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fr0stf4ll · 2 days ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Yo everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! <3 Here’s a new chapter (it’s pretty long, btw) packed with fluff, hehe. Writing slow burn is so fun because it lets me dive deep into the characters’ stories—but let’s get this shit started right (nothing too intense, but still lol). I’m still trying to settle into a proper posting schedule, so for now, it’s once a week (even though I’d love to post the next chapters already because I’m obsessed with them hahaha). Also, I’m thinking of writing a one-shot soon, so if anyone has requests, feel free to share! Enjoy the chapter and see you soon! <333

Links; part 9

The city was breathtaking in the fading light of the setting sun, each building bathed in warm hues of gold and amber that seemed to shimmer like something out of a dream. The streets were alive with the soft hum of evening life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down cobbled paths, and couples strolling hand in hand beneath the glow of lanterns that flickered to life as dusk settled in.

You walked a step ahead of Azriel, trying to steady yourself and brush off the strange unease that had lingered since your encounter with the healers earlier. The tension in your chest felt misplaced here, in this beautiful city where you had spent some of your most formative years. It was supposed to feel like coming home, yet the ache in your heart made you question every step. You tried to mask it, keeping your voice even and your steps steady as you spoke.

“Welcome to Solterra,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “The city’s divided into three main areas. We’ll start with the Artisans’ Quarter—that’s where most of the skilled crafters live and work. The Dawn Court is famous for its glasswork, pottery, and textiles, so you’ll see some of the best of that here.”

Azriel, walking quietly beside you, gave a small nod, his gaze scanning the streets as if he were cataloging every detail. His shadows curled at his feet but didn’t stray far, as if even they were captivated by the tranquil beauty of the city. He looked entirely at ease, which was a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions you were trying to push down.

“And after that?” he asked, his voice calm, his golden eyes flicking to meet yours.

You gestured toward the northern part of the city. “We’ll head to the Markets. They’re more chaotic but worth the visit. You can find almost anything there—spices, jewelry, rare herbs, even weapons.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Though I doubt you’ll need those.”

Azriel raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I’ll survive without adding to my collection.”

The ease in his voice and the faint humor in his expression eased some of the tension in your chest. He was behaving like nothing had happened earlier—no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just calm and steady as ever. It surprised you how much that helped, grounding you when you felt like your emotions were spiraling out of control.

“And after the Markets,” you continued, trying to match his calm tone, “we’ll end in the Gardens. They’re best seen at night when the lights from the palace reflect off the fountains.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected before he nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

The Artisans’ Quarter unfolded before you like a scene from a painting. Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of buildings, their vibrant colors glowing in the dim light. Glassblowers worked behind large windows, their movements graceful as they shaped molten glass into delicate forms. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted from a nearby bakery, mixing with the earthy smell of clay and paint.

“Most of these families have been here for generations,” you explained, gesturing to the shops and studios. “The skills they pass down are considered sacred. I spent so many hours wandering here when I lived in Solterra. I’d sit for hours watching the glassblowers work—it’s mesmerizing.”

Azriel listened intently, his sharp gaze taking in everything around him. “It’s... peaceful here,” he said after a moment.

You smiled softly, nodding. “It is. That’s one of the things I missed most when I left. No matter what’s happening in the world, this city always feels like it’s standing still, like nothing can touch it.”

As the two of you continued through the quarter, the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest began to ease. Azriel’s quiet presence was surprisingly reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the city and the steady cadence of his steps beside you.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and you turned toward the northern part of the city, leading Azriel toward the bustling Markets. The sight of the vibrant stalls and the hum of voices filled you with a sense of nostalgia, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply and let go of the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

Azriel didn’t say much, but the way his shadows softened around him and the faint smile that played on his lips told you he was enjoying himself. It made you smile in return, a genuine expression that reached your eyes as you began pointing out the different areas of the city with renewed energy. Whatever awkwardness you’d felt earlier had been replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost... normal.

The climb up the narrow, winding stairs was not for the faint of heart, but you had done it countless times before. Your steps were steady and sure, though you were keenly aware of Azriel’s presence just behind you. The sun had fully set by the time you reached the top, the last few golden rays fading into deep purples and blues that painted the horizon.

When you stepped onto the open terrace, you paused, waiting for Azriel to join you. His footsteps slowed, and when he emerged from the staircase, he stopped short. His sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but you caught it nonetheless. He stood still, his golden eyes scanning the view before him.

From this height, the entirety of Solterra stretched out like a glowing tapestry. The city lights flickered like stars in the dark, and the streets wove intricate patterns that mirrored the constellations above. The palace, with its gleaming white spires, stood at the center, its reflection shimmering faintly in the waters of the fountains and canals that crisscrossed the city. The glow of lanterns, their light soft and golden, spilled over the edges of the rooftops, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his shadows curling back as if to let him fully take in the scene. “It’s... stunning,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You turned slightly, watching his reaction with a small, knowing smile. “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the view. “Whenever things felt overwhelming, I’d come here. It has a way of making everything else seem... smaller. Easier to manage.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant murmur of the city below and the faint rustle of the wind. Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, catching the faint light and adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment.

The terrace itself was simple—stone tiles worn smooth by time, bordered by a low railing carved with intricate designs of stars and moons. Small, glowing orbs floated at the edges, casting a soft, magical light over the space. Ivy climbed up the sides of the railing, its dark green leaves adding a touch of life to the otherwise serene setting.

“It’s hard to believe places like this exist,” Azriel said finally, his tone softer than usual. “It feels... untouched.”

You glanced at him, noticing the way his usually guarded expression had softened, his features lit by the faint glow of the orbs. “That’s the beauty of Solterra,” you said gently. “Even when everything else feels chaotic, it stays the same. Like it’s frozen in time.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. There was a stillness in him, a quiet reverence that you hadn’t expected. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost at peace.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said after a while, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You gave a small shrug, your smile warm but playful. “You needed to see it. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave the Dawn Court without experiencing this view.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shadows curling around his feet again. “You were right. It’s worth the climb.”

You let the silence settle between you again, a comfortable quiet as the two of you stood side by side, taking in the beauty of Solterra under the night sky. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your responsibilities felt a little lighter.

You rested your hands lightly on the cool stone railing, your eyes fixed on the glittering city below, the soft hum of life drifting up from Solterra. The weight of the earlier conversation with the healers lingered, no matter how much you tried to push it aside. Finally, you took a breath and broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet night. "For what you overheard earlier."

Azriel, who had been standing a few steps behind you, moved closer, his shadows weaving gently around him. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone steady. “If anything, I should apologize for hearing it. It wasn’t my place to intrude on something so personal.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s not your fault. And besides...” Your voice trailed off as the bond hummed faintly in your chest—a painful, persistent ache that you couldn’t ignore. Shaking your head lightly, you added, “It’s nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Azriel studied you, his golden eyes unwavering. “Are you better now?” he asked, his question simple but weighted with genuine concern.

You reached up, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled slowly. Turning back to the city, you said, “Much better now. That was... centuries ago. But I suppose it’s not surprising that some healers would talk about me like that. When I arrived here, I was a mess.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Azriel interjected, his voice firmer now. His shadows curled closer to him, as if reflecting his inner tension. “It’s not normal or acceptable for anyone to speak about you that way.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, but it’s fine. Really. I’ve grown used to it, and... in some ways, they’re not wrong. Back then...” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on a distant point in the city. “When I lost my wings, I only wanted one thing. To die.”

Azriel’s entire body stilled, his shadows frozen in place as he processed your words. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said quietly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Not if it’s too painful.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s fine,” you replied softly. “And besides, you’ve already heard most of it.”

He didn’t argue, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told you that he was still grappling with the weight of what you had shared. You turned back to the view, the city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

“For a long time, I thought losing my wings was the end of everything I was,” you admitted. “It felt like I was no longer whole, like the only thing that made me... me had been ripped away."

“I left the Night Court after it happened,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It was too hard to stay. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost. It took me months just to be able to walk properly again.”

Azriel’s brows knit together, his gaze intent on you. “Months?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “How did you manage to keep going?”

You let out a faint, humorless laugh. “I think if I’d been clipped younger, it would have been different. But by then, I’d already spent seventy years flying above Velaris and the Night Court. Losing that freedom…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize at first.”

His shadows shifted around him, curling gently as though reflecting his own unease. “But you came here,” Azriel prompted softly. “To the Dawn Court.”

You nodded. “Thesan and Talyen helped me through it. During my training, they gave me purpose again—something to hold onto when I couldn’t see the point of anything. And you know how it ended with Thesan.” A wistful smile touched your lips. “It took me a long time to be able to come back to the Night Court. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Azriel frowned slightly, his wings twitching as if in reaction to your words. “Why didn’t you stay here? If they helped you so much, why leave?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “Because this wasn’t home,” you said simply. “The Night Court was still my home, even if it hurt to admit it at the time. And deep down, I knew I needed to face what happened. Running away might’ve been easier, but it wasn’t what I needed. I don’t have a family, the Night Court, Velaris, Madja, Illyria, they were the only thing grounding me and actually giving me a feelling that I had an attached somewhere.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his golden eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you replied honestly. “But what happened shaped who I am now. And even though it’s not the life I imagined for myself, I’ve found meaning in it. I’ve found a way to be okay.”

The bond between you hummed faintly, the ache of its presence both comforting and painful. Azriel seemed to sense it too, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the cool night air wrapping around you like a second skin. Then, as if to shift the weight of the conversation, you leaned back against the railing and offered him a small, wry smile.

“Now, enough about me,” you said, your tone lighter. “Have you talked with Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw tensed slightly, and his shadows coiled closer. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to deal with that right now.”

You nodded, your gaze softening. “That’s fair. But don’t let it fester for too long, Azriel. Things left unsaid have a way of turning into walls between people.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll handle it when the time is right.”

“Good,” you said simply, letting the moment settle between you.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as the question lingered in the air. He glanced away, his shadows curling around him protectively as if to shield him from the conversation. “I haven’t spoken to Rhys yet,” he admitted, his voice low and tense. “It’s... the first time I’ve been this mad at him for so long.”

You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face. “Because of what he said?”

He nodded sharply, his wings shifting in agitation. “It wasn’t just what he said. It’s how he said it. As if... as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. As if my feelings aren’t valid.”

Your chest ached at the pain in his voice, the rawness of emotions that he so rarely shared. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you’re ready?” you asked softly.

Azriel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No. I haven’t even been able to think about it without... without wanting to hit something. And that’s not who I am. Rhys and I—we’ve always been brothers in every way that matters. But this time...” He trailed off, his shadows curling tighter. “This time, it feels different.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “It’s hard when someone you care about deeply lets you down.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as the light from the city below reflected in their depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “And then there’s Elain.”

The name hung between you like a heavy cloud. You didn’t press him, sensing he needed to find his own words.

“I don’t even know what I feel anymore,” Azriel admitted, his tone laced with frustration. “When she first came here, after being dumped in the Cauldron, I was the one who helped her. I saw her at her worst—terrified, broken, unsure of everything. I wanted to protect her, to help her find her footing in this new, impossible life. I guess... I grew attached.”

You nodded, your expression neutral but your chest tightening as you listened. “Attachment can be powerful,” you offered carefully. “Especially when it’s built on moments like that.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his shadows flickering faintly around him. “But it’s not just attachment, is it? There’s something more. Or at least, I thought there was. And yet, every time I look at her, I’m reminded that she has a mate. That no matter how I feel, she’s bound to someone else in a way I can never be.”

