#but again' thank you for the request and for the kind words!

[himasgod]

King Deshret x Reader

Where King Deshret falls in love with Nabu Malikata and forgets you, causing you to leave Sumeru to forget him

SCENARIO: you are the queen with King Deshret, however, he slowly falls in love with Nabu Malikata and forgets you, so, hurt by his betrayal, you ask Rukkhadevata to help you fake your death to leave Sumeru forever and go Inazuma to start a new life. Years later, when your heart had already healed, Rukkhadevata asks you to return to Sumeru to help her with the Withering, and you return, meeting him again.

(Here it is! I hope you enjoy it! I've made it longer than normal because I wanted to go into this one longer, doing it with a more descriptive narrative. I hope you like it and thanks for the request! Dedicated to sailorstar9)

I.

From the beginning, you were Deshret's constant support, beyond politics and alliances with other gods. You shared a unique vision for his kingdom, a dream forged with every step you took at his side in the desert sands. Every glance you exchanged at the edge of the vast void spoke of your commitment, of your unwavering fidelity.

Your connection to him was deeper than sand and wind; you were his queen, not only on the throne, but in his ambitions and in his darkest nights. Each whispered word shared in the stillness of the night sealed the promise that love and kingdom would flourish together, no matter what danger lurked in the shadows. He taught you to believe there was something beyond the horizon, a power capable of shaping destiny.

You still remember the nights when he shared with you his deepest secrets, his desires and fears. He dreamed of a kingdom where his people were not slaves to the laws of heaven, and though his dreams were vast, his love for you seemed even greater. Under the cloak of the stars, he promised you that there was nothing that could break his loyalty to you.

II.

The peace of the kingdom was shaken when Nabu Malikata came into his life. At first, she was just a friend and an ally who shared with Deshret and Rukkhadevata the vision of a kingdom where the desert and the forest coexisted. You admired her strength and the gentleness of her presence, believing that she could be a powerful ally. However, over time, that admiration turned to uncertainty, because something in Deshret's gaze had changed.

Nabu Malikata brought with her an ethereal beauty, the kind of grace that seemed to merge with the wind and the water, that seemed to even calm the sands beneath her feet. You could feel the pull she exerted on him, like a distant star calling to him from above, unreachable and magnetic. In moments of silence, you noticed that his mind was no longer completely with you, but was lost in thoughts of Nabu Malikata, in the dreams they built together.

Every word Deshret said about her became a thorn in your chest. You tried to suppress the pain, to pretend you didn't notice how your nights with him became lonelier. You tried to remind him of his promise, to reconnect with the man you loved, but his heart seemed to have lost itself in a labyrinth of unknown longings. What was once yours was now foreign to you.

III.

Betrayal was a harsh word to describe what you felt, but you had no other word for the emptiness that began to expand in your chest. Deshret was trapped in his ambitions, in the secrets shared in whispered nights with Nabu Malikata, while you languished in silence. You could not bear to live in a realm where your love was no longer the center of his world, where you had been replaced by another vision, another soul.

It was then that you turned to Rukkhadevata, that wise and serene friend who knew the weight of pain and hope. You knew she shared an ancient loyalty with you, and her compassion inspired confidence. You revealed your fears to her and asked her for a soul-sucking favor: to help you disappear.

“Rukkhadevata,” you murmured, your voice cracking, “I’m afraid I cannot remain here.”

She tilted her head in understanding. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a stillness filled with empathy.

“He no longer belongs to me. His heart… has turned to her, and I cannot bear to remain in his shadow.” The words tumbled painfully from your mouth, but you held firm. “I ask for your help, my friend. I do not wish to cause conflict, I only want to leave, to be forgotten.”

With a sacred ritual, you faked your death, a disappearance shrouded in mystery and mourning. Deshret mourned your loss, but deep in your heart, you knew his grief was tinged with other feelings. He did not return to your grave more than once, and his devotion to Nabu Malikata continued. You left without looking back, knowing that your love had been sacrificed on the sands of his ambition.

IV.

Your arrival in Inazuma was a silent rebirth. Here, far from the sands of Sumeru and the memories you left behind, you began to rebuild your life. Over the years, your skill at purification and healing made you a symbol of hope in this land. People began to call you the Queen of Benevolence, a woman shrouded in mysticism and compassion, someone who had learned to heal poisoned souls and lands.

You dedicated each day to this new purpose, transforming pain into something positive, into a force that gave back to others what you had lost. The nights when you thought of Deshret were few, and each time his memory appeared in your dreams, it was less vivid, less painful. The faces of those you helped replaced their images, and your new life felt like a second birth. You had learned to let go of love and embrace the peace that came with distance.

V.

Centuries later, a familiar figure appeared before you: Rukkhadevata, clothed in the same serenity and compassion you had met years before. Her visit was not just a show of friendship; she came to ask for your help.

The Withering, a plague of corruption had ravaged the lands of Sumeru, and only your power of purification could help mitigate its advance.

“The Withering,” she explained to you, her voice heavy with gravity and despair, “is devouring our forests and withering the lands. Life itself is fading from our realm, and I fear my power is no longer enough to stop it.”

Rukkhadevata's request shook the delicate balance you had built in your heart. Returning to Sumeru meant facing what you left behind, the indifference you had cultivated. The memory of Deshret, now only a shadow, seemed insufficient to make you hesitate. However, the suffering of the land, the need to save the innocent, made you rethink your decision. This time, you would not return out of love, but out of duty.

VI.

Your return to Sumeru was solemn, without great ceremony or promises. When Deshret saw you for the first time, his gaze held wonder, pain, and something else that was harder to decipher. His lips, which had previously spoken only words of love for you, now only emitted pleas. He wanted your forgiveness, one last chance to redeem the harm he had caused you. But for you, the Deshret you loved had been buried in the sand, along with the promise you once shared.

“My queen…” he murmured in a trembling voice. “Is that you? I thought I had lost you forever… Please forgive me, I…”

His pleas echoed hollowly in your heart, and you looked at him with the same compassion you gave to all those you helped in Inazuma. His love was only a distant echo, and in that moment, you understood that there was no room in your heart for resentment or forgiveness, only for the peace you had found without him.

“Deshret,” you replied in a calm voice, “you are no longer my king, nor am I your queen. Time has erased the love that once existed. I have only returned to help my friend and fulfill my duty to this land.”

With one last look, you walked away from Deshret, letting the past burn in the sands.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[moonstruckme]

dare i say carmy coming home to ur shared apartment and you’re napping so he starts on dinner for u but you wake up and feel immensely guilty that he’s just come home from hours of cooking only to cook some more…(i want to kiss him so bad it’s embarrassing)

Thank you for requesting lovely!

Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 544 words

You wake to the sound of sizzling in the kitchen. 

A groan tears from your throat as you untangle yourself from your blanket, searching for your slippers underneath the couch. Your apartment darkened without you noticing, the only light an orange glow coming from above the stove. 

“Carmy,” you croak, coming up behind him to wrap your arms around his middle. He jolts a little but relaxes once he realizes it's you. He still smells like the restaurant, like focaccia and a dozen herbs you could never identify on your own. 

“Hey.” He settles one hand over where your wrists cross on his abdomen. Calloused and intimate. “You good?” 

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your nose. Your head hurts. “I’m sorry.” 

“What?” Whatever’s on the stove sizzles and pops. You hear his wooden spoon scrape through it. “Why, what’re you sorry for?” 

“I was supposed to do dinner.” 

“What?” Carmy asks again. He half turns his head, trying to see you. “Did we say that?” 

“No,” you mope, “but I was gonna. I was just taking a nap after work, and then I was gonna get up and make dinner. I didn’t mean to make you come home and cook after you just left the restaurant.” 

Your boyfriend makes a short, derisive sound. “You’re not making me do shit. It’s fine, I don’t care.” 

You sigh against the back of his shirt, your body heavy with misery. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t—quit saying that.” Carmy flicks down the heat on the stove, turns in the circle of your arms so that he’s facing you. He takes your face in his hands, grip firm. “You’re sick. It’s fine. I don’t expect you to make me dinner even when you’re not sick.” His brow wrinkles. “That’d be kind of fucked up to women, right?” 

