching footsteps disrupted his concentration, and he turned to see his boss, Moon Junhui, standing beside him. Without hesitation, Joshua rose from his chair, a show of respect for the man who held a significant place in his professional life.

"I'm so sorry, but can you do me a favor?" Junhui's tone held a touch of urgency, a request layered with a sense of trust that Joshua had earned over the years.

"What time is my meeting next?" Junhui inquired, his focus on the packed schedule that dictated his day.

"At 2 PM, sir," Joshua replied promptly, the words rolling off his tongue with a practiced ease. He prided himself on his meticulous attention to detail, especially when it came to Junhui's demanding schedule.

Junhui nodded in acknowledgment, his mind already processing the logistics of the day ahead. Then, his expression softened, and he confided in Joshua, "My daughter, her school is off at 3 PM. I promised my wife to take her with me since her nanny is having her days off. I worry if I'm still in the middle of a meeting at that time." said Junhui about his 5 years old daughter.

Joshua's bond with Hara had grown into a heartwarming routine. It was a familiar sight for the office staff to see Joshua and Hara immersed in various activities. The young girl's intellect and remarkable patience made her a delightful companion, a rare gem in her tender years. Whenever Junhui found himself entangled in meetings, Joshua gladly stepped in to keep Hara company. They'd sit together at Joshua's desk, engrossed in creating art, crafting intricate bracelets, or simply sharing stories of Hara's adventures.

"I can pick her up, sir," Joshua proposed, eager to assist his boss and provide a helping hand.

Junhui's eyes reflected gratitude, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Thank you so much," he expressed, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily eased by Joshua's kind gesture.

"My wife is not feeling very well this morning, that's why I didn't want to trouble her. Thank you so much, Mr. Hong," Junhui reiterated, his appreciation genuine and heartfelt.

As the day approached for Joshua to pick up Hara from school, a mixture of excitement and nerves fluttered within him. This was uncharted territory for him, the first time he'd take on the responsibility of fetching a child from school. Determined to ensure everything went smoothly, he turned to the internet for guidance. His search yielded a concise list of tips, each one etching itself into his mind:

1. Make sure the school knows who you are and that the child is aware and comfortable with your presence.

2. Prioritize the child's comfort and well-being throughout the process.

3. While not obligatory, a snack can often be a reassuring gesture.

4. Engage the child in conversation about their day on the journey home.

With this newfound knowledge, Joshua prepared himself meticulously. He reached out to the teacher, providing them with his contact details and informing them of the situation. He wanted every precaution in place to ensure a smooth transition.

As the hour approached, he found himself behind the wheel, heading towards the school with a sense of determination. The address provided by Junhui led him to the school's gates, where he joined the gathering of parents. Amongst the mothers, Joshua stood.

Time seemed to stretch as he waited, the anticipation building with each passing minute. Finally, the school bell rang, heralding the end of the day. Joshua's gaze fixed on the entrance, heart pounding in anticipation.

Then, there she was—Hara, with her bright eyes and eager smile. Recognition sparked between them, a silent affirmation of the trust they had built. As Hara approached, Joshua's apprehensions melted away, replaced by a newfound confidence.

As Hara's small voice called out, "Uncle!" with uncontainable excitement, Joshua's face lit up with a wide smile. He knelt down, arms ready to receive the approaching bundle of joy. The little girl rushed into his embrace, her tiny arms outstretched in pure delight.

"Hi Hara!" Joshua greeted her warmly, the affection in his voice mirroring the twinkle in his eyes.

Hara, her eyes sparkling like stars, peered up at Joshua with a curious glint. "Is daddy busy?" she inquired, her innocence adding a touch of sweetness to the question. Joshua nodded gently, his expression tender. "Yes, sweetie. That's why I'm the lucky one picking you up today. Are you excited?"

Hara's response was a burst of unrestrained enthusiasm. Her head bobbed up and down like an animated doll, her voice a melodious chorus of, "Yes, yes, yes!" Her anticipation radiated from her like a beacon of pure childhood joy, painting the air around them with an infectious excitement.

As they strolled towards the car, Hara, her small hand nestled in Joshua's, turned to him with a curious look. She inquired about her father, Junhui, if he had his lunch this afternoon. Joshua pondered for a moment, recalling whether Junhui had managed to grab lunch before diving into the meeting. He was certain Junhui hadn't.

"Can we stop at the bakery near my school? I want to buy him and you my favorite cupcake," Hara proposed, her eyes wide with hope. Joshua couldn't resist her earnest request. After all, who could say no to cupcakes? It was a harmless indulgence.

Upon arriving at the bakery, Hara's eyes widened, a sudden gasp escaping her lips. Instantly, Joshua's protective instincts kicked in, a rush of concern washing over him. He swiftly turned to Hara, asking with a gentle urgency, "Are you okay?"

Hara's confession, delivered with the innocence only a five-year-old could muster, both touched and amused Joshua. She looked up at him, her big eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and honesty. "I don't have any money."

Suppressing a chuckle, Joshua crouched down to her level, his tone reassuring. "It's okay, sweetie. I'll take care of it." As his words washed over her, a radiant smile lit up Hara's face, the worry dissipating as swiftly as it had come.

As they stepped into the bakery, a hush settled over the empty space, the only sound being the faint hum of refrigeration units. They ambled through the inviting displays, each dessert a potential treasure trove for Hara. She nestled in Joshua's arms, torn between the allure of a cupcake and the temptation of a cookie.

"Why not both?" Joshua's voice, tender and reassuring, broke the internal struggle Hara was facing. Her eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight. "Is that okay?"

With an eager nod, Hara's decision was made, and Joshua promptly collected both the coveted cupcake and the enticing cookie. The radiant smile that bloomed on her face was Joshua's reward, but it was the soft, whispered "thank you..." that danced in his ears that truly warmed his heart.

Just as they were immersed in this sweet exchange, a sudden, welcoming voice enveloped the bakery, pulling Joshua's attention away from the confections. "Welcome to Sweeties..."

Joshua's breath hitched, his gaze swiftly shifting from the colorful array of treats to the source of the voice. Standing a mere two meters away was a familiar face, one that sent a jolt of surprise and recognition through him. It was Y/n, his dear friend from college.

"Wait just a minute, Hara," Joshua gently set her down and took a step toward the woman, a sense of pleasant shock mirrored in both their expressions at this unexpected reunion.

"Y/n, it's been such a long time!" Joshua's voice bubbled with genuine joy, his smile growing wider as he caught sight of Y/n's matching grin.

"I thought I was imagining things. I had no idea you were in Seoul," Y/n admitted, her surprise blending with a palpable delight.

"Yeah, it's been 7 years since I moved here. How have you been?" Joshua inquired, his tone filled with a mixture of curiosity and genuine care. The air around them seemed to buzz with the energy of reconnection, weaving a bridge between their shared past and this unexpected present encounter.

"I'm doing great, and you? I've spotted her around a few times," Y/n mentioned, her gaze shifting towards Hara who was now engrossed in examining the colorful macarons displayed on the stall.

Joshua's eyes twinkled with fondness as he observed Hara's fascination. He turned back to Y/n, a warm chuckle escaping him. "I'm good too. Her school is just a few blocks from here. Can you believe it? It's like a dream come true," he remarked, a subtle nod towards the array of delectable pastries that surrounded them. He knew of Y/n's long-standing dream from their university days to own her own bakery.

Y/n offered a nonchalant shrug, but there was a glint of contentment in her eyes. "I know, right? It's been two years, and it's become my favorite job."

Joshua's gaze wandered to Y/n's hands, and there, he spotted a delicate ring adorning her middle finger. He couldn't help but ask, curiosity laced with a touch of surprise, "Are you engaged?" Their eyes met, and Y/n hesitated for a moment, her gaze flitting towards Hara before she softly affirmed, "Yeah," with a slow, affirmative nod.

The next question carried a weight of intensity, as Joshua inquired, "Are you happy?" His concern for Y/n radiated through his gaze. She met his eyes steadily, her response deliberate and sincere, another nod indicating her contentment.

As their conversation flowed, Hara made her selection of treats. Just as Joshua was about to pay, Y/n interjected, her voice carrying a note of generosity. "It's on the house."

Joshua's immediate response was to decline, insisting they were purchasing quite a bit and it wouldn't be fair to receive them for free. Y/n countered with a tempting offer, "Alright then, how about coffee? Still a fan of your Americano with two shots?"

A laugh bubbled from Joshua, the sound warm and genuine. It seemed Y/n knew just how to strike a deal that left everyone feeling content and connected in this unexpected reunion at the sweet haven of her bakery.

As they settled into the car, Hara's voice, laced with curiosity, broke the brief silence. "Do you know her, uncle?" she inquired. Joshua, his focus on the road, let out a thoughtful hum. The engine purred to life, carrying them away towards the office.

Then, unexpectedly, Joshua's voice filled the car, carrying a note of nostalgia. "She was my first love in college."

Hara's wide eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Really? Were you two dating?" she asked, her young mind eager for the details. Joshua, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, shook his head with a soft smile. "We were friends from the first day of college, but I never mustered the courage to confess. Seeing her again after all these years was quite a surprise."

Hara's curiosity continued to swell, her innocence driving her to probe further. "Why didn't you confess?" she wondered aloud.

A tender sincerity colored Joshua's voice as he explained, "I didn't want to risk losing our friendship."

Hara pondered this for a moment before pressing on. "But did you ever try to confess?" she inquired, her young eyes studying Joshua's face for any hint of what might lie beneath his words.

Joshua, his gaze softening, shook his head gently, the weight of the past mingling with the present. It was a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that had lingered.

Hara's little face contorted into a playful pout, her dad's wisdom echoing in her mind. "My dad says that trying might hurt but it'll be worth it," she mused, her voice tinged with a mix of contemplation and innocence. Joshua couldn't help but be touched by the profound simplicity in her words, a wisdom that belied her tender years.

Listening to Hara's musings, a soft smile played on Joshua's lips. He decided to seize the moment to seek her opinion on the matter. "Honestly, I have no idea what that means," Hara replied nonchalantly, the weight of her father's advice not yet entirely comprehensible to her young mind. Meanwhile, she nibbled contentedly on her macaroon, the pastel hues of the sweet treat contrasting with her contemplative expression.

Joshua, amused by her response, seized the opportunity to ask about the taste of the macaroon. "Is that good?" he inquired, his tone filled with genuine interest. Hara's enthusiastic nod affirmed her satisfaction, her eyes bright with the pleasure of the delightful treat.

"Thanks for buying me, Uncle. I'll pay you back once I grow up!" Hara declared, her gratitude expressed with a sincerity that warmed Joshua's heart. He nodded, deciding to play along with her lighthearted promise.

One time, two times, and then countless more, Joshua found himself in the routine of picking up Hara from school. What started as a simple request from his boss had evolved into a regular volunteer role for him. The smile on Junhui's face whenever he saw them together spoke volumes. It was clear that Hara cherished these moments with Joshua, and the journey from school to her father's office was transformed into an exciting adventure.