You leaned slightly against the railing, watching him closely. “Do you love her?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel didn’t answer. His jaw worked as if trying to find the right words, and his shadows stilled, almost hesitant.

“Maybe not love, at least not anymore...” he said finally, his voice raw with honesty. “But I care about her. More than I ever thought I could. Enough that it hurts to think about letting go. And yet...” He trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Maybe I should. Maybe I need to. Because this... this thing between us, it’s just a reminder of what I’ll never have. What I’m not meant for.”

Your heart clenched at the pain laced in his words, the quiet resignation that seemed to settle over him like a heavy cloak. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said softly. “And it doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real or valid. But sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “And what if I can’t? What if the bond... or the absence of it, keeps pulling me back?”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Then maybe it��s not about forgetting or moving on entirely. Maybe it’s about finding a way to hold onto the parts of her that made you better, while still leaving space for yourself to grow. To heal.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his shadows curling around him as if to guard his thoughts. Then, he gave a small nod, though his expression remained conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s one of the hardest things to do. But you’ve faced worse, Azriel. You’ll find your way through this too.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the city below. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the breeze.

You didn’t respond, but the faint hum of the bond between you seemed to carry your unspoken understanding.

Your hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, as Azriel’s words lingered in your mind. It was hard—hard to hear him talk about someone else with such care and longing, even as you tried to remind yourself that the bond between you wasn’t something he knew about, let alone wanted. Lost in your thoughts, you startled slightly when you felt a soft tug at your hair.

Glancing to the side, you saw one of Azriel’s shadows twirling a loose strand between its wispy tendrils, as though it was curious. It tickled, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small smile broke through. “It seems your shadows have taken a liking to me,” you teased lightly, brushing the strand back.

Azriel’s brows furrowed in surprise, his gaze following the shadow as if it had acted without his permission. “They don’t usually...” he began, trailing off as another shadow curled lazily around your shoulder. He looked genuinely perplexed.

You laughed softly, the sound light against the quiet night. “Well, I don’t mind,” you said, though the sensation made you squirm a little as it tickled the back of your neck. “It’s... endearing, in a way.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “They have a mind of their own sometimes,” he admitted. “But this is... new.”

You smiled, brushing the shadow away gently, and turned toward him. “Let’s get something to eat,” you offered, eager to change the tone of the evening. “I know a place nearby. It’s simple, but it’s one of my favorite spots in Solterra.”

Azriel tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Lead the way.”

This time, you didn’t walk ahead; the two of you moved side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. The city had transformed under the night’s embrace, its streets illuminated by warm golden lights. Lanterns strung above the narrow alleys swayed gently in the cool breeze, casting soft, flickering shadows against the sandstone buildings. People bustled around, vendors calling out their wares while laughter and chatter filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes on street corners, their melodies weaving through the lively hum of the crowd.

The stand you brought him to was modest—a small, well-loved cart tucked away near the edge of the marketplace. The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables. Azriel’s sharp gaze took in every detail, but his focus lingered on the way the vendor’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N!” the man greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the din of the street. “It’s been too long. What brings you here tonight?”

You smiled, stepping closer to the stand. “You know me, I can’t stay away for too long,” you replied, the warmth in your tone genuine. “Azriel, this is Nadir. He makes the best sandwiches in Solterra.”

Nadir grinned, nodding at Azriel. “You’ve got good taste if you’re with Y/N. She’s a regular—used to come by late at night after long shifts. I always knew when she’d had a tough day.”

Azriel inclined his head politely. “It smells incredible,” he said, his shadows coiling faintly as if curious about the food.

“What do you like?” you asked Azriel, glancing over the menu scrawled on a wooden board.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You ordered for both of you, chatting with Nadir while he worked. The sound of sizzling meat and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space as the sandwiches came together. A few moments later, Nadir handed over the wrapped bundles with a cheerful “Enjoy!”

The two of you found a quiet spot near the gardens, a place where flowering trees lined the edge of a small fountain. The night’s quiet was punctuated by the occasional ripple of water and the faint laughter of passersby.

Azriel unwrapped his sandwich, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval. “This is... really good,” he admitted, the faintest hint of surprise in his tone.

“I told you,” you teased, taking a bite of your own. The warmth of the spiced meat and the fresh crunch of vegetables was exactly what you needed.

At some point, Azriel glanced at you, his expression softening as his sharp eyes caught something on your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his thumb gently across your skin to wipe away a small streak of sauce.

The touch startled you, and you froze, blinking at him. A rush of heat bloomed across your face, and you stammered, “Oh, um—thanks.”

Azriel pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, his own cheeks faintly pink. “It was—there was sauce.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud in your effort to ease the tension. “Yeah, I’m a mess when I eat these,” you joked, trying to wave it off.

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the city lights around you making everything feel oddly peaceful. For a moment, it was as if the weight of everything—the bond, his struggles, your past—had lifted, leaving only the quiet companionship of a shared meal under the stars.

Your evenings had fallen into a quiet rhythm over the past few days. After the meetings, Azriel would find his way to your room in the palace, and the two of you would settle into an easy companionship that felt strangely natural. It had started with a simple offer of tea and had grown into these shared moments—both of you working, sometimes talking, and occasionally just enjoying the calm silence.

Your room, one of the largest in the palace, was warm and inviting. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the plush rugs and intricately carved wooden furniture. The bed, draped in deep teal and gold linens, sat against one wall, while a wide desk occupied the other, covered in neatly organized stacks of notes, scrolls, and ledgers. A small sitting area near the hearth had become your favorite spot, with two armchairs and a low table perfect for tea and conversation.

Azriel’s presence in the room had become so routine that it no longer surprised you when he knocked lightly before entering. Tonight was no different.

“You’re getting predictable,” you teased as he stepped inside, carrying his reports under one arm.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. Tea’s already ready, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the steaming teapot and cups on the low table. “Touché. I figured you’d show up.”

He sat across from you, setting his reports aside for a moment as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Busy day?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Always,” you replied with a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “The logistics for the next round of resource exchanges are a mess. Half the courts aren’t sure what they can spare, and the other half want more than they’re willing to give.”

Azriel nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “Sounds familiar. Negotiations between the High Lords aren’t much different. Everyone wants something, but no one wants to compromise.”

You chuckled dryly. “At least with the healers, we have the same goal. It’s easier to remind them what we’re working toward. The High Lords, though...” You shook your head. “I don’t envy you.”

He gave a small shrug, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. “It’s what I’m used to. But I imagine dealing with this,” he gestured to the neatly organized papers on your desk, “isn’t much easier.”

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Not really. It’s a lot of juggling—balancing what each court needs with what they can offer. And on top of that, making sure it all gets where it’s supposed to go.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’ve seen how you manage these meetings. It’s impressive.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. “Thank you,” you said softly, glancing down at your cup. “But it’s not just me. The other healers make it work. They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of parchment. You had been glancing at Azriel for a while, noticing the slight tension in his movements as he wrote. His fingers occasionally twitched, the pen faltering for just a second before resuming its sharp, precise strokes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, setting your own quill down.

Azriel paused mid-sentence, looking up at you. “What do you mean?”

You gestured subtly toward his hands. “You’re struggling a bit. Does that happen often?”

He glanced at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers briefly. “The scars don’t hurt much,” he admitted. “But sometimes they make it harder to grip things properly. I usually use a cream to help, but since we’ve been here, it feels a little worse.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said with a faint smile. “The climate in the Dawn Court is much drier than Velaris.”

Azriel nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of discomfort in his golden eyes. Before he could brush the matter aside, you stood and rummaged through your things.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

“Hold on,” you replied, pulling out a small jar of salve you’d mixed during one of your quiet evenings. You turned back to him, holding it up triumphantly. “This will help.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—”

You shot him a pointed look, cutting him off. “Azriel, it’s nothing. Stop being difficult,” you said, your tone teasing.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and to your surprise, he chuckled. The sound was warm and low, and it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back, your cheeks heating slightly.

Pulling a chair in front of him, you sat down, your knees brushing his. “May I?” you asked softly, gesturing to his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you reached forward, peeling off his gloves with gentle care. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight of his scarred hands—marred by burns but still strong and capable.

“How did it happen?” you asked hesitantly, looking up to meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes darkened slightly. “When I was younger, my half-brothers wanted to see what oil and fire would do,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of pain. “They decided my hands would be the perfect place to test it.”

Your horror must have shown on your face because he added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve learned to live with them.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the jar of salve. Scooping a small amount onto your fingers, you reached for his hand, your touch feather-light. “You shouldn’t have had to learn to live with this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. As your fingers gently massaged the salve into his scarred hands, it was as if the world outside the room ceased to exist. Each movement was deliberate, your touch light but firm as you worked the cream into the roughened skin, tracing over every ridge and scar with quiet reverence.

Your magic stirred softly, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips as you worked. The light was subtle, a pale shimmer that seemed to dance across his hands, sinking into the damaged tissue and soothing the strain beneath. You weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself, this act of care. But as the magic melded with the salve, you could feel the tension in his hands ease, the tightness in his skin softening under your touch.

The air between you seemed to thicken, becoming charged with something unspoken yet deeply felt. Azriel’s golden eyes followed your every movement, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as if reacting to the moment. They reached out tentatively, brushing against your arm like curious tendrils, almost mirroring the gentle care you were giving him.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting on a particularly deep scar near the base of his thumb. You traced it lightly with your thumb, your expression unreadable. “Does this one still hurt?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you resumed your work, your fingers gliding over his knuckles with a featherlight touch. The warmth of your magic pulsed faintly, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh when you saw the way his hands relaxed under your care.

The room felt smaller, quieter, as if it were holding its breath for the two of you. Azriel’s gaze never wavered, his focus locked on you with an intensity that made you acutely aware of every movement, every shared breath. The way you worked—your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you focused on him—it rooted him in place, a grounding point he didn’t realize he’d been seeking.

Your touch was meticulous, almost reverent, as if you were trying to undo some of the harm etched into his skin—not just with the salve and your magic, but with the quiet care you poured into the act itself. It wasn’t just about soothing his scars; it was about showing him, in a way words never could, that he was worth this kind of gentleness.

Finally, you set the jar aside and rested your hands lightly on his, letting the warmth linger for a moment longer. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Better?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Azriel nodded slowly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Much better,” he murmured, his tone thick with something unspoken.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was full of unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had deepened between you in those stolen moments. And as you both lingered there, the faint shimmer of your magic faded into the stillness, leaving only the warmth of your touch and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

At one point, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “What about you?”

You glanced up, puzzled. “What about me?”

Azriel tilted his head, his expression softening as he studied you. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Do you ever take time for yourself?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room, “is my time for myself. These moments... they’re enough.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve that much.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something deep inside you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply bask in the quiet companionship. In a life full of chaos and responsibility, this small corner of peace felt like a gift—one you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

Azriel arrived outside your door, punctual as ever, only to hear a frantic shuffle on the other side. He knocked lightly, waiting.

“Coming!” your voice called, muffled but rushed.

The door flew open, and there you stood, dripping wet, wrapped only in a towel. Your hair clung to your skin, and water dripped onto the floor. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard.

“My bad—go wait inside, please,” you stammered, stepping back to let him in. “I’m so sorry—give me two seconds.”

You turned, slipping slightly on the wet floor, your arms flailing as you barely caught yourself on the doorframe. Azriel blinked, clearly fighting back a laugh, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but amused.

"Fine!" you chirped, disappearing back into your room. "Totally fine! Just... give me a minute!”