You feel a tug on your lips. “Yeah, I guess. But you cook all night anyway. And I’m not that sick anymore.” 

Carmy frowns. “Your face is still hot.” You think it probably goes a tad hotter at his notice, a tickle of shyness skittering across your skin where his thumbs rest on your cheeks. “Anyway, I don’t need you contaminating our food. It’s gross.” 

“Faulty logic,” you say, voice softening, “considering we share a bed and all that.” 

Now Carmy’s face is heating. You can tell from the pink splotches blooming by his nose. “It still feels grosser when it’s food. I don’t want your snot or whatever in there.” His expression softens slightly. “I’m not trying to be mean.” 

“I know.” You wrap your arms around him more tightly, your face to his chest. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He palms the back of your head. “You’re still fucking sick,” he mutters, but keeps you close as he rotates you both back towards the stove, pushing things around in his pan. 

“Yeah, maybe. My head hurts. Thanks for making dinner.” 

“It’s nothing fancy.” 

“What’re we having, Chef?”

“Now I feel like you’re gonna be disappointed.” 

You smile against Carmy’s front. “Never. What is it?” 

He lets his hand slip down from your head, petting down your hair to rest between your shoulder blades. “Uh, tomato soup. From the can.” 

You sigh blissfully. “You read my mind.”

[alwaysmoncheri]

heyyy <3 I was wondering if you could write something a little softer for rafe?? it’s that kind of day😞

of course, honey! I hope this makes your day better <3 thank you for requesting

cw: implied fem!reader, soft!rafe, mentions of alcohol, tooth rotting fluff, 1k

<3

You smooth down your dress, applying more pressure to the stubborn ends that keep folding up. For an expensive dress, it was pretty cheap. Or maybe you didn’t iron it correctly. Either way, you aren’t going to let it ruin your night. Your hands shift to the straps, carefully adjusting them to ensure they sit right. And as you look at yourself in the mirror your shoulders soften and warmth fills your chest. Your hair sitting just right—yet still, so imperfectly you. Emerald green dress flowing elegantly, its silky fabric comfortably gliding over your skin, embracing your figure.

Rafe waits for you, already mingling among guests. He knows you like to take your time. More time than you need, but it’s your process and you love it—then so does he. 

Another moment passes before you slip out the door, and Rafe spots you immediately. Like he’d ever miss you. Not when you’re always exuding the kind of loveliness that lures him in. He finds it endearing, your eyes sifting through the crowd to find his. It’s like you’re nervous, though, you’re anything but. Still, you find your way back to him, even if it’s a glance through the crowd. Even if it’s a slight tug of a lip—a hint of a smile. Even if it’s for a moment. Before someone takes your arm, drawing you into a circle of people. 

You’re stunning. Rafe knows if he were to ever drop dead, now would be that moment. The drink he’d been nursing is long forgotten and his eyes don’t leave you. 

“He’s not even pretending to be subtle,” Sarah whispers, slightly leaning across the table. A smile playing at her lips. You don’t need to turn to know who she’s referring to. 

“And?” you ask, hiding your smile with a sip of your drink. Sarah tilts her head, raising her eyebrows, silently asking, “seriously?” You shrug causing her to laugh. Though, you can’t help but turn over your shoulder meeting your boyfriend’s gaze once more. A hand clasps his shoulder in greeting, and Rafe only offers a tight-lipped smile in response. You slump onto the table, forehead touching the cool glass as you let you a huff. You’re working with Rafe on his social skills. It isn’t going too well. 

Sarah, having followed your gaze, only laughs, “He looks like he’s going to die if you don’t go over there.” 

You lift your head from the table, and Sarah gives a subtle nod toward Rafe, silently urging you to go talk to him. He’s standing there, among guests—friends, looking like he could use some company—and maybe some encouragement too.

You straighten and smooth out your dress. A quick press to the fold at the hem, and after offering a quick goodbye to Sarah, you turn on your heel.

Rafe isn’t standing very far, he never is. 

“Hi,” you smile, soft and sweet. His chest hurts. He needs to sit down, he thinks, before he makes a fool of himself. 

“Hey,” he responds, his voice low and rough. He smiles back, but he’s holding his breath. Rafe knows you’ve noticed when your smile widens—he wonders how your cheeks don’t hurt. Maybe they do. He’s never asked.

Without a word, you shuffle into his chest, arms wrapping around you instinctively. Arms around your waist, and palms pressed flat against your back. You tilt your head up leaving a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Rafe’s heart pounds, overwhelmed with love. Every time your lips touch his skin, it burns into memory. So, if you ever slip away, he’ll have one forever thing. 

A hand leaves your waist, quick to brush your hairline, and rest on your jaw. You blink slowly, waiting for him to kiss you. Then, he does. It’s sweet, unhurried, and now it’s your turn to be overwhelmed. You smile again, finding his lips mirroring yours. It’s rare from Rafe. It makes you want to kiss him again, but you can’t when you’re smiling this hard. 

Though, it doesn’t take long for Rafe to move back in—lips meeting yours. This time, leaving you dizzy. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he sounds breathless as he plants firm kisses along your jaw, “Every time I see you, it just keeps getting better.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, a playful lit in your voice, but there’s a spark of sincerity in your eyes, as if you’re searching for him to prove it. 

“Fuck, yeah.” Rafe replies with a wide grin, before kissing your neck again. He’s intoxicating—placing his lips everywhere from your jaw to your collarbone. He’s forceful enough to almost knock you off balance, but he always anticipates the moment he’ll need to steady you. It makes your heart soar.

“Okay.” you almost snort, hand touching his cheek—a silent signal to calm down. 

He leaves a soft kiss on your pulse before one arm slips from your waist—grabbing his drink, the other keeping a firm hold to keep you close to his side. 

It’s funny how much something so simple—just being near him—could make you feel like the center of the universe. Maybe that’s because you are to him. You’ve opened him up to so much love he never thought he’d be capable of. And your love is his favorite—not grand gestures or dramatic moments—it’s just this, the quiet comfort of being with him, and it’s enough. 

The two of you stand in the crowd, occasionally speaking to the people who approach. With glasses of champagne in hand, you savor the closeness and warmth of the night. 

“I didn’t see you making any new friends earlier,” you tease, tilting your head up to look at him. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Eyes taking you in, as if he hadn’t gotten a good enough look earlier, “Too busy looking at you.” 

You laugh softly, “Trying to charm me?”

Rafe looks at you, insulted, “Trying?” he asks, straightening up, his posture shifting into something a little more smug, “Baby, I don’t have to try.”

Your mouth falls open. You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “I can’t wait for you to be humbled.”

The hand on your waist that was drawing small circles on the fabric of your dress stills. Your stomach flutters when he leans down, lips brushing on the shell of your ear. 

“And I can’t wait to take this off.”

You burst into laughter.

<3

masterlist . rafe cameron masterlist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[juniperskye]

Three’s Company

This is just a lil blurb about Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan and you being in love! Based on the following Request: @satans-bitch Hi! Idk if you would be comfortable writing it, but I love the idea of Aaron hotchner x reader x Derek Morgan just all being so in love with each other. Thank u Xx – I took some creative liberties…I hope you like it!

Hotch x BAU! Fem Reader x Morgan

Word count: 883

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Fem reader, pet names, poly-relationship (I’m not the most familiar with this lifestyle) canon typical violence, mantion of babies and pregnancy, Let me know if I missed any.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

So, neither Derek nor Aaron ever and I mean EVER thought they’d be in a polyamorous relationship. But let me tell you, when you arrived at the BAU, they both knew they had to have you. Aaron had gone to Dave time and time again seeking advice and Derek did the same with Penelope.

They’d both complain that there was no way you were interested, because clearly you like the other guy. Only, that wasn’t quite the issue.

You didn’t just like Aaron or Derek, you liked them both. They were so similar and yet so different and there was no way you could ever choose just one of them.

After many instances of the men fighting for your attention and affection, you pulled them both aside to have a serious conversation.

“I think I should leave the BAU.” You stated.

“What? No!” Derek blurted.

“Why would you think that?” Aaron inquired. “If our behavior has made you uncomfortable, I am so sorry. It was never my intention, and I would hate to see such a talented agent leave because of my idiocy.”