Reason number one for Joshua's eagerness was crystal clear. It wasn't just about being a reliable presence for Hara. It was the genuine joy he felt in her company. They laughed, shared stories, and sometimes even indulged in small escapades that turned ordinary errands into memorable episodes.

And then there was reason number two, which Joshua didn't mind admitting. It was the perfect excuse to visit Y/n's enchanting bakery. The aroma of freshly baked goodies, the vibrant display of pastries, and the warm ambiance—it was a slice of paradise in his day. As he'd open the door, he'd already know Hara's inevitable request, "Can I have my favorite macaroon from Sweeties, please?" It was almost a ritual. Her preferences would shift from cupcakes to macaroons, but Joshua didn't mind. For him, it was the smile on her face that truly mattered.

However, amid all these routines, there was another habit that had stealthily crept up on Joshua. It wasn't until the third visit that he became aware of it. Staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, he'd question himself. "Is his hair styled just right? Is the suit impeccably ironed? Does his shirt complement his skin tone? And can she catch a whiff of his carefully chosen perfume?" These were the thoughts that occupied his mind.

He couldn't help but chuckle at his own introspection. "Who are you trying to impress, Hong? A stack of macaroons? An almond croissant sitting on the stall?" he'd jest with himself. But deep down, he knew the answer. His thoughts always circled back to Y/n, his college crush, who seemed to occupy a special corner in his heart.

With every encounter, every conversation, his feelings for her only grew stronger. It was a realization that struck him with a mixture of nostalgia and newfound hope. The crush he thought he'd buried long ago was very much alive, and in fact, thriving. Each interaction with Y/n was like a brushstroke, painting a vivid picture of affection that Joshua couldn't deny any longer.

*

"As expected, Y/n," Joshua chirped, his voice a friendly melody in the air. Y/n made her way from the kitchen, a tray laden with warm, freshly baked bread cradled in her hands. A gentle smile danced on her lips, brought to life by the sight of Hara's bright, shimmering eyes.

Setting the tray on the stool, Y/n felt a warmth spread through her. Hara mumbled something, a secret shared only for Y/n to catch. Sensing Hara's shyness, Joshua leaned in, his words a gentle encouragement, assuring her that she needn't be timid in Y/n's presence. "Speak up, Hara, she's as friendly as they come!" he added with a chuckle, infusing the moment with a touch of humor.

"Can I get that too, uncle?" Hara's voice was sweet and eager, breaking the air with innocence and curiosity.

Y/n's brows shot up in surprise. "Uncle?" she echoed, her curiosity piqued. It was the first time she'd heard Hara's voice, and the term caught her off guard.

Y/n struggled to find her words, the question hanging on the tip of her tongue, but not quite making its way out. This revelation left her momentarily speechless.

Joshua, noticing Y/n's bewilderment, turned to her with a questioning look. "She's calling you... isn't she your daughter?" She inquired, a touch of confusion in her eyes.

Joshua glanced at Y/n, his expression a mixture of surprise and realization. "Oh, I never told you?" he began, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "She's my boss's daughter. I haven't tied the knot yet, Y/n." His tone was gentle, as though sharing a cherished secret.

A sudden chill raced down Y/n's spine, propelling her into swift action. She deftly gathered all the sweets that Hara had chosen. Joshua, startled by her abrupt shift in demeanor, watched in quiet curiosity, sensing that now wasn't the time to inquire.

A soft chime announced a newcomer. The door swung open, revealing a tall, sun-kissed man, his smile lighting up the room. Clutched in his hand was a bundle of meals, a simple offering of warmth and sustenance. What didn't escape Joshua's notice was the glint of an engagement ring gracing the man's finger.

"Ah, I should get going," Joshua murmured, a touch of awkwardness dancing in his smile. He gently informed Hara that they needed to head to the office. With a wave, Hara bid Y/n goodbye, her departure leaving a faint sense of longing in the air.

The newcomer, attuned to the change in atmosphere, turned to Y/n with concern etched across his face. He couldn't help but ask, "Who is he?" The question hung in the air, tinged with a hint of curiosity and a touch of wariness.

Y/n was willing to bet that Joshua overheard Mingyu's inquisitive words. With their departure, a weight seemed to settle in the air. She released a heavy sigh, her body finding solace against the worn counter.

This subtle motion didn't escape the notice of her concerned brother. "What's wrong? Who is he? Is he bothering you?" Mingyu's voice dripped with a blend of worry and slight irritation. He couldn't bear the thought of Y/n being bothered.

Y/n mumbled something, her words lost in the quiet ambiance of the shop. Mingyu leaned in, his gentle touch a balm to her unsettled soul. "What is it?" he coaxed, his voice laced with a mixture of affection and protective concern. With a tender gesture, he placed her meal on the counter.

"He's Josh."

Mingyu's eyes widened in surprise. "Joshua hyung? How could he not recognize me?" His disbelief was evident, eyebrows shooting up.

With a hint of annoyance, Y/n lifted her face to meet Mingyu's gaze. "How could anyone recognize you? Even your old self wouldn't," she quipped, a playful tease aimed at her brother's considerable transformation.

Mingyu let out a scoff, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Then why are you like this? Aren't you happy to see him again?" he inquired, his concern tinged with a touch of gentle reproach. Y/n nodded, acknowledging the mix of emotions swirling within her.

"He's been around a few times. With that kid," Y/n murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Mingyu's eyes widened in realization. "He's married?! Poor you, holding onto a long-term crush," he sympathized, his heart going out to his sister. "Come here, let me give you a hug." Mingyu's arms enveloped Y/n, offering comfort and understanding in this unexpected moment of emotional complexity.

However, Y/n didn't respond to Mingyu's attempt at comfort in the way he anticipated. Instead, a sharp slap landed on his arm, prompting a surprised whine to escape from him. "Why?!"

"He's not married," Y/n muttered, her voice tinged with frustration as she tried to untangle the complex web of emotions.

Mingyu's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then what? Is he divorced?" Another slap followed, this time landing on his other arm.

"Stop hitting me! It hurts," Mingyu protested, determined to put an end to the arm-slapping.

Y/n let out an exasperated groan, realizing how convoluted the situation had become. "Just listen!" she implored, her tone a blend of exasperation and urgency. "And don't you dare laugh." Her words earned a stifled chuckle from her younger brother. In a swift move, Y/n attempted another slap, but Mingyu managed to catch her hand, his grip firm yet gentle.

"I think I made a mistake," Y/n began, her voice tinged with regret.

"He started visiting the shop two months ago, and it's become a regular thing," she explained, a touch of frustration in her tone. "I assumed the child he always brought along was his daughter. I mean, who wouldn't? But it turns out, she's his boss's daughter."

Mingyu's brow arched in curiosity. "So, where's the twist?"

Y/n hesitated, her gaze dropping to the glimmering ring on her finger. "He saw this," she confessed, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and resignation. "And he thought I was engaged. He asked me if I was... and, you know what I said? Yes. I said yes because I thought he was married, and I was just protecting myself. I'm so messed up, Kim Mingyu." Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her impulsive decision.

Mingyu let out a sigh, absorbing Y/n's explanation. "Why did you even lie?" he inquired, a touch of perplexity in his voice.

Y/n's eyes darted around, her frustration evident. "Because— I don't know! He saw my ring and I couldn't just blurt out, 'The ring has the flower you gave me and your name engraved on it.' Especially when he was here with a child who could very well be his daughter."

Mingyu couldn't help but be impressed. He let out a low whistle and applauded. "You're so witty and clumsy all at once. We really are siblings," he remarked with a grin.

Y/n shot him a sidelong glance, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. She reached for the meal Mingyu had brought, a sense of familiarity and comfort settling over them.

The atmosphere softened as Mingyu unwrapped the meal, confirming it was from their mother. He explained how she had hastily prepared it upon his request to visit the shop, and then suggested that Y/n pay their mother a visit soon. It served as a gentle reminder of the last time Y/n had seen their mother, at their father's funeral. Their relationship had been strained since the divorce.

Shifting gears, Y/n inquired about Mingyu's upcoming wedding preparations. He let out a sigh, expressing some of the inevitable stress that comes with such occasions. "You shouldn't get married!" he joked, sharing the minor hurdles in planning with a wry smile. "Nari changed her mind three times about the decorations. And now she wants me to ask you about changing the dessert menu."

Y/n chuckled softly, a warm affection in her gaze. "It's okay. These things happen for big events," she assured him, playfully ruffling his hair. Mingyu leaned in for an embrace, expressing a touch of nostalgia. "I wish I were still a high schooler," he mumbled, resting his head on Y/n's shoulder. Her hand instinctively rose to pat his back. "You're doing a fantastic job, Mingyu. I'm proud that you took such a brave step at your age. I'm genuinely happy for you."

Pulling back, Mingyu looked at Y/n with a sincere smile. "I'm happy too, just a bit nervous and exhausted maybe," he admitted, and Y/n nodded understandingly.

"Since Mom and Dad divorced, you've been the one raising me. I may not say it often, but I hope you know that I've always been thankful for your presence, noona. And I hope you're happy too."

Y/n closed her eyes, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. "Stop it! I have to face customers after this!" she protested, a hint of tears glistening in her eyes.

Mingyu's smile softened, his gaze filled with affection for his older sister. "Invite him to my wedding. I hope you find the confidence to express your feelings to him. Don't worry about his answer. Men can be trash, unless me." he teased, bringing a lightness to the moment.

*

As closing time approached, Y/n began the task of tidying up the stall. Her baker had headed home promptly at 5 pm, while she was committed to staying until 10. A handful of croissants remained, their golden flakiness begging for a home. Who could resist a few bites of almond cream at night? Certainly not her customers. And that bottle of wine, a thoughtful gift from Mingyu two years back, had been patiently waiting for an occasion. Tonight seemed just right. After the whirlwind of a day, a glass of wine was exactly what Y/n needed to unwind and savor the quiet moments.

As she finished adjusting the croissant and set the table, a chime echoed through her shop. "I'm sorry, but we're clos— Josh?"

Y/n's voice caught in her throat as she recognized the unexpected visitor. There stood Joshua, tall and commanding, without his usual suit. Instead, he wore a sharp blue shirt that effortlessly complemented his appearance. The sleeves were casually rolled up to his elbows, a style that defied the odds and only added to his allure.

"It's night, what are you doing?" Y/n questioned, her surprise evident. She quickly shook her head, a warm smile playing on her lips. "I mean, it's really nice to see you. But isn't it a bit late for something sweet?" Her words held a hint of confusion.

Joshua's laughter danced through the air, a familiar and soothing melody in the quiet of the evening.

"Not for an almond croissant," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation as he gestured towards the delectable pastries adorning the table. "May I join?" he asked, a polite request for permission.

Y/n hesitated for a brief moment before offering a hesitant nod. She swiftly fetched another croissant and a wine glass, setting them in front of Joshua. Settling herself across from him, she couldn't help but express her concern.

Y/n's care and curiosity were palpable in her inquiry. "How have you been?"

Joshua let out a heavy sigh, his response tinged with a sense of relief. "Yeah... Big work hit, but it's finally done. Had a team dinner around here. You know the Soba restaurant near the three section? It was good," he explained, a hint of contentment in his voice. Y/n nodded in understanding.