The space felt as alive as you were—vibrant and lived-in. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, jars of herbs, and an array of trinkets collected from various courts. Your desk was a study in organized chaos, papers and notes sprawled across its surface, mingling with teacups and a few candles. A large, open window let the morning sunlight pour in, illuminating everything in a warm glow.

Azriel took a seat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet hum of comfort that seemed to radiate from the space, much like its owner.

A few minutes later, you emerged, struggling with the intricate ties of your top, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate. "Azriel," you called, your voice slightly frantic. "Help me out here!”

Azriel stood, stepping closer. “Sure,” he said simply, taking the ties of the top in his hands. As he moved behind you to secure it, his gaze fell on your back.

There, faint but unmistakable, were scars. They cut across your skin in jagged, silvery lines, a stark contrast against the smooth canvas of your back. He froze for the briefest moment, his breath catching. His shadows stirred restlessly, betraying his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t let his hands falter as he tied the delicate laces with precision. But something tightened in his chest, a mix of sorrow and admiration for what you must have endured.

You, oblivious, continued fussing. “Usually, it’s Ydle who helps me with this,” you muttered.

Azriel blinked, his brow furrowing. “The bird?”

“Yes, the bird, Azriel,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with an incredulous look. “He’s actually quite good at a lot of things, you know.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right. A lot of things.”

You turned fully, giving him a pointed look. “Stop with your nasty thoughts, Shadowsinger. Not all winged beings think with their dick, you know.”

That earned you a full, genuine laugh from Azriel, his shadows swirling around him in amusement.

"You’re late," he reminded, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing your notes and practically running around the room to gather the last of your things. "I ended up drinking with the girls last night—like, a lot—and I went to sleep about... oh, two hours ago."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And now you expect to lead a meeting?"

"I’ll survive," you said, waving him off. "Let’s go, or we’ll both be late."

As the two of you left your room, Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You might have been chaos incarnate that morning, but there was no denying you’d pull it together the moment you stepped into that meeting room—and he admired that more than he’d ever admit.

When you and Azriel entered the meeting room, it was clear that the tone of the day was already set. The head healers, though composed, bore an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. Your sharp eyes quickly took in the details—slightly rumpled clothes, dark circles under a few pairs of eyes. A quick glance at Farah and Amara confirmed your suspicion: you weren’t the only one running on minimal sleep.

“Rough night?” you murmured to Farah as you passed, taking your seat at the head of the table.

The Day Court healer offered you a tired smile, golden strands of her hair slipping from her loose braid. “You could say that. Seems the city’s festivities are hard to resist.”

Amara groaned softly, resting her elbows on the table. “Why do they schedule these meetings the morning after celebrations? We look like we’ve been dragged through the ocean.”

A few chuckles broke the tension, and even Azriel’s lips twitched faintly at the comment as he took his place near the doorway, his shadows drifting unobtrusively.

“All right,” you said, your voice firm but warm as you tapped the table lightly. “Let’s focus. We have a lot to cover, and not much time.”

The healers straightened in their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something far more serious.

As the meeting pressed on, the air in the room thickened with the weight of the topic now at hand—Koshiev’s growing influence. The earlier camaraderie and trust among the healers gave way to grim determination, each word spoken heavy with the stakes of what was to come.

Rordan from the Autumn Court began, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “Koshiev’s forces aren’t just expanding—they’re leaving devastation in their wake. Entire villages along the borders have been wiped out because of sickness that, mother above, look like they come straight from hell, and the survivors are trickling into the courts as refugees. Camps are overcrowded, and infection spreads like wildfire.”

Veras from the Winter Court leaned forward, his braided hair falling over his shoulder. “The frostbite cases we’re seeing aren’t just from the cold anymore. It’s as if something in the air itself is making the wounds worse, harder to heal. We suspect Koshiev’s forces are using some kind of dark magic, but we have no way to confirm it.”

You nodded, taking in the information with a furrowed brow. “If they’re using magic to weaponize the environment, we’ll need to prioritize protection. I can look into shielding spells that can be used alongside standard care. Farah,” you turned to the Day Court healer, “your court specializes in purification. Do you think you could develop something to counteract this?”

Farah’s golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but we’d need samples to understand what we’re dealing with. Without knowing the exact nature of this magic, we’re working blind.”

Azriel, silent until now, spoke up from where he stood at the edge of the room. His deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “I can get you the samples. If there’s something in the air or water, I’ll have my spies retrieve it.”

The room turned to Azriel, some with surprise, others with relief. You caught his eye briefly and nodded, grateful for his quick offer.

Amara from the Summer Court exhaled heavily. “Even with countermeasures, this is a problem we’ve never faced before. Koshiev’s forces are using tactics that defy every natural law we know. We need more than just defensive strategies—we need to be proactive.”

“You’re right,” you said, standing straighter. “It’s not enough to react to what Koshiev does. We need to anticipate his next moves. That means gathering intelligence—not just on his methods but on his motives. Why is he targeting specific regions? What does he gain from leaving the lands uninhabitable?”

Teylan, the healer from the Dawn Court, added, “And we need to coordinate evacuation protocols. If entire regions are to be affected, we must ensure that civilians can be moved quickly and efficiently. It’s not just about healing the injured—it’s about preventing the injuries in the first place.”

The group murmured in agreement, and you saw Azriel’s sharp gaze shift to Teylan. There was respect in his expression, though his shadows swirled slightly tighter around him, as if unsettled by the weight of the conversation.

“Let’s assign specific roles,” you suggested, your voice cutting through the growing tension. “Veras, work with Farah to develop purification methods. Amara, focus on distributing resources—we’ll need herbs, salves, and antidotes ready for immediate deployment. Rordan, can you focus on organizing supply routes and establishing safe zones within the Autumn Court?”

Each healer nodded, their expressions set with determination. You turned to Azriel. “And Azriel, if you can retrieve those samples, it will give us the edge we desperately need.”

Azriel inclined his head, his shadows flickering like flames in response. “Consider it done.”

The meeting continued with precise planning. Containment strategies, resource allocation, and magical countermeasures were all discussed and debated. Each healer brought their expertise to the table, but the weight of Koshiev’s looming threat was undeniable.

By the time the meeting concluded, the atmosphere in the room was heavy but resolute. These weren’t just plans—they were the foundation for survival, the first step in a war that would test every ounce of strength Prythian had.

As the healers began to file out for a much-needed break, Azriel lingered near you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, your tired smile barely masking the exhaustion. “We all are, Azriel. But this is the work that needs to be done.”

His shadows flickered faintly, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more. But instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

The battle against Koshiev had already begun, and you both knew it would demand everything from everyone involved.

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the weight of the discussions settling heavily on your shoulders. You bid farewell to the other healers, offering last-minute reassurances and final notes for the upcoming plans. As the last of them departed, you made your way back to your room, your steps slower than usual. The exhaustion from the day's intensity pulled at you, but your mind refused to quiet.

Your room greeted you with its familiar warmth and quiet elegance. You sighed, stepping inside and shedding your outer coat. Moving to the small kitchenette, you set about preparing tea. The rhythmic motions of boiling water and selecting herbs gave you a rare moment of peace.

The sound of a knock at the door broke your focus. You turned, half expecting Azriel, but instead found Thesan leaning casually against the frame, his smile warm and familiar.

“You didn’t think I’d let you retreat so easily, did you?” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “I thought you’d be busy catching up with your court, not chasing after me.”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents,” he quipped, settling into a chair with an ease that spoke of years of friendship. His gaze swept the room, a fond glint in his eye. “Still feels like you’ve left your mark on this place. It’s alive, somehow—like you.”

You scoffed lightly, pouring two cups of tea. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He accepted the cup you handed him, his smile never faltering. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

The lighthearted banter faded as his expression turned more serious. “You handled yourself well today. The meeting was impressive, even for you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You hesitated, sitting down across from him. “Then why are you here, Thesan?”

“To check on you,” he replied simply. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. And I know you—sometimes you carry things alone when you shouldn’t.”

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. You stared into your tea for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “There is... something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

Thesan waited patiently, his gaze unwavering. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s not just the war or the plans,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down. “It’s... Azriel.”

Thesan raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “The Night Court’s spymaster? What about him?”

You inhaled deeply, the words tasting foreign as they left your lips. “He’s my mate.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Thesan’s expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“And does he know?” he asked gently.

You shook your head, the weight of the secret pressing down on you. “No. And I don’t plan on telling him. He’s... attached to someone else. Elain. One of the High lady’s sister. And there’s the war, the chaos. It’s not the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time for something like this?” Thesan asked gently. “Do you... love him?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But being around him feels... different. Like a part of me is at peace when he’s near.”

Thesan leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Mates are rare, yes. But they’re not infallible. If you feel this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it. Just... be careful.”

His advice hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before either of you could say more, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Thesan rose smoothly to answer, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him. His sharp eyes flicked to Thesan, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “High Lord,” he greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

Thesan smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Spymaster. What brings you here?”

Azriel’s gaze briefly shifted beyond him, but he couldn’t see you from where he stood. “I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to take a walk through the city before we leave. But clearly, she’s... occupied.”

Thesan’s smile deepened, and there was a hint of something playful in his tone. “We were just catching up, but...”

Azriel nodded curtly and cut him mid sentence, stepping back. “Another time then, I don’t want to disturb you both.” he echoed, his voice neutral.

He left without another word, his shadows lingering briefly before disappearing into the hallway. Thesan watched him go, a knowing look in his eye as he closed the door and turned back to you.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “he’s certainly... something.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

Thesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. “Take it one step at a time, Y/N. You’ll figure it out.”

Azriel sat on the balcony of his assigned room in the Dawn Court palace, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and deep indigo. His shadows whispered faintly, their tones uncertain, as if they too were trying to process what he was feeling.

He hadn’t intended to overhear you with Thesan, but the sound of your laughter, followed by the soft murmur of your voices, had drawn him to the door. He had stopped himself from intruding, reminding himself that it was none of his business. Yet, the sight of Thesan’s easy smile as he stood in your doorway, the familiarity in his posture, and the casual way his hand rested on the frame had stirred something in Azriel—something sharp and unwelcome.

He knew you had a history with Thesan. He knew that Thesan had a mate. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of jealousy. The knowledge that you and Thesan had shared something once, something real and intimate, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

You weren’t like Mor, whose vibrant energy had captivated him for centuries. You weren’t like Elain, whose gentleness and quiet beauty had drawn him in, offering a fleeting hope for something he could never truly have.

You were you—Y/N.

There was an effortless strength in you, the way you commanded a room without raising your voice, the way you navigated delicate situations with a calmness that belied the fire in your heart. You carried yourself with grace but never hid your scars. You worked tirelessly, yet somehow always found time to smile, to offer comfort, even when you were the one most in need of it.

And that smile—Mother above, that smile. It wasn’t a demure thing meant to appease or charm; it was genuine, lighting up your face in a way that made everything around you seem brighter. Your laugh was low and warm, the kind that lingered in the air long after it faded. The way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you were truly amused stayed with him.

He thought of the way you spoke to him—honest, unafraid to challenge him but never cruel. How you had listened to him in the clinic that night, your words carrying a weight of understanding he hadn’t found in anyone else.

Azriel exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know when it had started—this attachment to you. But he knew it had grown steadily since the moment the two of you arrived in the Dawn Court. You had drawn him in with your unwavering dedication and the quiet vulnerability you allowed to slip through your defenses.