“It’s not your guy’s behavior that’s making me feel this way. It’s my feelings for you.” You said, gesturing to both men.

“Feelings for who?” Derek questioned.

“Both of you.” You blushed.

That evening you’d explained to the men that you had feelings for both of them and had the situation been different you’d have suggested a poly relationship, but you knew that it was too much to ask of two alpha males who’d never been in one before.

What you hadn’t expected to happen was for them to give you a quizzical look and then ask you to give them some time to think about it.

--

It had been nearly a year since then and the three of you had developed something truly beautiful. Aaron had been so stoic at work but at home he was soft, and he always did everything in his power to ensure you and Derek were both cared for.

And well Derek, he was clingy at home. Always wanting his hands on you and he’d come to really enjoy having physical contact with Aaron.

Like when you’d watch a movie, Aaron would have his arm slung over the back of the couch while you cuddled up into his side, and Derek would be sitting as close to you as possible, practically sitting you in his lap. This position would allow for Aaron’s hand to rest around Derek as well and that warmth became a comfort for him.

There had been another shift shortly after that, pet names…they’d been slipping out more frequently. And not just them men using them with you either.

“Sweetheart can you pass me my phone?” Aaron had asked, looking directly at Derek.

“Sure thing sugar.” Derek had replied.

You had been shocked initially, but it ultimately had warmed your heart to see them falling into this relationship more and more. Their comfort in this had been your main priority, you hadn’t cared about anything else.

--

Work had been the toughest part of this newfound dynamic. When any of you got hurt on a case, the other two couldn’t exactly hold it together. And with the team being out of the loop of your lifestyle, well they definitely suspected something.

The most recent had been Aaron, he had been shot while taking down an unsub. Thankfully it had been a flesh wound, but when you heard the shot and saw him go down, you couldn’t help the wail that tore through you. The paramedics had requested you step away, and Derek pulled you into his embrace to get you to comply.

“Baby he’s gonna be okay!” Derek said while holding you close.

“He was shot D! What if he’s not?” You cried.

“I know he’s gonna be okay baby. He has to be.” Derek mumbled the last part.

You looked up to see the tears falling from his misty eyes, and you held him tighter. The team sat by and watched the situation play out, fully convinced now that something was transpiring between the three of you. More than they had initially assumed.

--

The newest development had been the discussion of children. The guys had baby fever, they had seen you interacting with your sister’s newborn and you swear you saw them both drooling over the sight of you.

So…have you ever thought about having kids princess?” Derek posed.

Currently you were lying on the couch, your head in Derek’s lap and him pressed against Aaron. The movie playing, long forgotten as Derek combed his fingers through your hair and Aaron traced shapes on Derek’s bicep.

“Um, yes…I have thought about it. Why do you ask?” You sat up.

“Well, honey, we had a conversation about it the other day.” Aaron clarified.

“You two…had a conversation about me having a baby?” You questioned.

“About us…having a baby.” Derek said, gesturing to the three of you.

Your jaw dropped in shock. What had started as inappropriate flirting in the workplace had developed into a serious relationship between the three of you. One fueled by love, safety, and trust.

“I would love to have a baby with you guys.” You smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

[levandright]

hii!! hope you’re taking requests rn (if not, feel free to hs delete this ask) <3

what about idol!heesung x idol!leader!reader?? js some fluffy winding down content where they both relax for a day together after finishing up their leader duties 😔

A Pause In The Chaos

pairing : idol!heesung x idol!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, est relationship ୨ৎ word count : 793

synopsis. after a long day of promotions, all you want is to rest with your beloved boyfriend. together, you escape into the quiet city night, finding peace beneath the stars and streetlights. lev notes : thank you for requesting <3 and oh my goshhh T-T this is so cute. hopefully i got your ask done well & you like it <3 finished this as soon as i could (pretty fast since i didn't have school when i wrote this)

being an idol was rough. you loved it, sure, but that didn’t make the job any less demanding—especially as the leader of your group.

after a long day promoting your newest comeback, all you wanted was to unwind, free from any thoughts of work. just as you settle in, your phone lights up with a message. seeing heesung’s name instantly lifts your spirits; he’s been just as busy, caught up with preparations for the romance: untold - daydream repackage, and it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him in person.

“y/nnie, are you free today?” his message reads.

you quickly reply, smiling at the screen.

“yes :) we just wrapped up for the day!”

a response comes almost immediately.

“perfect! we just finished too.” “you up to just hang out? no plans—let’s just do whatever we feel like.”

you smile, already feeling lighter.

“i’d love that.” “great! i’ll pick you up by the usual spot near your dorm ;)”

chuckling, you slip into comfortable clothes, pulling on a beanie and mask to stay low-key. in the living room, a few members lounge around chatting.

“y/n! heading out?” one of them asks, noticing you by the door.

“yeah, hanging with hee,” you nod, pulling on your shoes.

“be safe and have fun!” they call out, hoping your time together remains undisturbed by fans.

“will do,” you say with a grin, slipping out through the quieter exit.

as you approach a convenience store near your usual meeting spot, you catch sight of heesung’s familiar figure waiting for you. you break into a jog, grinning beneath your mask as you close the distance. noticing you, he chuckles and opens his arms wide, waiting.

you melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest.

“i missed you so much,” you whisper, nuzzling closer.

he strokes your hair softly, a gentle hum of agreement. “i missed you too.” tilting your face up, he pulls down his mask just enough to place a tender kiss on your forehead. for a moment, everything feels right, the world reduced to the warmth you both share in each other’s arms.

heesung’s arms linger around you, both of you savoring the embrace. when you finally pull apart, he gives you one of his trademark smiles, the kind that makes you feel as though the world outside has faded into soft blur. with your fingers laced together, the two of you start strolling down the quiet city streets.

as you walk, the weight of the day’s stresses begins to lift, and conversation flows easily. you laugh, sharing funny moments from promotions, and he listens, hanging onto every word as though he hasn’t seen you in years. he shares his own stories, recounting funny moments in his practice sessions and the odd ways his members keep each other awake during long nights.

eventually, you make your way to a park. the swings creak softly in the night air, empty and inviting, lit by a nearby street lamp that bathes the area in a warm, golden glow. you both settle onto the swings and you kick off the ground, letting yourself drift back and forth. heesung does the same, the swing creaking in sync with yours. you exchange glances, both smiling feeling like kids again.

you talk about how much you missed each other and share how demanding everything has been, yet neither of you ever really wanted to trade it for anything else. there’s a bond, a mutual understanding in your shared love for performing and your quiet wish for more time together.

after a while, heesung suddenly stands. “stay here. i’ll be back in just a second, okay?” you watch him walk away with curiosity, but you keep swinging, letting the cool night air wash over you.

moments later, he returns with two corndogs and your favorite drink. he holds them out, grinning. “fuel for us hardworking idols,” he jokes, and you laugh, taking one of the corndogs.

the two of you munch on the food, quietly content in each other's company. there's no need for words. you simply enjoy the simple, comforting act of just being together, with the occasional nudge of his shoulder against yours. after finishing the food, you look up at the stars. heesung follows your gaze, his hand reaching for yours again.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” he murmurs, glancing at you as you gaze at the sky. you nod, leaning your head on his shoulder.

under the soft light of the stars and streetlamp, with heesung by your side, everything feels peaceful and right. you breathe deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself truly rest—knowing that even in the chaos of your world, you have this pocket of quiet with him.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!) requests. open!

©levandright

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

a day in the life where everyone tries to win reader over, maybe they heard reader mention something like how they can't stand an annoying relative asking them about a relationship over the holidays, or trying to get her the best gift?

ps i love your writing, i read it like my morning paper

A Day in Life: Christmas, Presents and Revelations

Synopsis: A day in your life full of good Christmas presents, propositions and secrets.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: Implied stalking; Calling someone a manwhore; Karens in the family with traditional and conservative ideals and miserable lives; Mentions of past cheating; Mentions of past Bucky Barnes X reader; Is Hal Jordan slowly getting his redemption arc?; Slightly implied horny Reader; English is not my first language.