He continued, delving into nostalgia. "You used to like that soba from a shop near our university," he reminisced, a fond smile gracing his features.

"The one with the wooden chairs? We went there a lot," Y/n admitted, her own smile growing as she recalled those cherished moments. "I remember you ordered hot soba in the summer and I was like, 'What is wrong with her?' I remember laughing a lot that day," he recounted, a hint of playfulness in his tone. Joshua's words evoked vivid memories from their college years.

Y/n stifled a smile before adding, "It was when you just failed your exam."

Joshua's brows shot up in surprise. "Ah, really? I couldn't remember that. Yeah... I failed a lot of tests back in university," he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. His gaze softened as he looked at Y/n, a sense of gratitude and warmth filling the air between them.

Joshua couldn't help but let out an impressed coo. "You haven't changed much, Y/n. Talking to you like this feels like we've stepped back a decade," he mused, tilting his head as his eyes traced the familiar features before him.

Y/n responded with a soft chuckle. "Meanwhile, you've changed quite a bit, Josh. I would never have expected to see you in a dress shirt and suit like today. You always favored crewnecks and that one t-shirt with the rock band print," she pointed out, a hint of nostalgia in her voice.

Joshua joined in her laughter, acknowledging the transformation. "You're absolutely right! I've gone through quite the evolution. I ran into one of our friends from college a few days back, and he didn't even recognize me," he recalled, a touch of amusement in his tone.

"Even Mingyu couldn't recognize you," Y/n chimed in, and Joshua's brow furrowed in surprise.

"Mingyu? He met me? When?" Joshua was genuinely taken aback. He remembered Y/n's younger brother as a tall kid who matched his height back when he was still in junior high school, a decade ago.

Y/n's eyes widened, a chuckle escaping her. "The last time you visited. Mingyu was here," she reminded him. Joshua let out a small gasp. "It was Mingyu?! I thought he was your fiance!" he exclaimed, covering his face with his palm in embarrassment.

"It was Mingyu. He's grown a lot, hasn't he? It's not surprising that you two didn't recognize each other," Y/n reassured, a fondness in her voice.

Joshua let out a sigh, his fingers gently massaging his temple. "So, it was Kim Mingyu, that little rascal who used to pester you back in the early semesters," he recalled with a laugh, the memory now tinted with amusement and affection.

"How's your parent?" Joshua inquired, his tone gentle and concerned.

Y/n's lips pressed into a tight line, her expression revealing the weight of her words. "Not long after you moved to The States, they got divorced. We lived with our father for four years before he passed away," she explained, a somber note in her voice. She chose not to mention the years of estrangement from her mother.

Joshua's gaze softened, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm so sorry, I... I had no idea," he murmured, his heart heavy with the news.

"That's why you went out of reach," he concluded, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The sudden loss of contact with Y/n had always puzzled him, but now it made sense.

Y/n nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the memories that played in her mind. "My father's company faced bankruptcy, and my mother..." she hesitated, "she was cheating. They got divorced, and I had to work at the bakery near our university because my father couldn't afford to support both of us. And here I am, now. Running my own shop," she said, her smile holding a mixture of pride and reflection on how the challenges of the past had shaped her present.

Joshua looked at Y/n, his heart heavy with unspoken words. Guilt washed over him, rendering him momentarily speechless. He vividly recalled the day he had to break the news to Y/n about his impending move to the States, just two weeks before his flight. His mother, a single parent, had raised him alone from a young age. After his graduation, she informed him about their relocation due to her work, leaving behind everything in Seoul. Leaving Y/n was an agonizing decision, as she was the only thing that made Joshua contemplate staying. But he knew he had to join his mother after her earnest plea.

"Do you remember when I wanted to become a jeweler?" Y/n's voice pierced through the heavy air, drawing Joshua's attention. He nodded in response. She rose from her seat and went to the counter. When she returned, a small box nestled in her hand, Joshua's gaze shifted to her ringless finger.

Without hesitation, he gently took her hand in his own, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and tenderness.

"Your ring—" Joshua began, his voice catching in his throat as he beheld the contents of the velvety box. Inside lay a ring and bracelet, delicate and gleaming.

"I made these," Y/n revealed, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability. She settled back into her chair, carefully placing the silver jewelry on the table.

Joshua's gaze remained fixed on the pieces, his heart pounding in his chest. He noticed that his name was engraved on both the ring and bracelet. Y/n's words tugged at his emotions, each syllable laced with the weight of untold feelings. "I was going to give these to you before your flight. But I couldn't make it; my parents were fighting that morning," she confessed, her voice carrying a mixture of regret and longing.

As he looked at Y/n, then back to the jewelry, his breath seemed to catch in his throat. The significance of the moment weighed heavily on him.

Y/n produced a necklace, its centerpiece a ring that had adorned her middle finger for all these years. "Mine has your name on it too. I meant to engrave my own, but for some reason, I etched yours," she shared, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"It's crazy, isn't it? That I cared for you so much, Josh," Y/n finally confessed, her eyes meeting his, a blend of hope and apprehension in their depths.

"I liked you a lot, and i might still."

The weight of Y/n's confession hung in the air, her words barely more than a mumble. Yet, they carried a profound weight, echoing through the space between them.

In that moment, Joshua finally comprehended that his feelings were not one-sided. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth he hadn't dared to believe. He stood there, looking at Y/n, his heart pounding in his chest. For the first time, the enormity of the situation washed over him, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He had been carrying this sentiment for so long, never imagining that it might be returned. A sense of humility settled upon him, a realization that he had underestimated the depth of Y/n's emotions. He felt like a fool, sitting there in front of her, unable to find the right words to express the tumultuous storm of feelings coursing through him.

Under the tranquil embrace of the night, with the park as their silent witness, Joshua's voice carried a weight that only a decade of silent longing could hold.

"Y/n," he spoke, his words deliberate and infused with a vulnerability that had been buried deep for far too long. "Tonight, hearing your words... it's like a floodgate has burst open within me."

Turning to face her, he held her gaze with an intensity that spoke volumes. "For more than decade, I've carried this in my heart. From the very beginning, you captured my soul in a way I never thought possible. You've been my sanctuary, the person I've turned to in my darkest hours, even from across the ocean."

The sincerity in his voice was palpable, each word a testament to the depth of his emotions. "I was so afraid of losing you that I couldn't find the courage to say anything. But now, knowing that you feel... something for me too, it's like a dream come true."

"I like you a lot. No, i've been in love with you, Y/n."

The air hung heavy with anticipation, the moment pregnant with significance. Joshua's heart raced, every beat a testament to the years of yearning he had endured. With bated breath, he waited for Y/n's response, hoping beyond hope that the feelings he had nurtured in secret for a decade would find their rightful place in the open.

*

On the day of Mingyu's wedding, the venue was bathed in a warm, golden light, casting a radiant glow on the beaming couple. Mingyu, standing tall in his tuxedo, took the mic with a mixture of excitement and nervousness in his eyes. The room fell into a hushed anticipation as he cleared his throat, preparing to address the gathered guests.

"Thank you all for being here today," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Today is a day of celebration, not only for me and Nari, but for the bonds that tie families together."

Mingyu continued his speech. As he spoke, Mingyu's gaze drifted to Y/n, his older sister, seated among the guests. Her eyes shimmered with unspoken pride and affection, a silent affirmation of their shared journey.

He continued, his voice carrying a note of gratitude, "Today, I stand here as a man about to embark on a new chapter of my life. And I owe so much of who I am to the incredible woman who has always been there for me, through thick and thin."

Turning towards Y/n, Mingyu's voice softened with sincerity. "To my sister, Y/n, you've been my rock, my confidante, and my source of endless support. You've guided me, protected me, and loved me unconditionally. Today, I want to take a moment to thank you, not only for being an amazing sister, but for being an incredible friend."

A swell of applause and affectionate murmurs filled the room, a testament to the love that emanated from this tight-knit family. Mingyu's words had touched the hearts of everyone present, leaving an indelible mark on this special day.

The wedding ceremony unfolded like a dream, an atmosphere of pure happiness enveloping the guests. Mingyu, the groom, approached his sister, Y/n, a vision in her lace gown, diligently overseeing the desserts from her bakery. He enveloped her in a warm embrace, their connection palpable even in the midst of the celebration. He pulled back, Y/n teasingly echoing Mingyu's earlier words, "Your confidante, huh?" A playful eye-roll followed, a testament to their easy camaraderie.

Y/n couldn't help but let out a joyful laugh, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Well, I had to make a good impression on my new in-laws, didn't I? Let them know they're getting a true family man," he quipped in a conspiratorial whisper. Joshua, standing alongside them, couldn't contain his own chuckle at their banter.

"Thanks for coming, hyung," Mingyu expressed his gratitude, pulling Joshua into a heartfelt hug. Joshua extending his warmest congratulations.

A mischievous gleam danced in Joshua's eyes as he added, "For someone who's kept my girlfriend busy all month, you sure seem appreciative." His words were laced with playful sarcasm, a nod to the last-minute dessert changes that had kept Y/n on her toes.

Mingyu's expression softened, a touch of remorse etching his features. "I'm sorry, hyung. I forgot how much this meant to you. I promise, after this, I won't meddle anymore," he vowed, signing to the new relationship between his sister and Joshua that had been silent for over a decade.

As the joyous celebration continued, a voice calling Joshua's name interrupted their lively conversation. Turning, their attention was drawn to a woman standing behind them. Joshua recognized her as one of his colleagues from the company, and he extended his hand in greeting.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Joshua remarked, a pleasant surprise lacing his voice.

The woman nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "Nari is my junior from college," she explained, her eyes keenly observing the dynamic between Joshua and Y/n.

It wasn't lost on Joshua that his hand lingered at Y/n's waist. Suddenly, the realization struck him, and he made the introduction with a touch of pride, "Oh, please meet my girlfriend, Y/n. Those croquembouche were made by her." The swell of pride in his voice resonated with a warmth that emanated from him.

Mingyu, standing beside them, nodded appreciatively and offered a warm smile, extending his gratitude to the woman for joining them in the celebration.

The woman's words hung in the air, a statement that stirred a shift in the atmosphere. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Mr. Hong," she reiterated, her tone carrying a hint of surprise. Before Joshua could respond, Mingyu swooped in, feigning hurt over Joshua's apparent secrecy.

"Hyung, really? You've been keeping your relationship with my sister under wraps from everyone? Noona, you deserve someone who'll shout your worth from the rooftops!" Mingyu playfully chided, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Y/n simply smiled, recognizing her brother's penchant for theatrics.

Joshua let out a sigh, a mixture of exasperation and amusement tingeing his voice. "I kept everything hidden," he confessed, a touch of irritation coloring his words. Yet, his smile only grew, his hold on Y/n's waist tightening. It was a silent declaration, an unspoken testament to the depth of his feelings for her, a sentiment that had been quietly growing within him. The unspoken connection between them, now brought to light, added a layer of intimacy to the moment, making it all the more special.