It wasn’t like him to let someone in so easily, to let himself care so quickly. But with you, it was different.

And now, the thought of Thesan knowing you so intimately—knowing parts of you that he could only hope to uncover—gnawed at him. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But the thought still burned.

His shadows curled tighter around him, as if trying to shield him from the onslaught of emotions. But they couldn’t muffle the truth. He had grown attached to you. Too attached. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Azriel’s door, a faint sense of unease settling over you. You had to talk to him about organizing your departure, but something felt off. You took a deep breath and knocked softly, waiting until you heard his voice.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find Azriel sitting in a chair by the window, his shadows swirling lazily around him. His face was unreadable, the sharp planes of his features cast in soft shadows from the lamp beside him. He looked up briefly as you entered, but his gaze quickly flicked back to the papers in his hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you began, your voice light but careful.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. What do you need?”

You hesitated for a moment, noting the slight edge to his tone. “I wanted to go over the plan for tomorrow’s departure,” you said, stepping closer. “We need to coordinate with the palace staff for supplies, and I wanted to confirm our route.”

Azriel nodded curtly, gesturing for you to sit, but he didn’t offer much more. His responses were short, his demeanor cooler than usual. You frowned, watching him as he scanned the papers in his hands.

“Is something going on?” you asked softly, leaning forward slightly in your seat.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a sure sign of his tension. “No, everything is ok don’t worry.” he said flatly, not looking up.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Azriel, I’m not leaving this alone. We’re going to be stuck together for at least four hours during the flight, and I promise you—I will not stop bothering you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes locking onto yours.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Do you still have something going on with Thesan?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

He pressed on, his shadows flickering erratically. “It’s just... sometimes, even if people are mated, they still—” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing, “They still keep things with their previous partners.”

You stared at him, the words settling over you like a wave of confusion and exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

Azriel met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability he was clearly trying to mask.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Azriel, do you honestly think either Nesta or Feyre would be okay with Cassian or Rhysand running off to sleep with an ex-partner? Because, no. They wouldn’t. And it’s the same here.”

His brows furrowed, and you continued, your tone softening slightly. “Thesan is a friend now, Azriel. Nothing more. I don’t want anything else, and neither does he. And his mate would probably kill me if I even consider him more than that.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, though his shadows still hovered around him. He nodded once, his voice quieter now. “I... I just wanted to be sure. Not that it was an actual problem, but...”

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You could have just asked, you know.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, his shadows finally retreating a bit. “Maybe next time, I will.”

“Good,” you replied, standing and smoothing the front of your shirt. “Now, can we get back to the actual reason I came here, or should I start worrying about more questions?”

Azriel chuckled softly, a rare sound, and gestured for you to continue. The tension between you had eased, and as you began discussing the logistics of your departure, you noticed that his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

After clearing the air, you sat up straighter, your tone turning more professional. “Now, about tomorrow’s flight. The weather reports show strong winds in the region where we flew last time, so we’ll need to make a detour.”

Azriel’s brow lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. “A detour?”

You nodded, gesturing to the small map you had brought with you. You spread it out on the desk between you, pointing to a marked path. “Instead of cutting directly through the mountains, we’ll follow the coastline for a bit. It’ll take us an extra hour, but it’s safer than risking the turbulence.”

Azriel leaned forward, his shadows quiet as he studied the map. “The sea route?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The winds over the water should be calmer, and there’s a better chance of clear skies. I checked with the palace staff earlier—they’ve used that path before in similar conditions.”

His expression was thoughtful as he traced the route with his finger. “It’s a smart call. And the scenery will be... different.”

You chuckled softly. “Different is one way to put it. I hope you like ocean views.”

Azriel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’ll take ocean views over unpredictable mountain winds any day.”

“Good,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll let the staff know to adjust the flight plan accordingly.”

He nodded, his demeanor more relaxed now. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitated for a moment, then added, “The winds might still be a bit tricky when we’re closer to the coast, so we’ll need to stay alert. But I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “You sound like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

You shrugged lightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Maybe not a hundred, but I’ve healed enough Peregrins to know what I’m talking about. Trust me on this one, Shadowsinger.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his shadows flickering faintly around him before he nodded again. “I trust you.”

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fuk3d · 22 hours ago

Text

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (?)

Warning: Murder, Descriptions of blood, Major character death.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hey everyone. I really appreciate the support you guys gave on my last post, it was really overwhelming for me even though it might not seem a lot to most lol.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday | Chapter 2: Distant Memories

Blood.

Its smell is tang and metallic. Its colour is dangerous, fervent with connections of power, hatred, anger, and… death.

Blood.

A fickle thing it is. In the way it stains, no matter the material. It stays, even when you try to get rid of it. But you already knew that didn’t you, [Name]?

“[Name] you must stay quiet, no matter what you hear and what you see, stay right here, please baby. Mama loves you” Your mother would say to you, the last thing she would ever say to you actually as she shoves you into the closet, shutting it with a harsh push before hurriedly walking away. Away from you.

‘Don’t leave me’ you thought.

Your small form had curled into itself in the dainty closet, small tremors compelling your whole body to quiver and shake. You were just a child back then, hiding away from the sounds of glass shattering, minute fragments of it scattering onto the hard-wood floors. Furniture could be heard crashing against the walls, multiple gruff voices penetrating through the sanctuary your mother had called your ‘safe space’. The sounds of her broken voice breaks through the closet barriers whilst she fights viciously, for the both of you. Still, all you could think about in that very moment was-

When is mama coming back? How long has it been? Are they still here? Are they gonna hurt me too? Like how they’re hurting mama?

Your body couldn’t handle the stress, streams of whimpers and curt gasps escaping from your lips. You didn’t even know you were beginning to hyperventilate, your eyes blurred by the oval tears that had begun to collect. You couldn’t stop feeling, couldn’t stop hearing the sounds of struggling. You can’t breathe, can’t see, you can’t even hear what’s going outside beyond the closet. All you knew in that split second was that you needed to get out, smell the clean air before you went insane.

And peculiar, how fate works in its twisted ways; it's almost like it could hear you, begging for a somewhat momentary release. The noise had died down, and everything had suddenly just come to a…. Stop.

Silence.

No more were the sounds of screaming, yelling, and crying. Now, it was just you.

You remember that night so clearly, every detail drilled through your head in a never-ending loop.

And so, with much hesitation, you step out of the closet. Eye’s locked onto the horrific sight that had been laid in front of you. There lies your mother in a pool of her own blood, her eyes, like polished globes appeared lifeless, dead. You take a step, and then another one, then another, until you're standing in front of her.

“Mama?” Your lips wobbled, legs buckling under the realisation that she was dead. You drop to your knees with a hard ‘thud!’, pain coursing through your little knees. Red starts to stain your clothing as the colour envelopes your tiny hands. Fluorescent red and blue gleam through the apartment.

“Mama! Mama, wake up! The police are here, can you hear them? They’re coming to save you so you can stop pretending!!” You yell at her, attempting to pull at your mothers hand. Only to reel back from shock at how cold she felt. “Mama, why’re you so cold?” You put your soft hands on her own, feeling tears before it even registers in your mind that you’re crying. The transparent liquid sliding down your puffy cheeks, dripping at your chin before trickling onto the floorboards.

The noises of your grieving reverberate off the worn down walls, the shuffling of heavy footsteps can be heard but you ignore it, too engrossed in your own mourning. When the police arrive at the designated area that you were in, they’re stunned by the sight. In the middle of all the broken glass and shattered furniture, was you and your mother.

You’re hastily carried away from her, a sick and uneasy feeling growing within your stomach when you see people gather her body and shove her into a body bag.

What happens next is hazy. You fuzzily recall arriving at the police station and taken in immediately for questioning. They had asked if you knew who your dad was, to which you shook your head ‘no’, shaken by the awful tragedy that took place tonight. You think back to the two officers chatting to each other, just outside the room you were situated in. “Said they don’t know who their father is, poor thing. Must’ve been hard not having a dad.” A resounding slap could be heard as the officer scolds his friend with a coarse tone, “Keep your voice down will ya? You dickbag, they can hear us.” You remember their voices becoming distant, soft mutters of ‘Alright! Alright!’ became nothing but background noise.

After that, the police got you cleaned up before taking you down to a hospital lab, the people there extracting a sample of your DNA and swiftly sending it off for a paternity test. While they tossed you into an orphanage for a temporary stay. That's the system for you.

It had been 6 weeks after that night, and during your abode at the orphanage, you had become entirely numb, both physically and mentally. You didn’t even attempt to make friends, too wrapped up within your own head about that night, about what went down. You completely shut down and refrained from opening up until one of the caregivers gave you a letter addressed to you. A black wax seal with a big, fancy W was engraved into. Curiosity akin to a cat, you unfurled the envelope, eyes lighting up with excitement when you realise that your father was Bruce Wayne. After all the traumatic shit you had gone through, you deserved to distract yourself from all the bad memories that had been plaguing you.

Three days.

In three days, your dad (a word so foreign to you) will be taking you to your new home, where you’re safe, where you can sleep without any fear.

Three days.

Time seemed to feel prolonged, and it made you tense. You were so conscious of how skittish you had become over the course of three days. You just couldn’t sleep properly, couldn’t sit still at the thought of finally meeting Bruce Wayne, the man who was your father.

So, when the three day wait was up, you were dressed in your best attire (with what little clothes you own) and hurriedly made your way to the front of the orphanage, your cute suitcase in hand as a monochromatic vehicle pulled up. You were basically jumping out of your shoes when you heard the car door open, only to realise that it wasn’t a man who looked to be your father. Actually, it was an elderly gentleman dressed in butler attire, with balding grey hair and a pale complexion. Huh, how disappointing.

You couldn’t help but frown, struggling to mask the disdain as he stepped towards you with an air of confidence. “You must be the child Bruce was talking about.” Huh? Why did he say it like that? Where was your dad? “My name is Alfred, I am your family butler.”

Your lips stretched down into an impossibly deeper frown. “Okay… but, where’s my dad?” You questioned, awaiting his answer as Alfred cleared his throat. “Your father is… busy as of right now. He’s attending to matters regarding work. I hope you forgive him for his improper timing Young [Name].” Alfred dips his head, mimicking something similar to a bow while you poorly nodded at your family butler– Alfred. You stay silent as you step inside the car, Alfred shuts the door while he gets into the driver seat, the car's engine roaring thunderously as it shakes the vehicle.

You look out the window, eyes reflecting off the glass whilst the people and buildings blend in together. Gotham was such a dull place, monochrome colours mixing into each other. It was the only region that was able to turn its own people into vile, foul, and disgusting human beings disguised in sheep's clothing. It was the only region that could turn its people into villains and monsters. And it certainly had a habit of making the people with the most potential suffer a fate worse than death. Just like you.

Why didn’t my dad pick me up instead? What was so important that he couldn’t even meet me himself? What’s going to happen to m-

No. You shouldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t think like that. You’re sure it was just an accident, a slip up, a one time thing right? It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s your dad and as long as he cares right?

‘Right’ you affirm to yourself. Your confidence comes back, you're excited once again.

If I can’t meet him at the orphanage, I can just meet him at my new home, right?

You really couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait to meet your new family and you couldn’t wait to see your new home.

“We’ve arrived Young [Name].”

@strwberryglass

End Note: Okay so I was contemplating if I should continue this further because I didn't want to start a piece of writing just to lose the motivation or interest. I want to do this for myself and not for the sake of writing for others (no offence). Anyway, thank you for reading!