Word count: 2,2k

Requested? Yup.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

— And it's just so annoying, like, sometimes I literally don't want to show up on these things, but I don't want to leave my mom there alone with my dad’s family. — You huffed. — My auntie’s too concerned about my romantic life, like her husband didn't get other three women pregnant at the same time she got pregnant and only married her because he would have to marry one of the four girls. — You shook your head while your co-worker laughed. — And you know what's worse? I told everyone I had a boyfriend, but Bucky cheated on me, and I didn't tell them that yet, so she's gonna think I lied and mock me like the middle-aged Regina George she is!

Unknown to you, certain people were listening, and silently, each one of them made a decision.

Your last day at work before Christmas, you were getting ready to go home, pack and take the road, when someone knocked on your office door. You looked up, seeing no other than Martian Manhunter at your door, holding a present.

— How can I help? — You hid your gritted teeth behind a polite tone.

— I came here to follow the Earth tradition of Christmas and give my loved one a present. — He stopped in front of you with a soft smile and extended the gift in your direction. You hesitated.

— You didn't have to… — You cautiously took the present from his hand.

— I also have a proposition for you. — And there it comes. — I couldn't help but overhear earlier that you were in need of a partner for a meeting with your family. — You wanted to facepalm. — I could be that person. — You sighed.

— I can't show up with an alien superhero. — You crossed your arms with a pointed look.

— As you know, I'm a shapeshifter. — You watched as he changed his appearance to look like multiple different kind of people, one moment he was a tall blonde man, the next, a black girl with braids, then an asian young guy, and so on, meaning he could look however you wanted him to. — And you can call me by whatever name you choose, even the name I adopted here on Earth… J’onn J’onnes. — He settled for his usual green alien appearance. — You widened your eyes at his confession, thinking “oh, shit”.

— Uhh…

— While you think about it, open my present, darling. — He gently pushed the present in your direction again and you, still wordless, obeyed, while mentally searching for a way out of this.

You cleared your throat and teared the paper. The feeling of destroying the wrapping paper of gifts always made you feel a little embarrassed, as if the beautiful wrapping itself was the present and you were being rude by tearing it apart. It was a silly thought.

As you finished, you found out he gave you a comic book from your favorite hero. It made you excited, but you couldn't show it much.

— Oh wow, thank you… — You coughed. — Can't even imagine how you knew it was my favorite… — You internally rolled your eyes. — Anyway, about your offer- — Another knock interrupted you, and you both looked at the door. Aquaman was there with another present in hand.

He looked suspiciously from you to the other hero and stepped forward, then focused on you.

— Whatever offer he gave you, I give you one better. Take a king to meet your family, darling. — He smirked and offered you his present. You ignored what he said, settled the comic on your desk, and opened his present. It was a necklace with charms related to the beach, like some shells, pears and fishes, all made of your favorite metal. You pursed your lips, not waiting to admit to yourself that it was pretty and you liked it more than you thought you would, just like the last gift.

— Thank you. And about your offer, I can't exactly do that. You can imagine why. — He shrugged.

— Well, you can simply take me as your completely human lighthouse keeper, Arthur. — He smirked and wrapped your shoulders with his left arm. You shuddered, thinking “God, no”. — We’ll even invite them to our beach house, darling. Right on the shore. I also have a boat. Let's impress them. — He grinned proudly, as if he was sure you couldn't deny him.

You shrugged his arm off and before anything came out of your mouth, you remembered about your auntie and her shittalking right now. She always wanted a beach house, but everyone knew your uncle prefered to spoil himself and his side-pieces than her or the kids, and yet, she felt superior to every member of the family who was single because at least she had a husband and she didn't need to work, including you.

Rubbing a beach house, a boat, and a blonde hunk himbo on her face could be nice… Even if you just offered to take only your immediate family there one day and then just pretend you broke up with him later, he and the league would still get the wrong idea.

— Knock knock, oh- What’s everyone doing here? — Flash was there and pursed his lips while looking at the three of you. You groaned internally.

— You can go, Flash, (Y/N) won't choose you. — Aquaman, or Arthur, weaved him off. Flash narrowed his eyes for a second and then turned to you, ignoring him and beaming at you, extending a gift in your direction.

— I bought you something! — You discharged the necklace behind you and took the new gift, it was a bracelet with a lightning symbol in your favorite metal. It was also pretty, you were getting tired of it.

— Thank you, Flash…

— Please, just call me Barry. — He grinned brightly. — Please ignore the stinking ugly dressed fishman and the alien still learning to act like a normal human. You can take the funny and smart forensic chemist to meet your family. — He reached up and took his mask off, you widened your eyes, at seeing his real face. Huh, you didn't think he was blonde.

You stuttered, too shocked.

— Oh God… — You thought knowing their name was worse than their faces, secret identities and all, but something about seeing a real face that was kept hidden all the time felt like a heavier burden. To make matters worse, Green Lantern showed up. — No.

— Just hear me out, please! — Everyone turned to him with annoyed expressions. — I changed, I swear! And I apologized like, a thousand times. — He cleared his throat. By your face, he knew it was the worst thing to say. — Anyway, here’s your gift. — He bit his lip while you took it from his hands and opened it with hostility. They were tickets for the next concert of one of your favorite artists, that made you feel a little bad for the way you treated him, but it didn't change what he did to you in the past.

— I… Thank you. — You were trembling with nerves at this point from all the surprises you were having.

— I heard you needed someone to bring home for the holidays…

— Uhuh.

— And your dad is a big fan of the army, right? — You blinked. It was true, but you never told them that, yet, you weren't surprised they knew that.

Where was he going with it…?

— Please, not you too.

But he took off his ring anyway, and after a moment, he was wearing civilian clothes, along with a military jacket and dogtags.

— Who better than a charming ex-air force member to present to your family? Test pilot now, I can take them flying. Actually, I can take you flying. — He winked. — Call me Hal Jordan, beautiful. — He winked and saluted you. — Also, I fought in the war.

— Dude. Just give up. They're not gonna pick you.

— I will never give up, I'm a green lantern, strong will is kind of my thing. — He looked at you again. — So, darling?

While you were staring blankly at him, someone cleared their throat.

— Be reasonable, you don't have to be humiliated today. — Wonder Woman catwalked into the room confidently. She was holding two bags from a clothes store in her hands. The amazon pushed Hal Jordan aside and stopped in front of you. She looked you up and down and smiled charmingly. — Take me with you, darling. This is for you. — She extended one of the bags to you. You took it and looked inside, then reached in and pulled it out. It was a beautiful outfit, completely on your style, and clearly of good quality. But when she pulled out what was inside the other bag, it took your attention and you looked curiously at the red wine satin dress she was holding up. — And this is what I will be wearing. — She smiled seductively. — Diana Prince, pleasure to meet you.

You couldn't help your jaw from dropping while imagining her wearing that. While some family members might not admire the sensual outfit as much, you definitely would. Secretly. Your ego would too.

Damn it, why couldn't she be more normal and less yandere?

You swallowed, looking away from her and the dress. It was finally too hard to say no, but not for the mature reasons.

At your silence, Diana’s eyebrows rose up and she tilted her head to the side, with a pleased small smile. The other men in the room groaned and started arguing loudly, but she was untouchable in front of you.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

— I think I should just go home, it's getting late… — You rapidly shoved your gifts inside the bag, took your things and squeezed your way between them heroes, not even realizing how trapped you were previously, but just as you got to the door, you hit a brick wall, or Superman, as people usually call him.

You groaned and he looked at you sheepishly.

— I guess after all of that I can't offer you something much better, but I can try… — Superman took a deep breath and before you could blink, he flew away, changed clothes, and came back. One second, Superman was in front of you, the next, just a regular cute guy wearing glasses and a suit. You took a second to recognize him and understand what happened and what that meant.

Damn, who knew glasses were a good disguise.

— I'm Clark, Clark Kent. I grew up on a farm in Kansas and I work as a journalist at the Daily Planet. — He smiled shyly and gave you his gift. — I hope you like it…

You blinked and catatonically looked at the thing he gave you. Differently from the last gifts, it wasn't neatly wrapped and it had a weird shape, but by how it felt in your hands, you guessed what it was.

You expected the sight of a Superman plushie to greet you, but instead, it was a plushie of your favorite fictional superhero. The same hero from the Martian’s comic.