*

A fresh morning light bathed the room, infusing it with a sense of energy and possibility. Joshua entered, a warm smile gracing his features, bearing a circle of coffee and delectable desserts for the ladies gathered at the tables. Their eyes lit up with gratitude as they received the treats, a tangible token of appreciation for their successful drama project.

"Morning, ladies. I heard the drama project was a hit. Here's my treat," Joshua announced, his voice carrying a touch of genuine warmth.

As they settled into their seats, one of them couldn't help but voice the rumor swirling in the office. "Is it true, Mr. Hong?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Joshua's smile remained steadfast, a hint of intrigue twinkling in his eyes. "What rumor?" he playfully deflected, his tone light.

"That you're in a relationship? There's a screenshot of your Instagram Story with a woman on the company community web," another woman eagerly elaborated, her excitement palpable.

Joshua let out a chuckle at their enthusiasm. With an air of showmanship, he unveiled the box of delectable desserts, their intricate designs and inviting aromas captivating their attention. "They look amazing, right?" he asked, a note of pride coloring his voice.

"These are from Seongsu-dong, just a block away from a kindergarten. The shop's called Sweeties. If you ever want to meet my girlfriend, that's the place to go. Please enjoy," Joshua shared, his words imbued with a touch of playfulness and sincerity. With a final warm goodbye, he left the group of women officers, their smiles and laughter lingering in the air. The morning continued, infused with a sense of camaraderie and shared enjoyment.

The end.

[moved-lambyblurbsfics]

ik you wrote all little abt bully schlatt already but could you maybe make smth out of it? like a little fic? possibly smut👀🤭

just a thought, anyways LOVE YOUR WRITING!! BYEEE!!!!

I had alot of fun writing this! Thank you, thank you, thank you for your ask/submission <3

Your Bully, Schlatt

Summary: its finally your senior year of highs chool, ready to get out of this place and onto new stuff, but you still have to deal with your bully

Warnings:annoying schlatt

Word Count:723

Authors Note: May or may not make this into a series, idk yet, and I'm still trying to find my writing style. Ignore how all over the place stuff is, haven't written in a while. Getting my writing boots back on for y’all :D

Y/N POV

It's your senior year, and you're just happy to get this last year of high school over with and done, getting onto better things with your life.

You had plans for after high school and wanted to get away from these other people you went to school with. Especially your bully, Schlatt. He has always picked on you since probably freshman year of high school. You don't know why as your groups of friends never interacted that much or at all. But he's always just been mean to you. Making fun of your style, things you liked, or stuff you did with your friends. And it aggravated you so much.

First day of senior year, and you're already halfway through the day when you find out Schlatt shares a few classes with you. Which only makes you groan at the thought of having that semester with him in the classroom with you.

The first class you had with him, you walked into your biology class, kind of excited about what you'd be learning in the class that year. Only to immediately curse to yourself when you walked into the classroom and saw Schlatt. Sitting at the back of the classroom, leaning back in his chair, and resting his feet on the desk. He had a big smirk across his face as he saw you enter the classroom.

You avoid eye contact instantly, beelining for the furthest empty seat away from Schlatt. But it was still too close to him for your liking. The bell hadn’t rung yet to let everyone know that class was starting. Students were still coming into the classroom filling out some more seats. You sat silently in your spot, no one taking the seat next to you, yet.

But before you could call it clear with Schlatt not bothering you. But then you could hear a small whistle from Schlatt’s direction, you didn't pay mind to it trying to ignore him. The next thing you knew, Schlatt was now sitting at the table behind you, you could feel the smirk radiating off him as he moved his legs to bump your chair.

You started to get irritated and already over his whole annoying nuisance act, you whip around in your chair to tell Schlatt off. “Do you need something?” you asked him with a little angry growl to your question.

Schlatt just crossed his arms and leaned a little back in his seat, a grin on his face and shaking his head no, not saying a word making you more irritated. You turn back around in your seat hearing the bell ring signaling that class has started. Sighing in relief a little maybe the bothering would stop from Schlatt.

Your focus was on the front of the classroom, but you then heard the seat next to you at the table you sat being pulled out from the table. You glanced over to your right, to see none other than Schlatt sitting down in the seat.

You noticed Schlatt sit down only making you frown. The biology teacher got to handing out the packet that outlined the sections and stuff they were learning for the year, the class expectations, and the teacher's email for communication.

Schlatt quietly pulled out a notebook, as you did and some other students did as well. Writing down the information he was giving to the class. As you started writing down some of the supplies needed for the class, there was already a problem with Schlatt sitting to your right.

You're right-handed, and unfortunately, Schlatt is left-handed. His elbow bumped into yours now and then as the two of you wrote in your notebooks. Only making you more frustrated, you glance over at Schlatt with an annoyed glare as you look over at him. Only to be surprised with an almost apologetic look from Schlatt, not a thing you got from him ever.

Schlatt's POV Schlatt actually had a small, okay he liked you a lot more than just a small crush. He didn't know why he was mean to you or so rude. But he didn't know how to express how much he liked you. And since it was your guys' senior year, he might now see you after graduation. He was gonna try this year, and hopefully ask you out.

[cheriladycl01]

Summer 2024 - Valtteri Bottas x Editor! Reader

Plot: Being able to work from home is the best thing for you and your travelling F1 boyfriend

You’re job was literally the definition of perfect when it come to spending time with your boyfriend. He travelled a lot, like 24 times a year a lot and it was one of those things that most couples would be concerned that it would but a strain on the relationship but not for you and Valtteri.

You were an editor. That was how you put your job loosely when people asked what you do. When they deep-dived into what you actually did it was a half an hour conversation.

Primarily you were an editor for books, you edited and translated for a British Publishing House. Your work was remote only having to come into the office once every 3 weeks to just show your face and show your boss your progress.

You didn’t have … amazing grades leaving school only really English being your strong suit and became a freelance editor in photography while you lived with your parents.

You then found a love for music editing which really was just a hobby … but you ending up actually selling some stuff and making royalties on things you’d done for companies in your local area.

But when enough was enough and you decided to look for a steadier job you came across an Editorial Assistant Job. You swiped it up, having a love for literacy and reading so it seemed pretty perfect for you and worked your way up to editor.

Being an editor meant you didn’t have to ever really be in the office which to you was great, you could watch Scooby Doo reruns from your childhood whilst editing a smutty fantasy novel and had loads of free time for your side hustles in music editing and photography.

And it was even better when you met your Finnish hunk of a, now husband, then boyfriend.

You could travel to pretty much every race with him, spend time with him at his home in Finland and then spend a few days in the UK in the office for you. You had the healthiest relationship because of how often your routines worked together.

Currently you’d just landed in Baku, you’d done a very long stint, starting with being in England in the rainy weather day in your office talking to your boss and the author of the book you were currently working on. You’d spend the day going through the subtle changes you’d made and any errors you’d found. Your eyes were basically squares by the end of it.

One thing your husband loved about the UK was the pub atmosphere, so you met him at one close to your office building in London.

“Hey honey” you smile warmly at him, as he pushes forward the large glass of white wine he’d brought for you not so long ago as you could see the condensation on the outside of the glass.

“How was work?” He asked, Valtteri never really understood your job. He never knew what you were working on, or who you were emailing and on the phone too so it was always better to ask the broader questions.

“It was good, sooooo much progress on the book that I think I may be able to submit way earlier than the deadline and it be way better than Hallie anticipated” you grin, this project with the current book you were working on was something Valtteri did know about as you were so excited about it that you constantly talked to him about it.

“Yeah, that’s good, means we can spend some time in Amsterdam before Zandvoort?” He asks with a grin knowing you loved to go to the races a little earlier so that you could see more of the country that it was in, as you’d seen the tracks and the surrounding town or city so often you knew these like the back of your hand. So it was nice to explore other parts.

“Amsterdam sounds like fun! And yes I think I’ll finish reading the epilogue this weekend on the flight to the Netherlands, how does that sound?”

“Perfect as always” he replies cheersing you before kissing the side of your head lightly.

And then you found yourself in the both stormy and sunny weekend Zandvoort brought to you where you had a very amusing time editing a video of the Stake team members for their TikTok account that had amused everyone.

You’d only really done that because you had free time, your submitted the current project you were working on, and your boss at the publishing company hadn’t emailed you anything new so you decided to help admin edit some posts and photos to help get engagement. It was fun spending time with Valterri and the team just goofing around on Thursday before and intense weekend started.

You always loved the feelings of race weekend. Sitting in the hospitality while Valtteri and Zhou were in team briefings editing away whatever you felt like on your laptop before putting it away to watch the race. You loved the garage and talking to all the mechanics, you truly were part of the team.

After Zandvoort you spend 2 days there in the gorgeous town, talking bike rides through flower filled fields and taking pictures of cute little windmills and thatched roofs.

And then you’d ended up in the scorching heat of Milan and Monza where you’d gone shopping with Valtteri and he’d treated you to some really nice things in the fancy stores you’d never dream of affording.

You’d not actually been spotted by anyone which was strange as you always saw your husband as someone that has very notable features … ie his platinum blonde mullet.

“What about this, I think you could use a dress like this” Valtteri held up a green silk dress from Prada showing it to you and spinning it.

“And where would I wear that?” You laugh knowing it was far to fancy for anything you normally did.

“Mmmm anniversary dinner, a wedding, a award ceremony… end of season party with everyone, the 2025 car launch…” he grins naming all the various places.

You were the definition of a private wag. Your Instagram was private and had been for the many years you’d been with Valterri, so going to these events you always had to dress up very nice.

“I never usually wear green though” you comment looking at the deep emerald colour being presented to you.

“Mmmm but you’d look incredible in this” he says holding it up against your body just to double check.

“I mean you’d look more incredible with nothing but …” he teases and you immediately blush.

“Valtteri! You can’t say stuff like that here” you gasp looking around the shop before looking back at him. He’s just smiling and you lightly push his shoulder back.

“You can’t do that” you say shyly. He makes you go into the changing room to try the dress on for him before he ends up buying it for you.

But after the race you spend some time on Lake Como in a cute little AirBnB that was closer to Switzerland and went on a small little relaxation retreat. You guys went to the spa and went on a boat road on the lake and swimming in cold water.

And finally you made the long flight to Azerbaijan… you were pretty tired from all the changes, but with a new project from your boss you were able to stay busy.

y/user

Liked by valtteribottas and others

y/user: 🇬🇧> 🇳🇱 > 🇮🇹! Next up 🇦🇿

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valtteribottas: Love spending everyday with you 🇫🇮❤️

-> y/user: I love it more ❤️

user1: so cute 😩

stakef1team: thank you for all the cool videos and photos you edited for us 🍀💚

-> y/user: always welcome friends at stake 🫣

user2: I’d love your job! What do you do?