Also, updates are going to be pretty slow since I'm starting school next week! So please hold on until then :)

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red-doll-face · 2 days ago

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Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch.

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday.

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went.

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy.

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was.

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over.

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it.

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted.

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else.

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then.

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased.

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten.

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh.

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went.

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns.

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out.

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough.

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice. So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon.

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips.

He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper.

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison.

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world.

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought.

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them.

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this.

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away.

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him.

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now.

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it.

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away.

What has that shame ever done but made you worse?

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled.

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her.

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose.

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame.

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh.

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

It’s always the ones you trust.

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her.

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it.

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside.

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always.

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.”

Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt.

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening. His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it.

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile.

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…”

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right.

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves.

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough.

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born.

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it.

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp.

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose.

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself.

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things.

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door.

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake.

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left.

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when…

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be.

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him.

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door.

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident.

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense.

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory.

And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back.

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible.

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again.

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to.

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought. Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature.

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him.

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him.

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door.

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl.

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world.

“Please, I-”

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged.

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her.

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

#❄️ snow angel #red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #tw dark content #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan

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thecoffeelorian · 1 day ago

Text

True Colors

True Colors (Crosshair x Reader)

Premise: As a few masks begin to crack, the true faces of those that lie beneath start to show themselves one by one...and not even they might be able to recognize the things that they've become.

Word Count: 1,531

Masterlist: The Surprise Guest Series

Story Notes: Heya heya, guess what, folks? There's a very tiny hint as to the Reader's true identity at the end of this chapter, so! Be sure to look for it, as it might be a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of moment!

Special Notes: You know that "glorious return" of Crosshair that was supposed to magically fix everything in the squad...? Yeah, it looks to me like nothing but an inglorious cop-out, because what could have been a detailed discussion of all the past plot points was tossed out in favor of cutting corners for the millionth time. More details are here, as well as one of several blueprints for this story as I move forward. Thank you all for your patience.

PS: The Crosshair header was made by @stars-n-spice.

No Pressure Tags:

@crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @skellymom @youreababboon @donntmindmejustwandering @ms-grassi

@gigachadcowboy @summerfall21 @thora-sniper @groguandthebadbatch @theclonesdeservedbetter

@sw-2020-1 @lovefrommaxie @housepartyfortwo @ci-avmovies14 @evabellasworld

@cyare-of-the-501st @the-osborn-way @prettychaos1409 @otomefan @foggygentlemenprincess

@soemtlse012731-blog @sithstrings @omglisalithium @aemondvelaryon @mysticalgalaxysalad

@lulalovez @zombiedixon89 @filmandthings @sithstrings @generaljessiedotcom and anyone else who might want to dive in headfirst into this latest installment.

The next thing you know, at least from where you’re standing, Omega’s wrapped both arms around your waist in a hug; Crosshair’s gone frightfully silent; and, some distance away from all of you, you get to witness two grown Troopers get stuck orbiting Tantrum Planet.

“You’re doing what.”

Specifically, Hunter’s durasteel-gray eyes that once refused to make contact with yours are now glaring through you with all the heat of an ion engine, almost triple-hound daring you to repeat Omega’s words out loud.

“You heard her, General.”

By contrast, you’re not about to run off or look away, because now there’s a firm edge to your voice that you haven’t exactly heard before.

“Unlike you, I don’t think she likes the idea of abandoning her fellow fugitives.”

Up until this point, most people had generally been respectful to you, never mind not wanting to give you the slightest impression of your life being threatened in any way. That was one of the few joys you got from your home planet growing up, as well as the first thing you find yourself missing in its absence.

As of now, however, that respect had been tossed straight out of the proverbial airlock and left to suffocate in the vacuum of deep space.

“Don’t you mean kidnappers?”

“I meant exactly what I just said, thank you very much…”

And if this holier-than-thou nerfherder wanted to stare you down, well...then you would be all too happy to stare at him right back, consequences or no consequences.

“…And anyway, since you already know everything about me, when exactly did I kidnap her?”

In fact, it’s not that long before you start glaring back at him, your voice slowly filling with venom.

“Was it before or after she came knocking at my door and asked me for help?”

“Omega wouldn’t ever do that!”

Before either one of you end up coming to blows, however, there’s another Trooper to contend with. Along comes Wrecker jumping into the chat, the look of anger somewhat giving way to confusion. Either he doesn’t have the slightest idea what to think of you, or else he’s already been convinced to hate you ages before you ever did anything wrong.

“We…we told her not t’ talk to strangers. What makes you so special?”

In any case, though, you’re not about to take any puuduu from him, either. Not when you might be five klicks away from finding some manner of political asylum, be it with or without their ‘approval’.

Not when you officially had skin in this little game as of several hours ago, and you’ve got no intention of backing down or making yourself smaller just so somebody else can feel bigger.

“Nothing. I’m just a waiter from offworld…but I do know this.”

And if you haven’t surprised yourself enough today, well…your slow but careful nudge for Omega to go over to Crosshair for safety’s sake certainly takes the grand prize.

“Since we—and that does include Omega, so let me make that nice and clear—heard the Imps start knocking on other people’s doors right before we booked it, it’s only going to be a matter of time before they all show up to drag the three of us back to that lab…or worse.”

Having spoken your peace, you then decide to mirror Wrecker’s posture and fold your arms across your chest, a clear sign that they’re about to have the floor.

“So if you don’t want to end up responsible for punishing two civilians just to stick it to your headstrong brother…then I suggest you choose wisely. Sir.”

You finish your pitch with a polite bow and a hand over your heart, the planet-wide gesture of respect in your part of the galaxy. If it was someone else from your home planet you were talking to, then they’d most likely let out a nervous chuckle, make up a somewhat believable excuse for their behavior or apologize for the harshness of their words, and possibly even declare an unofficial truce between you by offering you a little caf and cake back at their apartment.

This Hunter guy on the other hand…well, he’s starting to look like he’s somewhere between passing a kidney stone and blowing a fuse. No living man, be he soldier or civilian, has ever turned that shade of purple before, and as far back as you can remember, you know they haven’t balled their fists up so tight that their knuckles looked more on the jaundiced side than their usual healthy brown.

Clearly, he has no idea what he wants to do to you first—beat you until you’re the same color and consistency as freshly ground nerf meat; or else die of embarrassment. At this moment in time, either one of these is totally possible, if not also a maximum threat level.

And yet—

“—Don’t we, uh…have an oil can somewhere?”

And yet, the one they call Wrecker, aka “The Big Guy” as you’ve personally just dubbed him, is starting to act like he may have just budged about an inch or two from whatever sinless high ground he might have held a moment before.

Well, thank the Force that somebody is.

“What oil can…?”

In other words, even though Hunter’s still enjoying the view from his own pedestal and probably ready to piss on your heads without so much as a single moment’s notice…he sure can’t keep Wrecker from thinking for himself.

“The one that Tech always kept on board for…for emergencies.”

Like bringing up the name of a fifth squad member for some kind of emotional leverage, for example, if not also making good use of it, too.

“The least we can do is hand it over, right?”

“Not if I order you to stand down.”

“Fine. Go back to Pabu without me.”

Or, dare you even think it, sabotaging all of Hunter’s “plans” solely out of having enough of his shitty behavior.

“As for me, I’m not losin’ any more of my squad.”

In any case, Wrecker’s striding right past Hunter, giving him a hard enough shove to make him stumble and nearly fall sideways…and finally, goes back into the Marauder to go and bring you the much needed oil can whether this stupid “leader” gives his permission or not.

Incredible. Maybe he’s not Hunter’s errand boy after all.

As for you, well…you’re left wondering whether or not Hunter himself can take all three of you out with a single blaster shot, especially if he decides to take his temper out on Omega for bringing the two of you back without asking him first.

“Sergeant.”

“I’m sorry…?”

At least, that’s your thought until he decides to back off instead…for now.

“I’m a sergeant, not a general. Learn the difference.”

And with that, he also turns and goes back inside the Marauder, not a single look backward spared for Omega this time. Funny thing…you had originally thought that she was the designated favorite, and would therefore have some kind of leverage over all future squad decisions. Their initial reunion had suggested that much had occurred before, after all…so what the kriff had changed since then?

“Eh…that went well.”

Unfortunately, there doesn’t exactly seem to be a lot of time to mull this one over. Even though Omega’s speaking up again and trying to stay upbeat, she’s not looking so confident any more.

“We—we should be able to get off this planet now, right? We can go back to the island, and—and then…”

Rather, she’s looking nervous, just a little heartbroken, and—if there’s room to make a fast-food related analogy here—dejected with a shot of annoyance to wash it all down. Most likely, there’s no limits to her personal feelings, especially after what just played out in front of her.

“And then…take a break?”

You, on the other hand, aren’t about to be knocked down by that Sergeant’s issues, because they’re just a fraction of what you would have had to deal with if you’d faced the Empire coming after you. In fact, if he decides to keep his shit up and keep on poking the Krayt Dragon—well, even if he does hate you, he’ll have to think twice before dishing out the same treatment to her.

In other words, you’ve got zero tolerance for bullies, and it won’t take much for you to let the rest of this ‘squad’ find that out the hard way.

“Yeah…yeah, let’s do that. Take a break, I mean…”

This is why you’re slipping a comforting arm around her before letting Crosshair have the other, a makeshift hug for them both to break up the tension of it all.

“As long as you need,” you promise her, your attention solely upon the two in front of you, and not so much upon the ones lurking in the background. Oh yes, let the others stew in their own moody juices for a while, because for all that you care, that’s all that they need to have.

As for you and your traveling companions, a bit of rest is exactly what you deserve right now...and Force help the di’kut who dares to interrupt it.

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onebadassunicorn · 2 days ago

Text

The Spy Who Loved Me

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, longing, SMUT (18+)

word count: 10.1K

Taglist: @motheroffae @rosecobollway @tele86

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

********

Chapter 6

The vibrant hum of the Summer Court’s marketplace surrounded you, the air filled with the salty tang of the sea and the mingling scents of fresh fruits, spices, and baked goods. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, their bright fabrics fluttering in the warm breeze as vendors called out to passersby. You moved through the bustling crowd with purpose, your honey-colored eyes scanning the stalls, searching for a distraction—anything to quiet the restless thoughts swirling in your mind.

But then you saw him.

Azriel stood at the edge of the market, his tall, imposing figure impossible to miss even in the lively chaos. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, and his shadows seemed to retreat, giving him an almost unassuming presence.

Almost.

His hazel eyes locked onto yours the moment you spotted him, and your breath hitched. He didn’t move immediately, as though giving you the chance to decide whether to approach or flee.

You didn’t flee. Instead, you straightened your spine and walked toward him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You,” you said softly when you reached him, your tone a mix of surprise and guarded curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Is it so strange to see me here?”

“In the Summer Court? Yes,” you said, folding your arms as you regarded him carefully. “It’s not exactly your usual territory.”

He shrugged, his wings shifting slightly. “Maybe I needed a break. Even the Night Court has its… tensions.”

You studied him for a moment, your mind racing as you tried to determine his true purpose. But instead of bringing up Eris or your time in Autumn, as you’d expected, he seemed oddly at ease.

Content, even.

The sharpness in his eyes was still there, but it wasn’t as biting as before.

It threw you off balance.

“You came to Summer for a vacation?” you asked, raising a skeptical brow. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“I don’t get away often,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But when I do, I like to make the most of it.”