Well, it was cute. You would probably fall for him if you didn't know better. You held back an awed sound that wanted to spill from the back of your throat.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by all the Justice League groaning a collective and loud “GET OUT”, you looked up, confused and curious by what caused all this, surprised by seeing it was just Batman entering the room.

Huh, why did everyone react like that?

He stared at you, then at every single one of them, silently, almost disapproving, or disappointed, but then, he smirked when he looked at you again.

Batman was smirking? You flinched.

— This is for you. — He gave you a big box. It was surprisingly heavy. When you opened it, there was a very expensive and beautiful pair of shoes, something you only dreamed of having and was always on your Pinterest board. Only digital influencers and celebrities wearing it, making you jealous. But that wasn't all. There was also jewelry and a very expensive bottle of wine. You will definitely take it to the holidays to impress your family. Or maybe keep it to a very special occasion. — And there’s more from where it came from. — He reached for his cowl and your breath hitched. Never in your wildest dreams you thought this day would happen.

He took of the cowl, and in front of your was…

Bruce Wayne?!

While everyone deflated, knowing they lost, you just had to hold back your laugh, but a snort still escaped. That took everyone off for a second, including the always stoic hero in front of you, who was clearly bewildered when you couldn't hold back anymore and laughed to his face.

— You think I'm gonna show up to my family with the nacional manwhore? HA! Yeah, that's gonna impress them for the first five minutes, then I will be the dummy who’s gonna be traded for the next top model. — You shook your head, still laughing. Bruce frowned deeper. You slightly feared for your job after you bluntly called him a manwhore.

— I would never do that to you. My affairs are all to deceive the public and keep my job a secret.

— And that might be true, but my family doesn't know that! Or are you gonna tell this to everyone? Funny. Billionaires are so delusional and out of touch… — You shook your head and walked out.

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[overnightheartbeats]

"I'm taking quirky title, I'm making an impression already. I like it." Quirky was one interesting adjective, but she didn't mind it at all. It was a funny one to her. "Sounds like I should be thanking your family for your party appearance then. I'm really glad you took a chance," she confessed with full sincerity. Was she being completely obvious in her interest? Yes, definitely. There was no hiding it, but Laurel was glad they met. Whether things went how she hoped or not. Friends would still be a very good outcome. She found herself smiling as she looked at him, taking in each feature that complimented those rosy cheeks. "No, she doesn't, but I wish! She's out in California, her and her boyfriend stayed out there for college. I worked really hard to convince them, but didn't happen this time. They might come visit soon though."

Laurel's smile widened when he talked about Juju, making a note to tell her later when she called her. It also just warmed her heart how he easily picked up on her connection to that wonderful girl she called her best friend. "She does, I miss her a ton too. Definitely not, bribery would work on me too," she joked, joining his laughter with her own. Still, his laughter caught her attention - the way his eyes crinkled, oh Laurel was swooning. It was the kind of laughter that made her want to keep saying or doing anything just to elicit that reaction again.

Was she serious, she couldn't really tell to be quite honest. It was the kind of thing said in a joking manner, but she wouldn't mind if it did. She'd leave it at that. "No hogging the blanket; I mean, if you keep me warm, there's no need to hog blankets," she said with a gleam of mischief in her eyes, her flirting getting ridiculously obvious. "But, okay I'm taking notes here. Hey, I don't judge awesome blankets." He really didn't mind, huh. She figured most people minded ditching classes, Laurel usually didn't until she realized that skipping a class meant falling behind. Now, she was strict about going, but today? An exception could be made. So, it was the complete truth when she answered. "Good, I don't mind at all either. I'm excited to learn more about you and," her words trailed off when he took her hand. It was a nice fit - their hands interlocked. Oh, Julia was right, she was falling...expeditiously. "Okay, but I'll get the next one. Yes? Just to keep it even." Without thinking, already eagerly requesting a next one. Seeing his attitude shit, Laurel made the silent decision to not bring Jenny up again, not wanting to sour the mood. "Well, I don't really like third wheels. Quick thinking on your part, wiggling me out of dinner with that class project you told her about."

With his sigh, she was quick to wonder if she had asked the wrong thing or if he was one of the guys who was annoyed by the astrology questions. Though, when he began talking, she felt terrible for even bringing it up. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I didn't think...well I didn't think at all when asking. A holiday birthday, so you're kicking off the year with a birthday, wow. You're still close with your foster family, it sounds like." It seemed like a real family to her, the kind of closeness and bond that most families lacked. She was already shaking her head at herself for her blunder when his chuckle caught her off guard. Her eyes were drawn back up to him, a soft nod in response to his question. A slightly awkward laugh escaped her, "I mean, I wasn't thinking of that but compatible signs are interesting," she admitted. "It does depend on all that, but I will say - astrology is not make or break for me. How about you? Would you ghost me if we're like the worst astrological match in history?"

"I never thought I'd meet someone let alone someone so quirky as you." Eli laughed not meaning anything bad by that statement. "My family said that I should go out and meet people. They know I'm not really a people person but that night I took a chance." Long eyelashes splayed across a semi rosy cheeks. Juju he committed to memory as that being her best friend. "I'm assuming she doesn't come to UT Texas? Were is she?"

He found her fascinating and the way she'd speak about her best friend. There was love there just like when he spoke about Issac and his sisters. That was a bond that could never be explained to its full extent. "She sounds like she misses you and will not be above bribery." The thought eliciting a laugh from him that made his eyes crinkle.

Was she serious about sharing the bed, he searched her eyes and happened to get lost in those pretty hazel of hers. After a moment when she didn't rescind it he smiled and nodded. "Just don't hog the blanket. I get cold," he teased not at all being serious about it. If anything he was an actual furnace. "And don't laugh at my very awesome blankets." Ditching class was not something that he wasn't completely turned off to. He had done it multiple times but this was the first time he wasn't running off to see what Emma needed. "Oddly enough I don't mind. I'm looking forward to getting to know each other." A sincere smile spread across his features as he interlocked their hands. "No, let me get it. It's my treat. Tonight." The talk of Jenny made him take on an indifferent attitude. "I am glad she didn't stick to her plan to wedge herself into our plans. I might have probably not been the guy you wanted to meet."

Eli sighed and shrugged not looking at her. He probably should have lead with this before. "My birthday is the second thing I've got no clue on. When I said my little sister, I actually mean foster sister. I don't have a real family. I was adopted into my foster siblings' family in my tweens. I grew up in an orphanage in the outskirts of Chicago. One night I got dropped off into that orphanage and they felt bad that I was the only one who had no name or birthday so they named me and gave me a January first birthday. The day they took me in." Astrology made him glance over briefly and chuckled. "You mean if signs are compatible? It depends on your birthday and your alignment." His lips curled into a smile. "Astrology is interesting."

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Say What You Wanna Say

Summary: Y/N is incredibly nervous to tell her dad she's Bi. How will he react?

Pairings: Teen!Reader x Dean (Non romantic pairing)

Warnings: None. Some angst. Mostly fluff. Coming out. Bisexual reader. Papa!dean.

Word Count: 1,212

A/N: About a week ago I received this anonymous ask for a fic about Dean's daughter telling him she's Bi. I was happy to write it, but warned the lovely anon that it might take a while for inspiration to hit as my muses have been off lately and not playing nice.

Then this morning I got this response from them, and it absolutely charged my brain for this fic and it just came pouring out. More proof that #kind words fuel authors.

On a slightly separate note, I just wanna thank everyone who's been so kind to me regarding my creativity stall and mental health hiccups. All your words (whether in the form of well-wishes or kind comments on fics!) have made a difference, and they are so very appreciated.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fluffy fic. To the lovely anon who requested this - I hope it's what you were looking for. I went with a teen reader around 17 or 18 (she mentions choosing a college) just because it felt right for me in the story. But feel free to age her up or down as you'd like. Thanks for jump-starting my creative juices. (Sorry I said juices.)

Dean One Shots || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Y/N walked into the library to see her dad bent over a massive, old, leatherbound book. At least, she hoped it was leather. You never could tell with books in the bunker. One time when she was six she’d managed to sneak her way into the shelves in Room 7B and picked up a harmless looking book. Turned out to be a cursed book bound in dragonskin and she'd exhaled flames for a full day before her Auntie Rowena had gotten there to undo the curse.