-> y/user: I’m an editor :)

Instagram Story Caption:

Baku time now 🇦🇿

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[soon-palestine]

Can you recognize these faces? All these leaders made profound sacrifices for their people, and the artist who created this powerful drawing must be considered one of them. Kevin “Rashid” Johnson, who is extensively quoted in this shocking article, is one of them, one of the men being tortured 24/7 at Red Onion State Prison. Next to Mumia Abu Jamal, Rashid is the most read and respected prisoner in the U.S. Red Onion is a super-maximum security prison designed and built to be torturous in every way, just like Pelican Bay State Prison in California, where prisoners surmounted impossible odds in 2011-2013 to stage a series of three mass hunger strikes joined by 30,000 prisoners at their peak. To offer your help and support to the prisoners at Red Onion, use the contact information at the end of this article. – Art: Kevin “Rashid” Johnson

by Phil Wilayto

Just how bad are things at Virginia’s Red Onion supermax prison?

On May 24, 2023, DeAndre Gordon deliberately started a fire in his cell that caused a third-degree burn on his leg. Gordon, who is Black, said he had been badly beaten by guards at the prison and feared for his life.

“I didn’t know any other way that I could get out of their custody besides to set myself on fire,” Gordon told a reporter with Radio IQ. “Because they don’t have a burn center in Southwest Virginia, I knew that I would be going to Richmond.”

According to the American Burn Association, Virginia has just three facilities capable of dealing with severe burns. Two are in Richmond: the Evans-Haynes Burn Center at VCU Health, a state institution, and the Wound Healing Center at Doctors Hospital, a private hospital. The third is at the Eastern Virginia Medical School in Norfolk.

Red Onion, in Wise County, is about 375 miles west of Richmond.

On Aug. 23 of this year, Demetrius Wallace, 27, also Black, says he set fire to his leg to force a transfer out of Red Onion.

The Defender spoke with Wallace on Nov. 1.

“I did actually set my foot on fire,” Wallace said. “I got the charge that shows it. They came to my cell door and saw the flames on the side of my leg. They took me to medical, they assessed me right there that night, told me they don’t deal with burns, they would have to talk with the nurse practitioner, and that I would have to be taken off the mountain.

“That was Friday, Aug. 23 … so Monday around 2 in the afternoon, they drove me seven hours away to the VCU burn unit. As soon as the doctor sees me, he said, ‘When did this happen?’ I said, ‘Friday.’ He said, ‘Why haven’t you been here?’ I said, ‘I’m not trying to be funny, but I can’t drive myself from the prison.’

“He said to the COs [correction officers], ‘You see this foot? You tell your major I can’t treat him immediately, I have to put him on antibiotics’ to treat the infection.

“I stayed in the hospital for 14 days. They had to do an allograft [a temporary graft using skin from a skin bank] and a skin graft. After 14 days I was sent back to Red Onion state prison. Harassed me, everything is still the same, stuck me in the hole, still being denied access to my JPay [a commercial email service for prisoners] or my actual phone.”

Asked why he had set himself on fire, Wallace said, “I got a lawsuit in because I was assaulted and sprayed by the COs twice while I was handcuffed. So as soon as I filed the lawsuit, they started retaliation. They denied my fiance access to the prison, for no reason; you had COs and a lieutenant looking at her Facebook; they messaged her … She has screenshots.”

Wallace also said he wasn’t the only prisoner who has recently set himself on fire.

“I was in medical, and I witnessed five other offenders who came back there. They had burned their legs or arms. There are still two or three there now.”

On or about Sept. 15, Ekong Eshiet, a 28-year-old African-born prisoner at Red Onion, says he also set fire to his leg.

On Oct. 25, he gave an interview to Prison Riot Radio, a Philadelphia-based online program that provides a platform for prisoners to speak out about prison conditions and other issues.

In the interview, Eshiet said that, two days before, on Oct. 23, he had begun a hunger strike.

“I’m trying to get off of here. I’m doing my best, I’m going about this the right way, I guess, with the hunger strike way. But if I have to, I don’t mind setting myself on fire again, and this time I’ll set my whole body on fire.

“Before I have to stay up here and do the rest of my time up here, I would rather die before I stay up here, because every day I’m dealing with discrimination, whether it’s behind my race, my last name or my religion.”

The Defender has been in touch with Kevin Rashid Johnson, a longtime prisoner activist and author who last December went on a 71-day hunger strike, demanding to be transferred from Red Onion because he said there were no medical facilities in that area equipped to deal with his several severe medical issues. He eventually was sent to VCU Health, then transferred to Greensville Correctional Center, and is now back at Red Onion.

Rashid wrote the Defender that he was in the medical unit at the prison when Eshiet was brought in for treatment, and Rashid said he saw for himself the severe burns on the man’s leg.

“He had been placed in a cell next to me in the prison’s medical department, where I overheard him talking with others about a series of prisoners including himself setting fire to themselves. I could not help asking him what was going on.

“He told me simply that the racism, the horrid and inhumane conditions at the prison, were so intolerable that he and others were setting themselves on fire in desperate attempts to get transferred. These were not protests, he made clear, but acts of desperation hoping to get out of an insufferable situation.”

Rashid, at great risk to himself, wrote a report that he sent to outside news media and support groups. The report was picked up by Prison Riot Radio, the Arlington-based Interfaith Action for Human Rights and The Virginia Defender, among others.

On Oct. 25, this reporter called Red Onion and spoke with the warden, David Anderson. I explained that we had received a report that as many as a dozen prisoners at Red Onion had recently set themselves on fire, and asked if the report was correct.

“No, it’s not true,” Anderson said.

After a pause, he added, “I really shouldn’t be commenting on this.”

“So you’re saying that no one has set themselves on fire?” I asked.

“I can’t speak any further about that,” Anderson answered.

I told Anderson I would send him an email, with further questions. He said he would forward the email to the proper department for a response.

These are the questions sent on Oct. 25:

Over the last two months, did one or more prisoners at Red Onion set themselves on fire, as claimed by the letter writer?

If so, what are the names and prison ID numbers of the men?

What is now the location of each of the men?

What is the medical condition of each of the men?

Have any of the men been charged with institutional or criminal offenses as a result of these alleged actions?

As of this writing, on Nov. 4, there has been no response.

Meanwhile, we have been trying to find corroboration on the reports. undefined

In addition to speaking directly with Demetrius Wallace, we called Marsha Prichett, Eshiet’s mother, on Oct. 25. She said her son has had a very hard time since being sent to Red Onion in June.

“There’s been name calling, they call him Eat-Shit, they spit in his food. After he hurt himself, they treated him for minor burn wounds. “Then the hospital called us to let us know Ekong was in the hospital, but they said we couldn’t visit with him or talk to him because the warden said he was a danger to himself or others. So we couldn’t visit because of what the warden said.”

On Nov. 1, a Friday, the Defender reached out to VCU Health to ask if any Red Onion prisoners had been treated there recently for severe burns. At first we were told the hospital was not allowed to give us that information because of the issue of patient privacy. We hadn’t asked about any particular patient.

On Nov. 4, a Monday, we received a call from Danielle Pierce with VCU Public Relations. We asked if, from Aug. 1 until the present, any Red Onion prisoners had been brought to VCU Health for treatment for severe burns.

“I’m happy to look into it for you,” Pierce said.

Since our press deadline was the next morning, we didn’t expect to receive an answer in time for this story, but we will post any response on this newspaper’s website: virginiadefender.org. [Post-press update: As of Friday, Nov. 8, there has been no response.]

On Nov. 1, the Defender also called and left messages at the offices of Virginia General Assembly Delegate Don Scott, a former prisoner who is now Speaker of the House. We will report any response we get on our website.

We also have been trying to get various Virginia media to cover this story. What is Red Onion? red-onion-supermax-in-isolated-wise-county-va-by-google-earth, Conditions so bad that prisoners set themselves on fire: Crisis and cover-up at Red Onion super-max , Featured World News & Views This Google Earth map gives some idea of how isolated the Red Onion super-max prison is, situated on top of Red Onion Mountain in rural Wise County, far from the famiies of most of the men confined there.

The Justice Policy Center of the Urban Institute describes a supermaximum prison, or “super-max,” as “designed to hold the putatively most violent and disruptive inmates in single cell confinement for 23 hours per day, often for an indefinite period of time.”

Red Onion is a super-max prison. It opened in 1998 in the midst of a big right-wing and media scare about a new crime wave that supposedly was coming, but somehow never did.

Red Onion was supposed to house around 800 of “the worst of the worst” Virginia prisoners. As it turned out, there weren’t enough “worst” prisoners to fill the cells, so Virginia began taking in prisoners from other states – for a price. Further, many of the Virginia prisoners who wound up there were transferred from lower-level security prisons simply for breaking rules, not for committing violent crimes.

Red Onion quickly gained a reputation for extreme repression, cruelty and racism.

A 1999 report by Human Rights Watch stated that the “Virginia Department of Corrections has failed to embrace basic tenets of sound correctional practice and laws protecting inmates from abusive, degrading or cruel treatment” and claimed that “racism, excessive violence and inhumane conditions reign inside.”

In 2001, Amnesty International released a report citing human rights violations at the prison.

The 2016 HBO documentary film “Solitary: Inside Red Onion State Prison” focused on the use and effects of solitary confinement.

In one particularly notorious case, Nicolas Reyes, a Salvadoran immigrant, was kept in solitary confinement for 13 years because he couldn’t complete the mostly English-language Step-Down Program required to be released.

Reyes only spoke Spanish and couldn’t read or write in any language.

With support from the ACLU and other organizations, Reyes was finally released and received a monetary award of $115,000 – which works out to about a dollar for every day he suffered in extreme physical, social, cultural and linguistic isolation.

This is what Rashid has recently written about the prison:

“Red Onion and its sister supermax Wallens Ridge State Prison, are both located in the mountains of the far southwestern corner of Virginia in rural, segregated white communities, while their prisoner populations are near totally Brown and Black.

“Since opening in 1998 and 1999, respectively, both prisons have operated without oversight in regions where the local populations are culturally conditioned to secrecy and hostility to outside scrutiny. Which makes for prisons shielded by a curtain of secrecy, inhumane abuse and racism.

“And while Virginia has been closing down many of its predominantly Black staffed prisons across the state, it has shifted resources and focused new prison construction projects in favor of opening and operating prisons in remote, racially segregated regions of the state like where Red Onion and Wallens Ridge are located.

“The strongest public exposure and protest needs to be directed at these expensive, inhumane and unneeded human warehouses. They must be opened up to broad public scrutiny and accountability, and closed down.

“This exposure and protest should be continually directed against the Virginia governor, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and the state’s General Assembly.

“Every effort must be made to share this information and increase public awareness about these places, their inhumane conditions and the desperate extremes they are driving fellow humans to in their pleas for relief.

“Dare to Struggle Dare to Win!

“All Power to the People!”

Interfaith Action for Human Rights has started an online petition urging change at Red Onion. To sign, log onto change.org and search for “Investigate Self-Harm Episodes and Improve Inhumane Conditions at Red Onion Prison.”

As we go to press, Kevin Rashid Johnson, Ekong Eshiet and Demetrius Wallace are all being held in solitary confinement – what the prison calls “restrictive housing.” All three men have reason to fear for their lives.

Rashid, who has been targeted because of his outspoken condemnation of the whole Virginia prison system, has outside attorneys working to try to get him transferred out of Red Onion.