His words were simple, but the way he looked at you made them feel like something more. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks. “Well,” you said lightly, gesturing to the bustling market, “welcome to Summer. The marketplace is as good a place as any to start.”

He fell into step beside you as you continued walking, the tension between you as palpable as the heat of the midday sun. His presence unsettled you, not because it was unwelcome, but because of the way it made you feel—like you were walking a tightrope with no safety net.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment, his hazel eyes flicking to yours. “Do you spend a lot of time here?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone casual. “I come here occasionally. There’s always something new to see. It’s a good way to unwind.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning the vibrant stalls. “It suits you. The Summer Court. Bright, warm… lively.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the quiet admiration in his voice. “And what about you? The brooding spymaster of the Night Court wandering through Summer—it’s almost too strange to believe.”

“Maybe I’m not as brooding as you think,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t reply. The silence that settled between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—filled with things unspoken, questions unanswered.

As you approached the end of the market, you glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “There’s a festival tonight,” you said, your voice careful. “One of the Summer Court’s many celebrations. It’s lively, colorful. You might enjoy it.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours, and something flickered in their depths—curiosity, amusement, something more. “Are you inviting me?”

You tilted your head slightly, offering a small, teasing smile. “Consider it an invitation, if you’d like. It’s not often we get a Night Court visitor at our festivals.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face before he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” you said, your smile widening slightly despite yourself. “Then I’ll see you there.”

You turned to leave, your heart pounding in your chest, but before you could take more than a step, his hand shot out, catching yours. The warmth of his touch stopped you in your tracks, and you turned back to find his hazel eyes fixed on yours.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said softly, his voice low and rough.

Something about the way he said it—the way his fingers lingered against yours—made your breath catch. But before the moment could stretch too long, you gently pulled your hand free, offering him one last smile before walking away.

As you moved through the crowd, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, the heat of his touch lingering like a brand.

********

The festival was alive with light and sound, the warm glow of lanterns casting golden hues over the gathering crowd. Strings of vibrant flowers and shimmering ribbons adorned the marketplace, transforming it into a scene out of a dream. Music filled the air, a lively rhythm played by a band tucked near the heart of the square, and laughter echoed among the stalls where vendors offered food, drink, and trinkets.

You stepped into the festival wearing a dress that seemed crafted by the Summer Court itself—soft, flowing fabric in shades of coral, ivory and gold that caught the lantern light with every movement. Your honey-colored eyes shimmered as you took in the sight of the festivities, and the warm breeze toyed with the dark waves of your hair, brushing it over your shoulders.

Azriel spotted you almost instantly, standing at the edge of the crowd. His hazel eyes darkened as they swept over you, his breath catching for a moment as though he hadn’t expected you to look quite so stunning. His wings shifted slightly, and his shadows seemed to retreat, letting the golden light bathe him as he moved toward you.

“You’re here,” he said when he reached you, his voice low and smooth. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, the intensity in his eyes making your pulse quicken.

“You didn’t think I’d show?” you replied, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “But I’m glad you did.”

You held his gaze for a moment before glancing at the lively dance floor where couples swirled to the rhythm of the music. “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to ask me to dance?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he extended his hand, his scarred fingers steady as they waited for yours. “May I have this dance?”

You placed your hand in his, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. The music was lively, the tempo fast and playful, but Azriel moved with effortless grace, his hands steady as he guided you through the intricate steps. His touch was warm, firm but gentle, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his hazel eyes never left yours.

“You don’t seem like the dancing type,” you teased, your voice light as the two of you moved in perfect rhythm.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replied, his tone dry but laced with amusement.

You raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Keep dancing, and maybe you will.”

The banter continued as the music swelled, each step pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. His hand pressed against the small of your back, his other holding yours as though he had no intention of letting go. The heat of his body seeped into yours, and despite the liveliness of the dance, your focus narrowed to him—his touch, his gaze, the quiet intensity that seemed to linger in every movement.

“Is this your idea of a break?” you asked as he spun you lightly, your gown flaring with the movement. “Chasing me across courts?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, his hazel eyes glinting with something darker. “If I’m chasing you, it’s because you keep running.”

You raised a brow, your voice tinged with challenge. “Maybe I’m just hard to catch.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said simply, his tone quiet but firm. The promise in his words sent a shiver down your spine.

As the music began to slow, his hand slid further around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly pressed together. His gaze dropped to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again, the tension between you palpable.

The final notes of the song faded, but neither of you stepped away. Instead, Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “I can’t stay away from you.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, capturing them in a kiss that was deep and consuming. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you again and again, each one more desperate than the last.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless.

Your body stiffened as you pulled back slightly.

His brow furrowed as he searched your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to feign nonchalance. “Nothing. It’s just that I’ve heard that from someone else recently.”

Azriel stiffened, his hand faltering at your waist as your words sank in. His hazel eyes darkened, the sharp edge of jealousy flashing in them as he realized what you meant. “Eris,” he said, his tone cold.

You tilted your head, studying his expression. “Yes, does that bother you?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, his voice hard. “But let’s not talk about him. Not tonight.”

His fingers tightened slightly at your waist as he leaned in again, his forehead resting against yours. “Tonight, I just want to be here. With you.”

“Then just be with me,” you whispered during the final dance.

He kissed you again, his lips soft but insistent, as though he were trying to etch the memory of you into his very being.

********

Now, as you strolled along the beach, the cool sand shifting beneath your bare feet, Azriel turned to you, his hazel eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Tell me more about you,” he said quietly, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “Your life, your past… anything.”

You glanced at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “It’s not important,” you replied, your voice equally quiet. “Not tonight. Let’s just enjoy this.”

To your surprise, he didn’t press further. Instead, he nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with the gentle rhythm of the waves and the unspoken tension that had lingered between you since the moment you first met.

Eventually, you both stopped walking, settling onto the soft sand where the water lapped gently at the shore. The moonlight bathed the scene in silver, illuminating the waves and the shimmering grains of sand. You pulled your knees to your chest, gazing out at the endless expanse of water as Azriel sat beside you, his wings tucked neatly behind him.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough. His gaze lingered on you, his expression open in a way that caught you off guard.

Your cheeks warmed, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to flatter me, Azriel.”

“It’s not flattery,” he replied, leaning closer. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “It’s the truth.”

“Azriel—” you started, but he cut you off with a kiss. It wasn’t gentle or exploratory—it was claiming. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You gasped into him, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders for balance.

His kiss was consuming, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own. You leaned into him, your hands sliding up his chest as the heat between you grew.

When he finally pulled away, you were trembling. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes blazing with something primal. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Every damn second, it’s you. Your smell, your taste of your kisses, the way you feel under my hands…” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around your waist. “It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he didn’t give you the chance. In one swift motion, he had you pinned beneath him in the sand, his body caging yours. The cool grains contrasted with the warmth of his touch as his weight settled over you, his wings creating a cocoon around you both. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, and you gasped softly, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“Azriel,” you murmured, your voice trembling as his hands began to roam your body, exploring every curve. Your dress was no barrier to his touch, his fingers tracing the fabric as though memorizing the shape of you.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, though his hands were already moving, sliding up your sides, skimming over the curve of your hips. “Tell me, and I will.”

But you couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned down to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he were savoring every moment. His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you like he needed to memorize the feel of your body beneath his fingers.

He groaned softly, his breath hot against your skin. “I can’t stop,” he said, his voice rough and filled with need. “I don’t want to stop.”

You arched beneath him, your body responding to his every touch, his every kiss. “Then don’t,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to trail his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You gasped, arching into him as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “I thought I could control it—this need I have for you. But every time I touch you, it only gets worse.”

His hand found the hem of your dress, slipping beneath the fabric to trace the bare skin of your stomach. You shivered, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed over your hip bone.

“Azriel,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and burning. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Tell me you feel it too.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words. That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. His lips crashed back onto yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes. The cool night air kissed your skin as your dress was tossed aside, followed quickly by his clothes.

Azriel didn’t waste time. His hands and mouth were everywhere, mapping every curve and dip of your body as if he were starved for the feel of you. His lips trailed down your neck, across your collarbone, lower still until they found the peak of your breast. You gasped as he took you into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure shot through you.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

You could feel the evidence of his words pressing against your thigh, hard and aching. Your own desire coiled tight in your belly, every brush of his lips and hands driving you closer to the edge.

“Please,” you begged, your voice ragged.

Azriel lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation in them, no doubt.

Only hunger.

Pure, unrelenting hunger.

He shifted, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he guided himself to your entrance. The first touch of him against you sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your back arching off the sand as he pushed inside.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his head dropping forward as he sank into you. “You are so tight. You feel… incredible.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. Each thrust was deliberate, slow at first, as if he were savoring the way you stretched around him. But it didn’t take long for his pace to quicken, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that left you gasping for air.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “Always mine.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t think. All you could do was cling to him as the pleasure built, wave after wave crashing over you until you were screaming his name, certain you would drown in him.

Azriel’s breathing grew ragged, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. When it finally hit him, he let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering above you as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant crash of the waves. Then, slowly, Azriel lowered himself onto his elbows, his forehead resting against yours.

“This is going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Now that I’ve had you, it just makes me want you more.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he was kissing you again, his hands already moving, already seeking more. And you knew—there was no stopping him.

Not tonight.

********

The night air was warm, carrying the salty tang of the sea as it brushed against your skin. Azriel’s hand tightened around yours, his fingers laced with an unspoken urgency as he led you toward the water. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow over the waves that crashed relentlessly against the shore. His eyes flicked to yours, and you could see the hunger simmering there—a hunger that had only deepened since your last encounter on the sand.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and rough like the tide pulling back from the shore. “This… need. It doesn’t stop, does it? Not for me.”

"I feel it too." you responded, gazing back at him.

However, you didn't even have to answer.

He already knew.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his chest rose and fell with restrained breath. He stopped just before the waterline, his gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your body.

“I told you,” he murmured, stepping closer until his heat enveloped you. “Now that I’ve had you, it only makes it worse. I can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” His hand slid to your waist, possessive and firm, as if he were afraid you might slip away. “And how… I need more.”

Before you could respond, he bent down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, a clash of tongues and teeth that left no room for doubt. His hands moved to cradle your face, holding you still as he devoured you. You felt the pulse of his desire in every brush of his lips, every sweep of his tongue. And when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours, you could feel the tremble in his arms.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice thick with want. “Into the water.”

He didn’t wait for your reply, already tugging you forward. The first wave lapped at your feet, cool and refreshing against the heat of your skin. Your breath hitched as another wave rolled in. Azriel didn’t slow, guiding you deeper until the water reached your thighs, then your waist. His grip never loosened, as if he feared losing you to the ocean itself.

When he turned to face you again, his expression was feral, lit by moonlight and something far more primal. “Do you know what you do to me?” he demanded, his voice rough. “What you’ve been doing to me since the moment I saw you?”

His hands found your hips, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The water surged around you, cold and insistent, but it was nothing compared to the fire coursing through you. Azriel’s mouth found the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he spoke against it.

“I thought I could control it,” he murmured, his words hot and uneven. “But I can’t. Every time I touch you, it’s like… I’m unraveling. Like I forgot who I was before you.”

His lips traveled lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder. Each one sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you clung to him as the waves pushed against both of you, threatening to pull you under. But Azriel held you steady, his strength unyielding.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he growled, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Tell me this isn’t one-sided. Tell me I’m not the only one going crazy.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, swallowing your words before they could form. When he broke away, his eyes were dark, almost black with need.

“Don’t say it,” he muttered. “Just show me.”