She never went wandering through the shelves again.

But the book her dad was reading seemed innocuous enough, even though it had him scowling darkly at whatever he was reading. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, annoyed, or just concentrating. That scowl could mean a few things. The problem was, the conversation she had planned sort of called for him to be in a decent mood.

She considered turning around and coming back when she had a better read on his frame of mind, but just then Dean’s hunter senses kicked in and he looked up and caught her standing in the doorway.

She waved a little lamely. “Hey Dad.”

He grunted at her and went back to scowling at the book. 

She took a few steps into the library. “Something in there that’s bothering you?”

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s just pissing me off cause it’s not helping me figure out…” He trailed off and took another, closer, look at a sentence, skimming his finger along the page before shaking his head again and slamming the book closed. 

“Whatever, piece of shit.” He said, rubbing a hand down his face and then looking at Y/N. “What’s up kid?”

But Y/N was convinced now wasn’t a good time and she just waved at him dismissively. “No, nothing important. You’re obviously busy. We can talk later.” 

She turned to leave, but froze in the doorway when her dad’s deep voice called out to her.

“Hey! Nope. Stop. Turn.”

Y/N slowly turned back to face him to see he’d leaned back in his chair slightly and folded his arms over his chest. He lifted one hand to point at the chair beside him, turning slightly towards it.

“Sit. Talk.”

Y/N opened her mouth to once again tell him they’d talk later, but his raised eyebrow brooked no argument and told her she wasn’t getting away without talking to him. She contemplated making up something else to talk to him about. Something that wasn’t as likely to send him into a tailspin, but it wouldn’t work. Her dad saw through her lies way too easily. 

Nope. This was happening.

She walked over slowly to sit down beside him, tucking her feet up under her on the chair and twisting her hands in her lap. When she hesitated to speak, Dean unfolded his arms and leaned forward slightly.

“Talk to me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

Y/N shrugged. God, I don’t know how to start this conversation, she thought.

But she could see her dad’s scowl turning to worry in his bright green eyes which made her feel guilty so she smiled at him. It didn’t make the worry leave his gaze, but he offered a small smile back.

“Are you okay, baby? Did something happen at school? Did someone do something? Do I need to kick the shit out of someone?”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “No, Dad. School’s good. It’s fine.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, are you…are you changing your mind about going to Kansas State? Cause we talked about this, and I thought we-”

Y/N cut him off, shaking her head and waving her hands back and forth. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s not…it’s nothing with school. Look, just…” She cleared her throat. “Let me just try to say it, okay?”

Dean’s eyebrows settled back into a frown, the little double line of worry staying etched between them. He shrugged. “Okay, baby.”

His casual use of that endearment brought a dampness to her eyes. God, I hope I’m still his baby when this is done. She thought.

She took a deep breath. “So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a while now, a couple of months anyway, but I’ve just…I didn’t really know how to bring it up. I mean, I think, it’s actually something I’ve wanted to talk about for a couple of years, but I just kept denying it. But I can’t anymore, I can’t just pretend, and I don’t wanna and…”

She trailed off slightly, looking up at her dad and seeing only confusion and concern in his eyes. She exhaled the words out quickly.

“I’m bisexual.”

She watched understanding erupt in her dad’s expression as his eyes widened and his mouth slackened. He stared at her, just blinking for a few seconds and then he nodded slowly.

“Wow. That’s…that is not what I was expecting to hear.”

Y/N swallowed over and over, nervousness making her stomach ache. She was ready for the barrage of questions and possible challenges that were bound to come her way.

So, she was slightly thrown when he took a deep breath and spoke one word.

“Okay.” He said with one corner of his mouth lifted.

It was her turn to frown. “Okay?

His half smile turned into a full one. “Yeah, okay.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N asked with confusion.

Dean chuckled. “It means what it always means, kiddo.”

“So, okay…like, you’re fine with this? You don’t have…I don’t know, questions or arguments. This doesn’t bother you? I was expecting a bit of caveman in your response, to be honest. I mean, it doesn’t make you feel weird, or like…I don’t know…bug you?”

Dean pushed out his lips and raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Hey kid, I’m Gen-X, nothing bugs us.” 

Y/N scoffed and he laughed and conceded. “No, I don’t know, maybe if you’d told me twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have known what to do. Or it might have felt weird to me, or made me uncomfortable or awkward or something. But I learned a long time ago to let people be who they are, and I especially want you to be just exactly who you are. You’re an incredible kid, which means every part of you is incredible.”

He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “Seriously, baby. I’m really glad you told me, and if you’re happy, I’m happy.” He kissed her forehead and she threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, tears of relief and happiness flowing. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” She whispered.

When she pulled away, he held the back of her head in his big palm, the way he had when she was little. “Love you, kid.” He said gruffly.

“I love you too, Dad.” 

His eyes were a little watery as he sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “And, you know, if you end up dating a chick, or marrying her, that’s one less asshole I have to punch in the jaw as a warning not to mess with you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and chuckled. “That’s very progressive, Dad.”

Dean smiled brightly. “What? You gotta allow me a little bit of caveman.”

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[amethystarachnid]

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

[shuploc]

Hello! Your work is so beautiful, especially for IWTV. Was wondering if you have might have any WIPs in mind for Armand and young Daniel, ala 1970s/80s Devil's Minion?

I don't have anything in mind for young Daniel, but I do for Old Maniel and Armand! I'm actually looking up reference photos for it right now as we speak 😊

But do not fret! I will most likely get to draw them at some point later, cuz I'm not planning on leaving the fandom anytime soon (and that goes for pretty much all the fandoms I've been drawing stuff for lately) Thank you so much for the request though, and for the kind words! ❤️

[whereismyhat5678]

*waddles in the room*

Good luck with rino peppino

*waddles back out into the horizon*

(Also hat your art is like... STARING, with my EYES, take a break as well you draw so much, I always love peekypeeking at your content and I wish you the best heehehe)

I look up to you so much so hearing that makes me wanna cry, thank you so much 💗💗💗

🥹🫶

(In every way possible did that make me feel so happy, your art is amazing and I can’t fathom the kindness, I seriously can’t thank you enough 🙇‍♀️🙏🧎‍♀️🫶)

[itzmellooo]

Request from @echodeltacove for their TOH AU! I hope you love it, and thank you so much for the req!

I included a rough sketch of Luz and Gracie under the cut :)

[recurring-polynya]

Hi ! I originally found you through your Ikkayumi fic you posted, and I was sooo very happy to find that you had so many renruki fics/were a regular author that focused on them !

I reel over any fic that focuses on whatever Renji was doing in the space between him and Rukia disconnecting, and especially whatever that man was doing in his stint at squad eleven back then.

I think that Renji is only helplessly pathetic whenever it comes to Rukia, and I always wonder what he did to cope with that ( if he successfully coped with it at all ) in her absence, or how long he managed to avoid talking about her. For as much as he was around them, I’d like to imagine he probably caved and dumped that info off on Ikkaku or Yumichika at some point. Unfortunately, both of them are emotionally constipated people, and they’ve got no idea what the hell to do to cheer him up bc they’re not the kind of guys who are great at emotional kouhai support.

They collaborate on a miraculously decent plan to get their guy out of the dumps, and though the plan is pretty great, shit hits the fan and it all falls to pieces. Renji enjoys every minute of it, even though he’s got no idea what they’re doing, and ends up satisfied with their horrible attempt because he knows this isn’t their specialty but because they do care.

I always juggle between hyper fixating on either of them, but as much as I enjoy both pairings, the best thing is always getting to see any match of them interacting with each other.

Thank you in advance for taking the time to read this if you do !! I seriously admire your writing and I appreciate your dedication to Rukia and Renji, and I love how canonically accurate you write them. Your fics always really make my day, so thank you for sharing as well !

Thank you so much!! I am also fascinated with this period of history. It's hard for me to write about, although I've made a few attempts.