Note: Both Rashid and Demetrius Wallace have given the Defender permission to quote them for this story. We haven’t spoken directly with Ekong Eshiet.

Conclusion

At this point, we are confident in reporting that at least two men held at the Red Onion State Prison – Demetrius Wallace and Ekong Eshiet, and possibly others, have taken the desperate step of setting themselves on fire to try to force the prison officials to transfer them out of that notorious hellhole.

And the prison system is not only denying that these events ever happened, but have taken steps to isolate the men involved in order to keep the public from knowing about it.

The Virginia Defenders are calling for an immediate, independent, impartial, outside investigation of the conditions of these three men, as well as the general conditions at Red Onion. We will be sending copies of this story to Gov. Glenn Youngkin, Virginia Attorney General Jason Miyares, all members of the Virginia General Assembly, U.S. Senators Tim Kaine and Mark Warner, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and all our contacts in the Virginia media.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere coworker (part 8)

Tw: noncon touching, noncon kissing, afab reader anatomy, violence, toxic family dynamics

Masterlists, part 1, part 9

Thanks for the asks about cyprus guys, it do be helping me to unclog that authors block for this stimky

Especially the ones who wanted to know more about him, got the idea from themm

"...She's sick and she has a cert' to prove it. I'll ask her to send an email after this call."

You were awoken by Cyprus's voice early morning. Softly grumbling under your breath, you pushed yourself up and rubbed your eyes. Realizing that you were lying on top of his bare chest the entire night. A calloused hand holds you in place by the ass, while the other held onto his phone that is being pressed against his ear.

"Me? I told you. I'm not coming in today. An emergency came up." The annoyance on his face evaporated away as soon as he saw that you were awake. You grunted in displeasure as he pressed an audible kiss on your very sleepy form.

You tried focusing on his banter with Jane. But everything was gibberish to you as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Cyprus gently pushed you back down onto his broad chest as he saw you swaying side to side, obviously not at all fit to go to work.

You pressed your cheek against him and closed your eyes, letting your consciousness slowly drift away again.

"You figure it out, you're the manager." He barked before hanging up on her. Cyprus stretched his arm to open the drawer of his nightstand, dropping his phone next to yours inside it.

The brunette turned his attention to you. He groped your buttocks, it made you stir a little, but it looked like you were too tuckered out to care.

"Hey."

You replied with a weak hum.

"I want to smoke."

You let out a grunt of annoyance. Struggling to push yourself off him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cyprus pressed you closer to him.

You said that you're trying to get out of the way so he could do his thing.

He huffed. "You're supposed to stop me."

You said that he is an adult. You have no right to tell him what to do or stop whatever urges he may have. You told him that you wished he would extend the same courtesy to you.

"Oh yeah? Well, I have the urge to fuck you stupid right now." This woke you up immediately, making you push him away and creating as much distance as possible. You would have run away if it wasn't for him caging you against the bed.

You began whining and whimpering, about to break into a loud scream, until,

"Relax. I'm not doing that today." His voice took on a condescending tone. However, his fingers are still digging into your soft flesh, keeping you in place under him.

"Help me fight the urge to smoke." He ordered. "I won't let you go until you do something about it."

You frowned, forcing your brain to think early this morning.

You asked when and why he started smoking. His eyes darted to the side as he actively recalled the first time he did it.

"I started when I was twelve." He rolled to your side, but his arm still kept you in place. "My sister tried her best to keep me away from it, but I was a little shit. I stole a pack from her handbag and the rest was history."

You asked what kept him going. He shrugged.

"I looked... cool. And it calms me down, I had to work after school, to pull my own weight around the house. Juice boxes and candies weren't enough to soothe my nerves after a long night of dealing with fucking morons." Cyprus absentmindedly played with your hair as he reminisced about his youth.

You asked him what work he could have possibly done as a 12-year-old.

"You know, like. Shady ones. I would sell random shit on the streets, become a delivery boy for some local gangs, weirdos paid me to leave dead animals on doorsteps of specific people..." He trailed off.

You asked what he used the money on.

"Well, firstly, to keep the lights on. Secondly, on more cigarettes."

You asked how come the money from his mother and sister wasn't enough, that a young boy like him had to be robbed of his childhood to work. To that, he scowled, but not necessarily at you for asking such a question, but it was more like he wasn't fond of the memory.

"Looking expensive was apparently more important than her kids getting three meals a day." You waited for him to elaborate on that.

"We had a coffee machine when we couldn't even afford the right coffee. She had to outshine her so-called friends at church, wearing a new dress every week in her favorite color; gold. While we had to go insane and sleepless trying to put food on the table." He spat, feeling resentment for his mother for prioritizing her image.

"My sister was just like me, she had to juggle her studies while raising me and my mom." He mindlessly touched the back of his shoulder again. You wonder if his sister did something to him on that body part of his.

You asked if he still resents his mother for being materialistic.

He sighed. "...A little."

You asked him if she still is like this.

"Not anymore. It took me running away for a few days to sober her up. She was still shit at managing her money- my sister had to handle that on her own, but at least she knows she was a massive idiot back then."

You asked him how old he was when he ran away.

"Fifteen." A guilty look crossed his face. "My sister freaked the fuck out. It wasn't pretty when I finally decided to show my face again." You eyed the hand that touched the same spot as before.

You asked him if she hit him before.

"More times than I can count. She uses anything and everything, but it's mostly her cha- Slippers." He laughed.

You asked if she usually hit him on the spot that he kept rubbing whenever she was mentioned.

"Oh... no." He turned around to show you what he was touching. It's a long, large raised scar with mild discoloration, but it's clearly healed a while ago. You thought he had that while fighting. "She fucking stabbed me with a kitchen knife. Only once. But it hurt like a bitch, especially when she screamed that I was her biggest burden."

You offered him words of sympathy this time. He snorted.

"She didn't mean it. Because I heard her yell the same thing when she stabbed my mom in the hand. Plus, I was only 8, it wasn't my fault everything was the way it was."

You asked him if he gets to stab her as revenge. He chuckled at your question.

"Nope. My mom did, though. I stole her money and told her boyfriends that she has some sort of contagious disease instead." He pursed his lips and stroked his chin as he thought about the past deeply. "Yeah, I held a grudge against her for a while. I kept stealing her shit and laughed in her face whenever she breaks down. I have taken dodging and blocking seriously ever since I got stabbed."

You asked when you stopped being an asshole to his sister.

"About... fourteen. When I realized that my sister was more of a parent than my mom would ever be. It was awkward as hell, trying to make up for being this devil who's been sabotaging her for years."

You asked if he ran away out of guilt. He looked at you confused.

"Why would I..." He paused and thought about it for a while.

You continued, explaining that maybe he didn't want to be a burden to his sister anymore, so he thought running away was the solution?

"I ran away because I was sick of my mom leeching off me. She was the burden."

You asked if he thought about his sister when he took off.

"Yeah, I thought about how she's going to be fine without me. But I was mostly thinking about how I'm finally free from my mom siphoning my hard earned cash into her wallet."

You asked Cyprus what made him come back. He was chewing on his bottom lip throughout this conversation, possibly to try and suppress the urge to get up and smoke.

"My sister managed to find me one day and tore me a new one. She set my ass straight and put me back into school, kept an eye on me until I turned 18. Then, she told me that I'm free to fuck off and do whatever."

You asked him what he did.

"Finished university. I had some financial backing from my mom and my sister, but I still had to work like a dog to pay off my tuition fees. Thanks to them, I'm here today. Playing with my girl's cute and squishy ass."

You realized that he was fondling your rear during the entirety of this conversation. It made you slap his hand away.

He snickered when you angrily hit him on the chest.

"Oh come on, you liked it." Cyprus brought his face close to yours, to which you pushed him away with your palms.

You said that you did something about his urge to smoke. You asked if he would let you go now.

"Nope."

Exasperated, you let out a whine. Asking what more does he want.

Cyprus puckered his lips dramatically, even to a comical extent and made loud kissy noises. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, silently telling you that he isn't content just giving you kisses on the cheeks or forehead.

You told him that you're not interested in doing such things with him. But he cuts you off mid sentence by shoving his lips against yours.

You struggled, having Cyprus's unusually long tongue muffle your screams. But it only took a couple of seconds for you to calm down and grow limp in astonishment.

He is a... really, really good kisser. You grew more and more embarrassed each second you lingered, pathetically fighting back but clearly enjoying the dance of tongues. You liked the warmth, the erotic sounds he makes without the help of his vocal chords, the slickness and his rhythm. It's oddly satisfying and enjoyable.

He smelled of his body wash, a strong, earthy masculine odor mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke.

You couldn't tell what he tasted like except for the fact that he tasted nice.

You were too distracted by his skills to notice that his hands slipped under your oversized shirt that once belonged to your boyfriend. He's kneading your breasts and buttocks, perhaps adding to the pleasure train that you're experiencing.

However, despite not being a smoker, your lung capacity is much more inferior than Cyprus's. You panicked, repeatedly whacking him on the back as you tried to get him off you so you wouldn't pass out from oxygen deprivation.

He slowly pulled away from you, retreating his lewd hands along with him, admiring the string of saliva connecting your lips to his full ones. You're the only one panting in the room, Cyprus was calm and collected, yet you're there greedily gasping for air with your chest rapidly rising up and down.

"Thanks for the meal, princess. Next time, I'd like to know how it tastes down..." He brushed his fingertips against your clothed clit teasingly, making you jerk your hips away and squeeze your thighs together to process the sudden exciting stimulation. "...here. I bet it'll taste fucking delicious." Purred Cyprus with a pair of grey, bedroom eyes.

He laughed as you shied away from him. "You're funny" Cyprus cooed, tickling your sides until you audibly cackled.

He sat on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching. He puts on his glasses as he rises from his seat, stretching his back muscles and arms even more.

"Oh and, thank you, doll." He looked back at you.

You asked what for.

"i don't feel like smoking anymore." He bent down to give you an appreciative kiss on the temple. "For now, at least." Cyprus continued.

"Come out in ten minutes." He said, walking out of the bedroom door and into the kitchen. You hear him start to gather the cooking vessels, utensils and ingredients needed for breakfast.

[errihaienx]

sypnosis : you, a renowned journalist, once Atsumu's lover, are assigned to interview his team, MSBY Black Jackals, in the V League. amidst the echoes of your past romance and the intensity of the game, emotions flare as you navigate the thin line between professional duty and unresolved feelings. as questions linger and the court holds its breath, you must confront the love you left behind on the court of your shared history.

disclaimer : just to clarify, the storylines of the fics and the original meaning of the songs may not match up. each fic was crafted based on specific lyrics. for instance, 'reminder' by the weeknd is about him 'reminding' listeners of his identity and successes as a pop/R&B artist. however, in this fic, it's focused on an ex reminding you of their presence, highlighting your shared history with them.

Eyes scanning the email that had just arrived, you found yourself fixated on one particular line, unable to fully process the rest of its contents.

"Am I seeing this right?" you muttered to yourself, struggling to grasp the reality that you were being tasked with interviewing the MSBY Black Jackals for their upcoming match against EJP Raijin.