His gaze raked over your exposed body, and the look he gave you was enough to make your knees weak—if they weren’t already locked around him.

“Perfect,” he breathed, his voice trembling with awe. “You’re fucking perfect.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your skin as if memorizing every inch. One hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing until you gasped into his mouth. He smirked against your lips, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice a heated promise. “All mine.”

The next wave came in strong, drenching you both, but Azriel didn’t seem to notice. His focus was entirely on you, on the way your body responded to his touch, the way you moaned his name into the night. He shifted, and you felt him—hard and insistent—press against you.

“Azriel—” you started, but he cut you off with a groan, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I need you. Now.”

With a single thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation drawing a gasp from your lips. His hands gripped your hips as he began to move, each motion deliberate and deep, rocking against you in time with the crashing waves. The rhythm was relentless, consuming, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter in your core with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Let go, baby. Let me feel you.”

His pace quickened, driven by the same desperate need that had brought him to you in the first place. The water splashed around you, cool and chaotic, but all you could focus on was the heat of his body, the way he drove into you like he was trying to imprint himself on your very soul.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Not his. Not Eris. But mine. All mine.”

You nodded, unable to form words as pleasure washed over you in waves that rivaled the ones breaking around you. His name tumbled from your lips, a mantra, a prayer, as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he chased his own release, his movements growing erratic.

And then it hit you—an explosive wave of ecstasy that left you shuddering in his arms. He followed moments later, his body stiffening as he spilled himself inside you with a guttural cry.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his expression torn between satisfaction and something darker, more possessive.

“Do you see now?” he murmured, his voice rough. “Do you see what you’ve done to me?”

“Yes, and you do the same to me.” You whispered as you cupped his face and captured his lips in another kiss.

********

The quiet rustle of the waves and the cool breeze brushing against your skin grounded you as you and Azriel retrieved your clothes from the beach. Pulling your gown back over your head and brushing sand from it, you turned to him, your honey-colored eyes catching the faint gleam of the moonlight. He pulled his shirt over his head, and then his pants, his wings shifting behind him as his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, searching, unguarded. For the first time, you hesitated—not because of the mission, but because of what you felt stirring inside you.

“Come with me,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Stay with me tonight.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but there was no hesitation in his voice. “Where?”

“There’s a beach house,” you explained, standing and brushing the remaining sand from your gown. “It’s secluded. Tarquin lets me use it when I need time to myself.” You glanced at him, your voice quieter now. “It’s special to me.”

Azriel stood, towering over you as he stepped closer. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your breath catching as his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yes.”

The winnowing to the beach house was quick, the air shifting as you reappeared on the wooden deck of the small but elegant home. It stood nestled among the dunes, its pale stone walls and arched windows glowing softly in the moonlight. The sound of the waves was louder here, the salty air filling your lungs as you led Azriel inside.

The interior was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and plush furnishings. The large windows overlooked the sea, the moonlight painting the space in silvery hues. You turned to face Azriel, who was silently taking it all in, his hazel eyes lingering on the intimate details of the home. It felt strange—vulnerable—to share this place with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

“It’s beautiful,” he said finally, his voice low.

You smiled faintly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I come here to think. To get away.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

You didn’t reply, instead stepping closer and reaching for him. His hands were on you instantly, his touch warm and grounding as he pulled you closer. Your lips met in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, the intensity of the moment pulling you under.

As you guided him to the bedroom, the ache in your chest grew. This had grown to be more that using his feelings to manipulate him. You had decided the moment you saw him in the marketplace that you couldn’t bring yourself to do that.

The connection you felt to him now was undeniable.

It wasn’t just about the mission anymore—it was about him.

And that scared you.

In the privacy of the bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the windows, Azriel kissed you again, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that made your knees weak. He shed his leathers with practiced ease, his wings flaring slightly as he stepped toward you, his hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough as he helped you out of your gown, the fabric pooling at your feet. His hands explored your bare skin, his touch igniting a fire under your skin as he pressed his lips to your neck, your shoulder, every inch of you he could reach.

You fell onto the bed together, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin as his body covered yours. His kisses were slower this time, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His hands traced the curves of your body, his touch firm but gentle, and the way he whispered your name sent shivers down your spine.

The hours blurred together as you made love, the passion between you building and ebbing like the tides outside. He was attentive, his every movement laced with a tenderness that left you breathless. And when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the sheets, the weight of what you’d shared settled over you.

But it wasn’t over.

The night stretched into early morning, the two of you unable to stay apart for long. Azriel kissed you again, his hands trailing over your body as though committing it to memory. He touched you like you were precious, his lips finding every sensitive spot, his voice low and reverent as he whispered words you couldn’t bear to unpack.

As dawn began to break, the soft light of the rising sun painting the room in gold and pink, you lay in his arms, his wings draped protectively over you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You realized that you couldn’t deny what you felt for him. Your feelings had become something that you could no longer control.

As the first rays of sunlight illuminated the room, Azriel pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice a quiet murmur in the stillness. “You’re dangerous,” he said softly, though there was no accusation in his tone.

You didn’t reply, couldn’t, as you closed your eyes and let yourself savor the moment.

********

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays kissing the endless stretch of turquoise waters as Azriel’s fingers intertwined with yours. The Summer Court’s beach house stood behind you, its sliding glass walls wide open to let the salty breeze sweep through. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and blooming jasmine, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore played a soothing rhythm in the background.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Azriel asked, his voice low and teasing, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. His wings, usually a shadowy presence, were relaxed, the sunlight catching on the faint iridescence of their edges.

“Ready for what?” you replied, feigning innocence, though your heart already raced at the way his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand.

He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “For me to win.”

Before you could protest, he tugged you forward, and you stumbled into the water with a gasp. The cool waves lapped at your ankles, then your knees, as he pulled you deeper. You laughed, the sound light and carefree, and splashed him with a wave of water. “You’re going to regret that!”

He dodged the spray with a grin, his wings flaring slightly as he moved with that effortless grace of his. “Oh, I doubt that.”

The game was on. Water flew between you, laughter echoing across the empty beach as you chased each other through the waves. His hands were quick, catching you around the waist and lifting you effortlessly, only to drop you back into the water with a splash. You retaliated by jumping on him, your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist as he staggered playfully, pretending to lose his balance.

“You’re relentless,” he groaned, but his voice was laced with amusement as he turned to face you, water dripping from his dark hair.

“And you’re a terrible sport,” you shot back, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

His eyes softened, the playful glint giving way to something deeper, more intimate. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Carefree. Happy.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The sound of the waves faded, the warmth of the sun dimmed, and all you could see was him. “Azriel,” you started, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, but it quickly deepened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the water swirled around your legs. His kiss was intoxicating, a mix of passion and tenderness that left you breathless. When he finally pulled away, you were gasping, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggested, his voice rough with desire. You nodded, unable to form words as he took your hand and led you out of the water.

The sand was warm beneath your feet as you walked along the shore, the waves occasionally lapping at your toes. His hand never left yours, his presence a steady anchor as you moved. The beach was empty, the world feeling as though it belonged only to the two of you.

“This place,” he said after a while, “it suits you. The warmth, the light… it’s like you.”

You glanced up at him, surprised. “You think so?”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “You bring that kind of light wherever you go. It’s one of the things I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if he’d said too much.

You squeezed his hand, a silent encouragement for him to continue, but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you. His wings stretched slightly, shielding you from the sun, and his eyes searched yours as if looking for something. “I’m glad we came here,” he said finally.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "Stay the week with me."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?"

You nodded, getting lost in his beautiful hazel eyes.

"You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

The intensity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you closed your eyes, savoring the closeness. His lips found yours again, this time with a hunger that left you weak. His hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with every passing second.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark, filled with a desire that mirrored your own. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, your heart racing as he led you back to the beach house. The sliding glass walls were still open, the sound of the waves now a steady rhythm in the background.

He turned to face you, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue teasing yours as his hands explored every inch of your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you grew.

He broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

“Then take me,” you replied, your voice trembling with desire.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands explored every curve. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as the sensation overwhelmed you.

He stepped back, his eyes raking over your body as he slowly removed his own shirt. The moonlight highlighted the planes of his chest, the shadows emphasizing every muscle. You reached out, your fingers tracing the faint scars that marked his skin, and he shivered under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “No, that’s you.”

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you arched into him, your body already thrumming with anticipation. The sound of the waves crashing outside seemed to echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. Azriel’s hands skimmed over your hips, his touch both tender and possessive, as he settled between your thighs.

You could feel his breath against your inner thigh, warm and teasing, and a shiver of anticipation ran through you. His eyes met yours, dark and intense, and there was a hunger in them that made your breath catch. “I want to taste you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you let out a soft gasp. He took his time, kissing and nipping his way closer, each touch of his lips sending sparks of pleasure through you. When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath hot against your core, and you could feel the warmth of it through your wetness.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe, and then he leaned in, his tongue sliding through your folds in one long, slow stroke.

The sensation was electric, and you cried out, your hands tangling in the sheets as pleasure shot through you. Then he did it again, his tongue moving in deliberate, languid strokes that had your hips lifting off the bed.

“Fuuuuuuck, baby. Your pussy tastes so good.” He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core

“Azriel,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need, and he responded by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently.

Your back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the pleasure intensified. He didn’t let up, his tongue flicking over your sensitive bud with practiced precision, and you could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

He reached up, his fingers sliding inside you, and you gasped as he curled them, hitting that sweet spot that made your vision blur. “Oh gods,” you whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more of that incredible sensation.

Azriel’s teeth grazed your clit gently, and you came undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out your orgasm, until you were trembling and gasping, your body utterly spent.

“So delicious,” he murmured, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You taste fucking incredible.”

You could only manage a weak moan in response, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your climax. Azriel’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, and then he was moving up your body, his hands sliding under you to pull you close.

His lips found yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought sending a fresh surge of arousal through you. His erection pressed against your thigh, hard and insistent, and you reached down to wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly.

He groaned into your mouth, his hips thrusting into your hand, and you could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding back. “I’ve got to have you,” he growled, his voice rough with need, and you nodded, your own desire flaring anew.

He positioned himself at your entrance, and then he was sliding inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him, and he paused, giving you a moment to adjust. Then he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through you.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex beneath his skin, and you pulled him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, and you could feel the connection between you, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.

The rhythm of his thrusts increased, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that spot that made you see stars. “Gods, your pussy is so tight,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel the tension building inside you again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you were on the edge once more. “Azriel,” you moaned, your voice desperate, and he reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, rapid circles.

The combination of his thrusts and the pressure on your clit was too much, and you came with a cry, your body convulsing around him. He followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense.

For a moment, you both lay there, your bodies still joined, as you tried to catch your breath. Azriel kissed you gently, his lips soft against yours, and then he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and you could feel the warmth of him beneath you, both comforting and arousing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “The taste of your pussy, the smell of your skin, the way you feel wrapped around my cock, the way you kiss me… it’s addictive.”

You smiled, a sense of contentment washing over you, but even as your body relaxed, you could feel the heat building again, the desire that seemed to be never-ending when it came to Azriel. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened with hunger, and then he was flipping you over, pinning you beneath him. “I don’t plan to,” he growled, his lips crashing down on yours as his hands began to roam your body once more.

********

The morning had been quiet, lazy. You’d spent hours in the water, splashing and teasing each other like children. Azriel, usually so reserved, had let his guard down entirely. His wings, usually a weapon, were now a tool for mischief, fanning water at you with a single flap.