Renji-without-Rukia is an interesting creature. Here's my take on it: I think that he's competent at least in the ways that are expected of Gotei officers, which is to say, he is very good at sticking his sword in things. On the other hand, he's also low-key self-destructive, in the way that you don't especially notice, especially if you're used to hanging out with the general populace of Squad 11. He's a fine soldier, hard-working, driven, even, but he lacks all of the qualities of the Renji we know now--his aura of friendship, his first-into-the-breach enthusiasm, his patience and empathy toward his younger squadmates. Of course, Ikkaku and Yumichika don't really know there's anything wrong with him, at least not at first, but the longer they get to know him, Yumichika, specifically, might realize that there's someone better buried down in there. Yumichika would probably break out in a rash if he tried to be kind to someone, especially to a youth, but there if there is a thing Yumichika will do, it is give beauty advice and so he started harassing Renji about his skincare and hair routines which you can't do if you can't learn to care about yourself, and that was a real turning point for Renji.

Personally, I think Renji was at Eleven for a long time before he told anyone about Rukia (the one exception was Iba, his roommate, who was frequently subjected to late-night rambles on her when Renji was absolutely sloshed, but Iba is Iba). I'm actually always very touched by the seriousness with which Kubo portrays Ikkaku and Yumichika's reactions to the Rukia story.

To me, the best way to cheer Renji up about all of this is to take his goals seriously and to otherwise just treat him like a normal member of the Eleventh, which is exactly what he needed at that time.

I'm really only an IkkaYumi casual at best, but one thing I do really like about them is that I think Renji sees them as the blueprint for the relationship he would like to have with Rukia: battle partners first and foremost, tough as Hell and twice as hot, different but complementary, two halves of one whole idiot. He is absolutely deranged for this, but I think it's very charming, and to be honest, I think Rukia would, too.

[good-beanswrites]

Could I request "cooking is an art form" with mahiru and presumbly orekoto? I read your Night drabble of those 2 and now the idea of a potential friendship has been stuck in my mind for days, that was probably the sweetest interpretation of him I've seen! Mahiru can't cook in the current state she's in though so I guess orekoto could act as her hands...?

Ah thank you so much!! I was so worried about doing Orekoto justice, that's so exciting you enjoyed 😭 We still don't have a ton of characterization for him, so bear with me, but I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request -- with food playing such an important role in Mahiru's story/symbolism, and the pair's unique relationship, this made me so crazy to think about !!!

The knife twirled through Mikoto’s hands. He brought it down with a grunt. Emotion pulsed through his veins. He went back for another swipe, much harder than necessary. He wiped spatter from his face.

“You’re making a mess.” Mahiru observed from behind. 

He glanced back to find her scowling at the tomato he was taking out his frustration on. “Who gives a shit? We’re not on cleanup duty.” 

He wasn’t supposed to be on cooking duty, either. It was Mahiru’s night according to their usual rotation, but she was in no shape to do any physical activity. Mikoto must have volunteered, and also gotten into some fight about it, because now there he stood: angry at an unknown source, full of adrenaline, and worst of all, in charge of tonight’s curry.

“I suppose…” Mahiru said. “I think that’s Muu tonight, I’ll apologize to her later.”

It was unsettling, how she remained positively cheery as she walked him through each step of the recipe, despite her current condition and his bad attitude. Not that he’d ever turn his anger on her. Mikoto approved of her, and that was enough for him. She’d been going through so much at the hands of their common enemy, he wouldn’t say a single thing against her. Even as she tested his temper with her cooking instructions.

“No, no!” With her good hand, she tugged on the side of his uniform. “You have to turn the carrot as you cut it. Like -- yes, like that!”

Mikoto rolled his eyes as he did what he was told. “It’s all going to get cooked together anyways, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is! You have to take your time with things like this.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It’s about the process, not just the final product. Cooking is an art form!”

“It’s about the final product to me. I’m fucking starving.” 

She was briefly distracted with the next set of instructions, telling him how to combine everything over how much heat. When she returned to the topic, her lighthearted voice was laced with a bit of desperation. “I mean it, there’s something magical about pouring your heart into something for someone else. Putting in your time. A little finesse here and there.”

“I know what it’s like to do something for someone else -- and there is absolutely no finesse involved. Or potatoes.” He gestured to the cut pieces before dumping everything into the pot over the stove.

“One of the most universal love languages is food, you know? People make meals and treats for their loved ones in every culture, in every time.” 

“They do a lot of other things, too.”

“You went to art school, you understand. This is an expression of yourself!”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s the surest way to help someone!”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

There was a pause. Then a nervous laugh. Then, “yeah.” As she dropped into more uncharacteristic silence, he stole a glance at her. 

Tears poured from her eyes. 

“Mahiru?” Fuck, he didn’t mean to make her cry.

“It is.” she hiccuped. “I thought… I thought it could save him. I made this big meal… I thought… But I was so stupid…”

She buried her face in her hands, offering weak apologies for the sudden outburst. He threw the lid over the pot before stepping back to her.

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don’t cry.” It was a command rather than a comfort. 

She didn’t listen. She just continued sobbing and blubbering on. “It was all stupid, worthless… I should have known…”

He crouched by the wheelchair. There didn’t even seem to be anything wrong, they’d just been talking about food. Why was she such a mess? He gave an impatient sigh. No reaction. What was Mikoto’s nickname for her again? “Listen, Mappi --”

She snapped her head up to look at him. 

Her teary eyes flicked all over his face, making him scowl. “What?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, though her breath still hitched. “Sorry. You said… and well… I thought you’d gone away. I want you to stay.” She took his hand. “You.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you understand me.” 

He did not. Like, at all. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thankfully, she was too talkative not to explain herself. “You love someone very much. That love turned out to be dangerous -- deadly. And you weren’t forgiven for it.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing the wave of emotion that almost overcame her. “And now we’re both getting what we deserve for it.”

“Like hell we are.” He felt the spark of rage again. “Neither of us deserve any of this shit, okay?”

“But --”

“No.” He glared at her. That familiar fire rose up inside him. “I’m tired of all your speeches and optimistic crap. You’re always falling over yourself for others. You’re pathetic. This place is hell, so you need to get your shit together and act like it. You might be willing to forgive the others, you might be able to treat them with that stupid sweetness all the time, but no one’s going to do the same for you. Stop letting them fuck with you.”

She gaped at him. He realized he’d leaned in very close. He prepared himself for more tears, or maybe some cowering away from him. Good. Mikoto didn’t need people like her who would convince him this verdict was deserved. He didn’t need any of these people. It was fine to push them all away.

Mahiru surprised him by leaning over. Her head rested on his chest. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, Mikoto. But… I’ll try.”

His attention was quickly ripped away by a hissing behind him. He yanked himself away from her to run to the curry, which was bubbling and burning and spilling out of the pan all over the stovetop. 

With an outpouring of profanities and clattering of dishes, he cleaned the sad remains of dinner off the burner. When he looked back at Mahiru, she had dabbed at her eyes and composed herself slightly. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll pick something easier you can make instead.”

“Nah, I’ll make more curry. Tell me how much of everything again.” 

“A-alright.” 

His agitation slowly faded as she began her gentle instructions again. Though he had just tore her apart for it, he was grateful for her patience with everyone around her. He probably could have left, then, seeing how calm the kitchen became. But he wasn’t risking ruining the meal a second time with an unexpected switch. 

And maybe Mahiru’s words still played through his mind.

The food was back on the stove in no time. He stood diligently next to it. They’d lapsed into a content silence. He still didn’t know what had set her off earlier, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

Mahiru had regained her usual bright smile. “Hey, when I get better, I’ll cook something for you, okay? I think you don’t appreciate cooking because no one’s made something special for you before. I want to do that.”

He sneered. “Heh, sure. And I’ll let you in on my preferred art form.” His words were layered with sarcasm. By now, she could guess that included destroying things by putting all of one’s might behind a powerful swing. 

But she giggled, completely unfazed. “Well, friendship is about give and take, right? I’d love to try.”