The weight of the assignment was not lost on you; both teams were immensely popular, and this opportunity could significantly boost your career and benefit the broadcasting company you represented. Yet, amidst the professional excitement, something stirred deep within your heart—a feeling long forgotten, ignited by someone from your past.

With closed eyes, you drew a deep breath, torn between accepting this golden opportunity and the memories that now flooded your mind. You were still carving your path in the media broadcasting industry, and this interview could be the breakthrough you had been striving for.

You tried to push away the distracting thoughts of the past, but they persisted, vivid flashes of moments shared with a smiling Atsumu dominating your mind. A bitter smile crossed your lips; this was merely work, a job that demanded professionalism above personal sentiment. Journalists couldn't afford to skip assignments due to old feelings.

Finally deciding to accept the job, your hands trembled slightly as you typed out a response to the email.

It had been years, and the likelihood that he would remember you seemed slim. Perhaps he would shrug off the past, considering his current fame and influence, or maybe he wouldn't even recall you at all. It was foolish to believe that Miya Atsumu, the volleyball star, still carried any remnants of a heartbreak from his high school days.

That thought lingered, engraved in your mind—that he wouldn't remember, or if he did, that it wouldn't matter to him. He wouldn't care about his ex, the one who ended things during his final year as a third-year student.

You knew you had made a mistake. Atsumu had been a devoted boyfriend, loyal and kind, giving you more love and affection than you had ever dared to hope for. Yet, despite all that, you couldn't say you regretted the breakup. You had always understood his passion for volleyball, knowing it was his calling. You convinced yourself that ending the relationship was for the best, a decision made to allow him to focus on his dreams.

A tear escaped, quickly wiped away. The internal debate had been exhausting, keeping you up all night after receiving that email.

Reaching for your phone, you contacted a close friend.

"What the actual fucking fuck?! Are you fucking for real now!? "

"Yeah… so I accepted it…" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, recounting the job you had been assigned.

" Fuck, that's unexpected,"

You nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of this unexpected turn of events.

"Well, don't be too bothered by it. There's only a 1 out of 10 chance you'll end up interviewing him. There are like ten people on that team, and Atsumu has a reputation for skipping interviews if he's not in the mood. "

Nodding along, you felt a semblance of relief. Amidst all the focus on Atsumu, you had momentarily forgotten that he was just one member of a larger team.

"However, if fate has it out for you and you do end up face-to-face with Atsumu for an interview, just think of it like a chat with your ex."

Your face twisted in discomfort at the thought, watching as your hopes seemed to evaporate. Your friend rambled on a bit more before ending the call, citing her late-night date with her boyfriend as the reason.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto your bed, shrugging off the swirling thoughts. You needed to act like you didn't know him, to focus on the task at hand. You had two weeks to prepare, a seemingly ample amount of time for a mere interview.

In two weeks' time, you vowed to do your best to forget about him. As your eyes drifted shut, sleep enveloped you, and you ventured into the realm of dreams.

• two weeks later...

Sweat dampened your palms as you flipped through the crumpled scripts, the two weeks leading up to this moment feeling like a whirlwind. What was supposed to be a slow, preparatory period had raced by, leaving you on the brink of losing your composure.

Now, mere minutes away from your interview with the MSBY Black Jackals, the clamor of loud cheers and the clicking of camera shutters filled the vast volleyball stadium where you stood.

"Don't let the pressure get to you! You've interviewed bigger stars before; this should be a walk in the park," a staff member from your company reassured you.

A smile tugged at your lips, finding some comfort in their words.

"You've got this. Just stick to what you've rehearsed over the past two weeks," you murmured to yourself, drawing from the intense preparation you had put in, a departure from your usual approach to interviews.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you took a sip of water. The deafening roar of the crowd reached its peak, causing you to flinch. Could this be it?

"Shit!" you cursed under your breath as you caught sight of the imposing figures of the MSBY Black Jackals, their silhouettes commanding the space.

Composing yourself, you braced for the inevitable. You knew the drill. Your gaze met first with the familiar form of Bokuto Kotaro, striding confidently towards the media area. You dared not let your eyes wander further; it was dangerous, far too dangerous.

But it seemed danger had a penchant for seeking you out. With eyes as cold as ice and a physique that demanded attention, Miya Atsumu fixed his gaze on you. As your eyes met his, he arched a brow, a smirk playing at his lips as he scanned you from head to toe.

This was unexpected, catching you off guard. Yet, you reminded yourself to stay resolute. You were here for the interview, and nothing would shake that resolve. A member of the MSBY management approached, handing you a paper.

"I apologize, Miss (name), but we can only spare 15 minutes for this interview. However, we have scheduled an off-camera interview with the team," they informed you.

You nodded, forcing a smile at your lips. Fifteen minutes was more than enough. You need to get this work done immediately anyways.

"U-umm…"

"Yes? Is there something else?" you asked, sensing the nervousness in their stutter. Remembering your own early days of stumbling over words, you made an effort to be understanding.

"Y-you're so pretty in person, Miss," the staff member blurted out before quickly turning away.

A laugh escaped you at their candidness, finding it endearing. It helped ease some of the tension, bolstering your confidence for the impending interview.

But of course, just when you thought the danger had passed, there he was—Miya Atsumu, heading towards you with that familiar smirk.

ah, here it is the danger.

• twenty three minutes later...

With trembling hands, you tried to compose yourself after that disastrous interview with Atsumu. In the taxi, tears threatened to fall as the film of the interview played in your mind. You found out that he had volunteered to handle the media and they found it amusing, considering it was out of character for him. Taking deep breaths, you watched your interview with him, grateful that you had at least managed to maintain your composure as you had rehearsed. If you hadn't known yourself and watched this, you would have never guessed you were once exes based on the interview.

Just as you thought you had survived the danger, it came back for you. After the interview, another journalist from a different company asked Atsumu why he had taken the lead in presenting himself to the media.

"I feel comfortable with (name)! I guess that's the reason," he replied casually.

"Oh, you mean, Miss (name), the one that interviewed you earlier?"

"Yeah, we knew each other…" he smiled, a glint of pain visible in his eyes.

The aftermath was a flood of texts, emails, and calls from your coworkers after they saw the clip. Frustrated and anxious, you personally emailed Atsumu's management requesting a meeting to ask him not to mention anything about your past again. His management agreed, asking to sign some documents first before scheduling your off camera interview with MSBY. You had thought that a staff member would be handing the paper works to you but, to your surprise, it was Atsumu himself who showed up.

and now here he stands, in a tight red button-up shirt, with a familiar dogtag hanging from his neck.

"You're a renowned journalist now…" his voice was soft, as if he was yearning.

You straighten your posture, making the best efforts to make this as professional as it should be.

"Please, let's get to the point…"

"I'm so proud of ya…" His lips quivered, you're just so....so pretty that he would die.

"Stop skirting the issue and stick to what's relevant." you replied coldly, but your hands are trembling.

he smirked, the previous yearning dissipated like it was never been there.

"Ahuh? why're you tryin' so hard to act like we didn't have somethin' before, hmm?"

"Why are you doing this…"

"I am just remindin' ya, (name), you know me."

He reached for the script from you and scanned the first page; the first part of this interview was about the player's introduction. In his opinion, you should have simply introduced him because you know him so well, you've seen everything, explored his mouth, and screamed his name.

"Are you forgettin' things now? Then let me remind you. Startin' with my name, I am Atsumu Miya."

"I know that you are the A-atsumu Miya.."

"Oh, didn't even stutter while sayin' my surname. I mean, of course, ya once asked me to give ya that, right?" he continued, flipping through the script. After the introduction of names, it stated that the interviewer should ask about Atsumu's relationships, so he decided to answer himself.

"Fer my relationships, I had a few flings before entering a serious one in my late second year. My relationship with that girl was so great… so amazin' that I kinda want to experience it again."

You shivered, feeling the weight of his words.

"But unfortunately, she broke up with me during a tournament match. Oh, why did ya flinch? That situation rings a bell, huh?" he smirked.

"'Tsumu…" you called out to him, and he was stunned.

"Quit it, please… I am truly sorry for my selfish acts. I know I couldn't make it up to you after all these years, but you are very successful now…"

your eyes were warm, you should not cry this is an interview, right?

"You could do something to make it up if you want to—"

"Please stop… Our breakup probably was the reason you're successful now! Right! You can't deny that. If we didn't break up, I could have been a burden, and maybe you wouldn't have reached your dreams, so please let's not—" you pleaded, desperate to end this conversation, but he cut you off.

"If we didn't break up, I could've won that match and become successful way sooner," he said with a stern voice and hurt yearning eyes.

"What do you want…" you whispered

"I am just—" he trailed off, trying to compose himself first.

"I am just reminding you that you know me. I can't bear the fact that I am the one who was left, but why am I the one who's restless about it? How can you act like you never loved me?"

"It's not like that, I am just trying to forget things—"

"Forget everythin' but not me."

he reached for your trembling hands, closing his eyes before kissing it.

"Please, not me…"

"Even if I have ta remind ya over and over again, I'll do it. Jus' don't forget about me. About us…"

He kissed your ring finger once more after carefully touching each one of your fingers. You should be aware that he hasn't changed and is still completely smitten.

"It was always you, baby. Can we—no, we will try again. You ain't forgettin' me."

You were left stunned, the weight of his words sinking in. The air crackled with unresolved emotions, the past colliding with the present. Atsumu Miya, the boy you once loved, stood before you, asking for another chance.

more about this series : TO BE POSTED! ( please check the link later ^^ )

up next : ????

[explosionkatsu]

"Age doesn't matter" 15

Dad!Bakugo x F!Babysitter!Teacher!Reader

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

It’s been days since Y/n started babysitting Kazui. After the administration suspended the class due to the villain attack, Y/n had to email every parent about what would happen and how can the children still catch up with their lessons, as well as mail them the day-to-day school activities. But for Kazui, instead of mailing Katsuki the manuscripts, she has Kazui’s daily school activity printed out and hands it to him personally.

No, she won't teach him at all. It may be part of her babysitting job but being his school instructor, she treats her pupils equally. That implies no special treatment for Kazui.

Although almost every day she can hear Katsuki lecturing Kazui whenever he sees him writing down the wrong answer. Sometimes she’ll catch him smacking his head which will earn him a lecture from her.

She remembered when she first did it in front of Eijiro. The guy was taken aback of course, but surprisingly, Katsuki behaved which made Eijiro taken back more.

“Did you just...- What?” The poor guy was confused.

Today, Katsuki’s on his daily pratol and you were working in the Dining area where you can keep an eye on Kazui who completed his homework and was just watching tv now.

All of a sudden you received an email from the school principal. Clicking it open, Y/n read the content. It was apparently an email about the new employee since some of the kindergarten teachers resigned after the incident. The principal is basically relying on her since she’s one of those who stayed.

“Another work, then.” Y/n mumbled but started responding to the email anyway. It’s not like she has a choice not to. But deep down, she wanted to leave her job as well, not because she was hired as a babysitter, it’s because of the workload which has been keeping her up till midnight.

And yes, Katsuki noticed this. He has very observant eyes, we all know that. He can see her strained smile whenever Kazui comes up to her to show anything he drew.

“Ah. I guess that’s it for now.” Y/n yawned as she stretched her limbs. Once done stretching, she checked the time to see it was almost dinner. Which means, he’ll be here anytime now.

“Time to make dinner, Kazui-chan.”

Kazui beamed once he heard Y/n. He always wanted to be a great good like his dad, so Y/n agreed that Kazui can help her or watch beside her.

“What will we be cooking today, Miss Y/n?” Kazui asked while rocking on his heels. A mannerism Y/n found out whenever he’s excited.

“Well, I always wanted to try something new. I just need to see if we have all the ingredients.” Y/n smiled as soon as she finished packing her things before proceeding to the kitchen.

Once she checked the fridge, “Huh. It seems like we’re missing one ingredient.” Y/n pouted. “I guess another dish, then.”

…

“Tadaima.”

Very uneventful, is what in his mind. Katsuki groaned as he stepped in and set his boots aside.

“Papa!”

Well, at least he got home unharmed.

“Hey, brat.” Katsuki grinned and picked up Kazui who dashed towards him.

“How was your day, papa? Miss Y/n is cooking dinner!” Kazui beamed while being carried by his father.

“What the hell? Again? I swear to God.” Katsuki tsked after knowing this. Careful, he put Kazui down and marched toward the kitchen where he saw you cooking.

“What did I tell you, hah?” He was pissed, alright.

By accident, you dropped the spatula you were using startled by his voice. You didn’t expect him to come home this early, way too early actually.

“W-what are you doing here?” You said while trying to use your body to cover the dish you were cooking from his view.

“What the hell do you mean? This is my house.” Katsuki pointed out, arms crossed over his chest with Kazui beside him, holding him by his pants. “Didn’t I tell you to not cook? That ain’t part of your job.” He groaned.

“If I didn’t cook us our meal, we won’t be able to eat supper and you’ll come home with an empty stomach.” You pouted while slowly picking up the spatula.

“I said you can order out. Didn’t I leave you enough money for that?”

“Well, I’m sorry but inside of ordering unhealthy food, I used the money to buy something healthy since Kazui is still a growing boy.” You said after successfully picking the spatula. “Besides, you should know this. You’re a hero. You need to maintain a proper diet and have a healthy meal.” You said before turning your back at him to focus on finishing your cooking.

Katsuki’s lips twitched at your response.

“Hey brat.”

Kazui looked up at him curiously. “Yes papa?”

“Take my bag to my room. Bring me a clean pair of comfortable clothes. I just need to talk to Miss Y/n.” Katsuki handed Kazui his bag without looking at him which he took, obviously struggling.

“E-eh?” Your attention was now focused on the struggling Kazui who was hauling his father’s obviously heavy bag.

“It’s alright. This is how I train him.” Katsuki said to you, but eyes still engaged on you.

“O-okay.” You responded still concerned.

“I can’t pay you more if you keep doing this.” Katsuki said out of nowhere when he heard Kazui reach the stairs. He doesn’t want his child to overhear this.

“I don’t care.” You responded to him as turned your attention back to the sizzling food in front of you.

“What do you-

“Look.” You started before slightly reducing the heat to prevent the food from burning and set your attention completely on him. “At this point, I don’t care about the extra stuff I don’t have to do. You are a hero and Kazui’s a kid. Both of you need something nutritious since, like I said, Kazui’s a growing kid, and you, for your diet.” You instructed. “You are a parent, and you should know this.”

Katsuki was outraged at your last statement.

“What the hell do you know about being a parent, huh.” He spat, taking Y/n aback. “You are not a mother, so stop nagging me.”

But you’re not backing down.

“I may not be a parent, but I know things about being a good one.” You responded calmly.

“What? You’re saying I’m not a good parent? Hah?” Katsuki dropped his crossed arms and took a step closer to Y/n who didn’t even flinch. “You know nothing, woman.”

Y/n even challenged him by stepping closer to him, almost nose to nose. “I know everything, Katsuki. I also know that you needed help.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’re just too prideful to accept one.” You said quietly, almost a whisper.

The space between both of you was enough for Katsuki to study your features. Your (e/c) eyes, your lashes, your nose, and your glossy lips that he’s tempted to touch with his own.

Screw it.

Following his thoughts, Katsuki wrapped his arm around you, taking you by surprise and pulled by your waist as he placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head upwards and as gently as possible, placed his lips onto yours.

He was right about your lips being soft and tender.

You on the other hand were still in shock. You didn’t expect this to happen. Never in your life did you expect Dynamight to kiss you.

When you felt him pull away, you were speechless. Your eyes were looking straight on his, as his to yours. As if everything around you was blurry.

Katsuki was the same as you are though. He was shocked by what he did. Hell, he didn’t even know why he did it. All he knew was your lips looked so glossy.

“Fuck.” He muttered.

“Papa. I hope this is okay.”

Kazui’s voice jolted both of you making you push him away, and him releasing you.

“I- That’s fine.” Katsuki said out loud as he glanced behind him. When he turns to look back at you, you were touching your lips, face flushed while your eyes stare into nothing. “I-“ he was trying, okay? He doesn’t know where to start.

“I-I’ll go back to cooking.” You stuttered and turned back to the stove.

“Y-yeah.” Katsuki agreed as he scratched the back of his head, slightly blushing. “I guess.”

…

It was finally time for Y/n to go back to her apartment and She was a glad about this.

After what happened earlier, the dinner was awkward. Both adults didn’t even glance at each other. Thankfully, Kazui was telling them stuff making the tension in the air light.

When Y/n finally got her things, a knock on the door caught her attention. “Who is it?” She called out. But before she could reach the door, it swung open, revealing Eijiro and Denki.

“Oh. Hey Miss Y/n!”

“Yo!”

“Oh? Good evening.” You bowed and let them in the house.

“Were you about to leave?” Denki asked while eyeing your things lying on the ground.

“Oh. Yes. I was about to.” You smiled at them as you closed the door behind.

“What’re you two idiots doing here, hah.” Katsuki’s emerged from the kitchen while wiping his hands dry. He did the dishes, okay? “And keep it down, Kazui’s asleep.”

“We’re just stopping by. Kaminari here wanted to visit Kazui and have a little drink with you, so I joined him.” Eijiro grinned at Katsuki and sat on the couch.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late to drink? We have an early patrol tomorrow, morons.” Katsuki said while hanging the wet towel on its rack and joining them in the living room.

“Come on, man. We drove all the here to see you.” Denki pouted. “I wanted to see the kid as well.”

“Tsk. Fine.” Katsuki agreed. “After I drop Y/n to her place, and don’t wake Kazui, got it.”

“I’m sorry?” You were obviously not listening.

“I said, I’ll drop you to your place.” Katsuki repeated as he grabbed his jacket from the bracket near the entrance and wore it. “As if I’d let you leave this house at this hour, idiot.”

“I can just ride a bus.” You said as you watched Katsuki pick your things and left. “Bakugo.” You called, only to get ignored.

“You can’t change his mind, Miss Y/n.” Eijiro chuckled as he watched you try. “He’s one stubborn man.”

“Its not bad to try, right?” You slightly pouted.

“And you’ll only go unnoticed.” Denki smiled at you.

“Sigh. Alright. H-have a great evening to you both.” Once again, you bowed and left the house. “Bakugo!”

Eijiro and Denki were smiling like idiots as they watched your figure disappear from their sight.

“What do you think about her?” Eijiro suddenly asked as he stood up and grab himself a drink.

“Miss Y/N?” Denki asked not making an effort to look at Eijiro. “She seems really nice to me, way too soft for Kacchan.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, bro. She seems like a gentle woman to me. Completely opposite to, you know.” Denki said, this time looking at Eijiro.

“I think they look good together.” Eijiro said as he handed Denki his drink.

…

“Bakugo-san-

“What did I say about formalities?” Katsuki tsked as he placed your things inside the car.

“You don’t have to-

“Sigh.” He was obviously tired of your attempts.

You watched him groan and put both his palm over his face.

“God you’re more stubborn than Kazui.” Katsuki groaned.

“I-I’m sorry.” You murmured to yourself as you play with your fingers.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“W-what?!” “Relax, it’s a joke,” Katsuki smirked at you. “Get in the car.”

-

Hello, my lovelies! I am glad to be back. I am once again apologizing for disappearing like that. But here's part 15. I do hope you like this and stay tuned for 16. Thank you for all your patience.

[cordjefferson]

Hi! Not sure if you still answer questions on here, but I feel lost as a screenwriter right now. In my final year of film school, I’m afraid the “industry” we are about to be let out into no longer exists. I don’t want to go back to journalism, but I also don’t want to fail at screenwriting in vain. I’ll keep going, but just wondering if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place. Hope you’re well.

A few days after Trump was elected the first time, I called my dad to complain and commiserate. He listened to me worry for a few minutes and then he said, "You know, when I was a young man, it was common to wake up and find out that Medgar Evers had been killed or that Malcolm X had been killed or that Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed, or that another person had been lynched somewhere not too far from where I grew up. It was terrible, but we had to go on living our lives."

It was a helpful reminder that shit's always sucked -- in many ways it used to suck worse. That doesn't mean your fear is unfounded. You have every right to be afraid as all the world's ghouls circle their wagons in an effort to eternalize their wealth and influence, thus making our already intractable problems feel even more intractable. But the great news is that now is the perfect time for you to make your art.

Hard times can make for excellent work. Consider that punk rock and rap blossomed under Reagan. I'm currently in the middle of a novel called The Oppermanns, which follows a trio of German-Jewish brothers in 1933 Berlin dealing with the rise of Nazism. It's a great book on its face, but the whole piece becomes even more interesting when you discover that it was written by a German-Jew in real time as the Nazis rose to power.

Even if what you write isn't taken seriously at first, making art is never a failure. Artists aren't athletes, meaning you don't need to produce your best work before you turn 35 and your knees give out. Creativity is a lifelong pursuit. You'll only get better at it the more you live, learn, and grow. And because the winds of industries and the world are always changing, allowing their vagaries to scare you into inaction would be a death sentence.

I had a very long dry spell in the year 2014. I went to meeting after meeting trying to get into a TV writers' room and was rejected over and over again. After almost nine months of being told no, I finally emailed my manager one night to say that I was going to quit "working" in TV and go back to what was left of my journalism career. He asked me to stick it out for one more month, and two weeks later I got an interview with someone who hired me. Work has fortunately been pretty steady ever since. So, of course, stubborn persistence is also a valuable tool in all of this.

I can't imagine I'm saying anything that you don't already understand somewhere in your heart. You know that you've picked a challenging career. The arts are infamously cutthroat and chancy, and many of your contemporaries are going to quit somewhere along the line. It's a tough road to hoe, and the only thing that makes it at all tolerable is the ability to find value and joy in the making of your thing, whatever that may be. If writing something feels like it's been done in vain because you don't sell it or it doesn't become a hit TV show, I recommend you don't do this work. Only do it if the doing of it is what sustains you, because the doing of it may be what has to sustain you forever.

I'm rooting for you from afar. XO