[allylikethecat]

hellooooo ally!! i have officially read it’s christmas (so this is gonna be a nightmare) twice lucky me!!! what a treat!!! i have so many thoughts and feelings about the fic you don’t understand how much i love the trope/concept of fic!matty not being liked or accepted by people outside the band because of his “quirks” (serious and personal mental health/ addiction issues) because it’s just so unfair. perfect angst and also very realistic???? being written off as Bad News because he experiences hardships that are more scary and extreme than most people?? so wonderfully devastating and very real.

you aren’t allowed to apologise for the fic not being finished. you’ve done it to every other ask but i’m putting my foot down. no apology please!!! releasing it in parts just builds suspense anyways i love it.

now for the clumsy partner prompts!!! thankyou sooooo much for reblogging the list i feel very blessed. i’d like to request gatty 15, 16, 17 and 18 (they are all pretty similar so you could maybe combine some in one blurb? but obviously im not telling you how to write do whatever calls to you i just feel bad for requesting so many at once😅)

as always have a lovely rest of your day and i’m really looking forward to whatever you post next!!! love ya😇🩷

Hello! Thank you so, so, so much for reading the first bit of the Christmas fic not only once but TWICE! I hope it's lived up to the hype even if it's not finished yet. Poor Fictional!Matty just wants his future in laws to like him, because he's not the same person he was when he was in his early twenties, he's worked on himself and deserves to be given a chance! Also I will not apologize for the fic not being finished by Christmas as requested even though I am sorry that I didn't finish it - it will hopefully be finished by the end of January at the latest!

Also!! thank you so much for not only suggesting the clumsy partner prompts to me, but also sending in this prompt request! I wanted to challenge myself a little bit, so I actually (I think!) managed to weave all four of them into one fill! Let me know what you think! If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know and I will rewrite them! (If anyone else wants to send in any prompts, the list can be found HERE)

Thank you so much for reading and sending in this ask and for always just being so lovely and wonderful and supportive! I'm so sorry that it's taken me a minute to get to some of your other prompt requests as well! I hope you enjoy this one though and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Thank you again!!

❤️Ally

15. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it. You're no trouble at all, zero.”

16. Their partner sometimes feeling that their clumsy tendencies ruin everything and them, actually finding it endearing. They are sure to let their partner know they love it.

17.  “Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t mess it up, go on and give it a try.”

18. Makes it clear to their partner and anyone on the outside that just because they’re worried, doesn’t mean that their partner needs them or depends on them. It’s simply their partner allowing them to do the things that make them comfortable because they’re always worrying.

Matty knew he wasn’t the most coordinated person on the face of the Earth. He was always tripping over his feet, his head in the clouds as he bumped into things and other people, stumbling over curbs and spilling cups of coffee. George always had bandages in his backpack, and an extra Matty-sized shirt for when an inevitable incident occurred. His knees were permanently bruised and his palms forever scrapped. Despite George’s endless patience, and “I’ll kiss it betters” Matty wanted to die each time they were late for a meeting because Matty ate it in the parking lot. 

He had been horrible at sports as a child, his limbs never seeming to want to move the way he directed them, despite not being very large he felt like he had never properly grown into his body and developed the spacial awareness and grace that George seemed to carry. He had tried yoga but just grew frustrated at the disconnect he felt from his physical form and had quickly given up, citing some bullshit about not subscribing to George’s crunchy granola agenda. They both knew he was spouting nonsense. 

Thanks to Matty, they were going to be twenty minutes late to their first fully staged rehearsal for the new tour. Matty was so careful focusing on his footfalls, holding his Starbucks cup away from his body so it wouldn’t splash onto his white tee shirt. He wasn’t even wearing his airpods, he was making sure he was aware of his surroundings George until he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. He managed to not only spill his coffee down his entire front, but bang his elbow on the cement so that it was now bleeding sluggishly. Matty sat on his ass in a puddle of coffee trying to comprehend what just happened while George looked on in mild horror.

“Are you alright?” George asked softly, voice thick with concern as he helped pull Matty to his feet, careful of his bleeding elbow, scarlet splatter bright against the white coffee stained fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m fine,” Matty said, his lower lip wobbling in frustration. He wanted to pull away from George’s grasp but wasn’t sure his shaking knees would support him on his own. His elbow stung and he wanted to cry in frustration. If he couldn’t walk down the street, how was he ever supposed to handle thirty nine North American tour dates? 

Today was supposed to be a good day, Matty thought hysterically, an important day, and as per usual not only were they late, it was his fault.

“Hey,” said George, tugging Matty into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Let’s go get you patched up, I think I have an extra shirt in my bag.”

Because of course he had an extra shirt, because he knew that Matty couldn’t be expected to walk normally like an adult without spilling something. Matty should have woken up earlier and drank his coffee at home, sitting safely at the kitchen table. George led him through the doors of  the venue they were renting for rehearsal space, flashing their credentials to the security guard and following the signs in the hallway to lead him straight to the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry,” said Matty, his voice wet, fuck he really was about to start crying, as George helped him sit up on the lip of the sink so that he could clean his elbow with a damp brown paper towel. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it.” said George, pulling away so that he could look Matty in the eyes. “You're no trouble at all, zero.” 

“But I’m always tripping over myself and ruining things,” Matty said with a sniffle. 

George threw the paper towel away and pulled a box of bandages and a small tube of antibiotic ointment out of his backpack. He dabbed the ointment gently against Matty’s scraped skin with a careful kindness that made Matty’s heart hurt. He didn’t deserve George. 

“It’s kind of cute,” George said quietly, after a moment, Matty swallowing a hiss of pain as the scrap stung. “Like obviously, I don’t like it when you get hurt, it makes me quite nervous actually, but you’re cute, like a baby deer discovering they have legs for the first time.” 

“A baby deer?” Matty asked, raising his eyebrow amongst the pain, his eyes still wet even as he tried to force a smile. 

“The cutest baby deer,” said George with a small grin, smoothing the bandage over Matty’s elbow before leaning down to press a kiss to the plaster. 

Matty just snorted in response, and hopped off the counter, pretending he didn’t notice the way George was hovering at his side, ready to reach out and grab him in case something went wrong. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered black tee shirt from George and pulling off the now stained white one he was wearing. He pretended not to notice the way George was blatantly checking out his chest and stomach as if he didn’t see him naked on a daily basis. 

“It’s nice of you to join us,” said Ross smirking, “Even if you’re never beating the diva allegations, Healy.”  Matty sighed dramatically when they finally joined the group in front of the stage, his eyes going wide as he took in his vision come to life.

“I had a little mishap in the parking lot,” he admitted sheepishly, holding out his now bandaged elbow for Ross and Adam to see. 

“You’ve got to be more careful mate,” said Adam, ruffling Matty’s hair as they sat down on the sofa that had been brought into the space, and went over the stage show with Tobias. 

“I want to cut the song on the roof,” Matty said quietly after a moment, when the time came in the first run through for him to put on a harness and climb up onto the roof portion of their set. The music stopped as Matty chewed on his lower lip nervously. 

George blinked, that was a segment that Matty had been dead set on, and excited to perform, having chattered about the visual implications of doing so and how it furthered the story for weeks. 

“What?” George asked his expression of concern and confusion mirrored on Ross and Adam’s faces as well.

“Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.” Matty said softly with a shrug, “I’m so clumsy I’ll probably fall off the roof and traumatize our fan base or something.” 

“You won’t mess it up,” George assured him even if Ross and Adam looked skeptical.  “Go on and give it a try.”

Matty opened his mouth as if to argue but George just shook his head. “No, go on, try it out, there is a whole team of people that are going to make sure you’re okay, and you’ll have the harness so even if you do slip, you won’t fall far.” 

Matty swallowed hard but nodded, having needed the extra push from George, to disappear into the makeshift backstage. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Ross asked quietly, stepping away from his microphone to make sure Matty didn’t hear him. “I was worried about it when he was all excited about it, but now if he’s even having second thoughts...” 

George shrugged, fiddling with one of the drum sticks. “I’m worried, obviously,” George said, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t support him, he wanted to do the song on the roof, so we should at least try the song on the roof, there are foot holes, and handles up there, plus he has a harness on to make sure even if he does fall he won’t fall far.” 

“You’re a better man than me,” said Adam, “I’d have Carly wrapped in bubble wrap if she was as accident prone as Matty.”

George shrugged, smiling when he looked up and saw Matty waving from the roof, before flashing a thumbs up. 

“We’re partners,” George reminded him, “and that means working together as a team.” 

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

���You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

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