“You’re not going to get me this time,” you teased, your voice light and playful as you scooped a handful of water and splashed it at him.

He dodged with a speed that was almost unfair, his wings flaring slightly as he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

You smirked, stepping closer, the water cool against your skin. “Oh, I will.”

In a flash, you lunged at him, tackling him into the waves. His laughter bubbled up as the two of you tumbled into the water, arms and legs tangling. When you surfaced, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, water dripping from his hair, his lips curving into a slow, tantalizing smile.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth as velvet.

Your breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing a moan from your throat. The water lapped around you as his hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his eyes darkened with desire. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

You grinned, trailing your fingers down his chest. “I’m counting on it.”

By midday, you’d collapsed onto the sand, breathless and grinning.

“Thank you,” you said softly, glancing up at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For this. For… letting me see this side of you.”

His expression softened, and he stopped, turning to face you. His wings unfurled slightly, casting a shadow over you both, and his golden eyes searched yours. “You make it easy,” he murmured, his voice rough.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter and stolen kisses. The two of you chased each other through the waves, his wings sending sprays of water soaring into the air whenever he beat them. You lounged on the warm sand, your fingers intertwined as you watched the sun begin its slow descent toward the horizon.

As the sky turned shades of orange and pink, Azriel stood, pulling you to your feet. “Come on,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Let’s take a walk.”

The beach stretched out before you, endless and serene. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a soothing rhythm as the two of you walked hand in hand, the cool sand shifting beneath your feet. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the faint tang of sea grass, and the occasional cry of a gull echoed in the distance.

Azriel’s thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, his touch sending little sparks of warmth through you. “It’s beautiful here,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

You glanced up at him, taking in the way the fading light caught on the angles of his face, the way his shadows seemed to melt into the dusk. “It really is.”

He stopped, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “But it’s not the place that makes it beautiful,” he said, his voice soft but intense. “It’s you.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his free hand cupping your cheek. His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his tongue teasing yours, his breath mingling with yours. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around you fading away.

When the moon hung high in the sky, casting its silvery light over the waves, Azriel led you back to the beach house. The large sliding walls were open, the cool night breeze carrying the scent of the ocean into the room. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting shimmering patterns on the walls.

Azriel turned to you, his eyes dark with desire as he pulled you into his arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing a moan from your throat.

He trailed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

When he finally pulled your shirt over your head, his breath hitched as his eyes roamed over your body. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down gently. His lips found yours again, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you. When he finally pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, his breath ragged.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with urgency.

“Then take me,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips crashed into yours as his hands slid down your body, his fingers teasing you, driving you to the edge. When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his eyes locked onto yours, his breath mingling with yours.

The waves crashed against the shore as the two of you moved together, the moonlight casting its silvery light over your entwined bodies. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.As the two of you reached the edge, your bodies trembled with the force of your release.

The two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

But in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still high in the sky, Azriel woke you with a kiss, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his voice low and intense.

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your body, his touch igniting a fire in your veins. “Then show me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Azriel’s lips crushed against yours, his hunger evident in the way his tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you as if he hadn’t just spent hours worshiping your body. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your core tighten in anticipation. He pulled you upright, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he stood effortlessly, his wings flaring slightly to balance the weight.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. “Mine.” He punctuated the word with a sharp nip at your bottom lip, and you gasped, your fingers tangling in the inky strands of his hair.

He picked you up from the bed and carried you to the nearest wall, your back pressing against the cool surface as his body pinned you there. His wings spread wide, then closed around you both, cocooning you in a dark, intimate embrace. The sensation was overwhelming—his heat, his scent, the way his wings blocked out everything but him. It was as if the world had dissolved, leaving only the two of you.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with want. His name was a plea, a prayer, and he answered it with a predatory smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly against him, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, teasing you.

“I want you,” you whispered, your hips shifting against his, seeking friction. “I want all of you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just watched you, his gaze burning with an intensity that made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached between you, his fingers brushing over your slick folds, and you moaned, your head falling back against the wall.

“Damn baby, is all of this for me?,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Always so ready, so perfect.” His fingers slid inside you, curling in just the way that made your thighs tremble, and you whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand.

“Azriel,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

He chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. “So impatient,” he teased, though his own breathing was ragged, betraying his own need. He withdrew his fingers, and you whined at the loss, but then he was gripping your hips again, lifting you slightly before positioning himself at your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your eyes meeting his as he pushed into you slowly, so slowly, stretching you in the most delicious way. You moaned, your head falling forward to rest against his chest as he filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming.

“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, and you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze once more. His expression was fierce, possessive, and it sent a thrill through you. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his hips rolling against yours, and you gasped as he started to move, his pace slow and deliberate.

His wings tightened around you, his body pressing you harder against the wall as he thrust into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips found yours again, his kiss searing, and you clung to him, your body responding to every touch, every movement.

“Gods baby, I’m becoming addicted to you,” he groaned against your lips, his voice strained as if he were holding back. His hands moved to grip your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle, and you cried out as he hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“Azriel!” you gasped, your nails raking down his back, and he growled, his pace quickening. His wings shuddered around you, their movements mirroring the rhythm of his hips, and the sensation of being completely enveloped by him was almost too much to bear.

“Come for me, beautiful” he commanded, his voice dark and commanding, and your body obeyed, pleasure crashing over you in waves as he continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more erratic. You clung to him, your mind spinning as you rode out the intensity of your release, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

He followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, his wings tightening around you as if he couldn’t get close enough. For a moment, the only sound was your labored breathing, the world outside the cocoon of his wings forgotten.

“Mine,” he whispered again, his voice soft now, almost vulnerable, and you nuzzled into his neck, your heart swelling with love for him.

Oh shit –

It hit you like a tsunami.

You were in love with him.

And you were not sure how to reconcile your feelings for him vs the mission you must complete.

********

Later that night, after your bodies lay tangled in the sheets and the moonlight streamed through the open window, Azriel began to speak, his voice low and rough.

“You must think me a monster,” he said, staring up at the ceiling, his scarred hands resting loosely on your back as you lay across his chest.

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “Why would I think that?”

He hesitated, his hazel eyes distant as though he were looking at something far beyond the room. “Because I’ve done monstrous things. I’ve killed more people than I can count, spilled blood for the sake of the Night Court, for Rhysand, for my family. Sometimes… I wonder if there’s anything left of me that’s not stained by it.”

Your chest tightened as you saw the raw emotion in his gaze, the weight of his confession settling between you. “You’ve done what you had to,” you said softly, your fingers tracing the scars on his hands. “To protect the people you love. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

He gave a bitter laugh, his gaze dropping to your face. “You say that because you haven’t seen the worst of me.”

“Maybe not,” you said, holding his gaze. “But I know you’re not the monster you think you are. You care, Azriel. You feel. That’s not something a monster would do.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes searching yours as though trying to find the lie in your words. When he didn’t, he exhaled softly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You make me feel… different. Like I’m more than just what I’ve done.”

Your breath hitched at the quiet honesty in his voice, and you raised up to kiss him, your lips soft against his. It was a kiss that spoke of more than passion—it was comfort, reassurance, a silent promise that you wouldn’t run from the darkness he carried.

“I know what it’s like,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on the his. “To feel like you’ve been shaped by things you had no control over. My childhood… it wasn’t what most people would call normal.”

Azriel looked at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with quiet curiosity. You hesitated for a moment, weighing your words carefully. The truth was dangerous, but you could offer him pieces of yourself without compromising the mission.

“I grew up in the shadows,” you admitted, your voice steady despite the vulnerability laced within it. “Not literally, but… my family, they weren’t what you’d call traditional. We lived in secrecy, moving from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to form attachments.”

“Why?” Azriel asked softly, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, then offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Let’s just say my family had their enemies. And they taught me early on how to survive—how to adapt, to blend in, to become whatever I needed to be in order to stay safe.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that, his quiet questions drawing out more fragments of your past. You told him about the places you’d seen, the people you’d met, the ways you’d learned to navigate a world that was often unkind. But you kept the most crucial details to yourself—your true origins, your family’s history, and the mission that had brought you to this moment.

Even so, each piece you shared felt like a small surrender, a step closer to a vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. And as Azriel listened, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name—respect, perhaps, or understanding—you found yourself wanting to give him more.

In return, he shared more of himself, peeling back the layers of his stoic facade to reveal the male beneath. He spoke of his brothers, of Rhysand and Cassian, of the bond that had saved him when he thought he couldn’t be saved. He spoke of his shadows, the constant companions that had been both a curse and a gift, and of the scars that marked his hands, a reminder of the darkness he had endured.

And despite your best efforts to stay detached, to keep your feelings at bay, Azriel was becoming more than just a complication.

He was becoming a part of you, a presence you didn’t want to lose.

But the mission couldn’t be ignored.

********

At the end of the week, as the sun set over the horizon and painted the beach in hues of orange and pink, Azriel stood on the deck, his wings silhouetted against the fading light. You approached him quietly, your heart heavy as you tried to find the words to say goodbye.

“I have to return to the Night Court,” he said, turning to face you. His hazel eyes were soft, his expression unreadable. “There’s… a lot that needs my attention.”

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “I figured. You’re not the kind of male who can stay away from his responsibilities for long.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I have to.”

“I understand,” you said, your voice softer now. “It’s who you are.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and lingering, as though trying to memorize the feel of you. “I’ll come back,” he murmured against your lips. “As soon as I can.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at the promise in his voice. “I’ll be here,” you lied, knowing full well you wouldn’t be as did he.

As Azriel disappeared into the night, his shadows curling around him one last time, you turned back toward the house, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable. The next morning, you would leave for the Autumn Court, for Eris, for the mission you couldn’t abandon.

And as much as you hated it, you would have to bury your feelings for Azriel, lock them away, and become the person the mission demanded you to be.

Even if it meant tearing yourself apart in the process.

Chapter 7

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel smut #azriel fluff

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firefly464 · 1 day ago

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Scott | Pearl | Martyn | Cleo | Scar (You are here!)

Scar fic is out!!!! oh im so so proud of this one I hope you guys like it!!

Word Count: 2,123

Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Charles | Grian & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Pearl | PearlescentMoon & Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar

Characters: Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar, Charles | Grian, Pearl | PearlescentMoon, The Universe (Minecraft)

Additional Tags: Character Study, POV Second Person, Memory Alteration, Only Winners Remember the 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series-Typical Character Death, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar-centric, Isolation, Disassociation, its the end of secret life he does NOT have a good time, Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar Needs a Hug, Scar and his relationship with The Universe

Series: Part 5 of Life after Life (again and again and again)

Summary:

You think The Universe might hate you. That’s the first conclusion you come to after you wake up. It’s also the only explanation you can really think of for why you’re in this situation.

Not only are you the first yellow, but now you’re the first red! And not only are you the first red, but all the color of your skin seems to have drained away.

And on top of all that, there’s sand in your blankets!!

~~~

Or, an exploration of Scar's relationship with The Universe and how it evolves over time

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/159769846

Or read it under the cut :D

~~~

You think The Universe might hate you. That’s the first conclusion you come to after you wake up. It’s also the only explanation you can really think of for why you’re in this situation.

Not only are you the first yellow, but now you’re the first red! And not only are you the first red, but all the color of your skin seems to have drained away.

And on top of all that, there’s sand in your blankets!!

Well. That one isn’t a new development, but it’s certainly not pleasant.

The second conclusion that you reach is that you don’t really care. Yeah you might be red, but you’re still alive! So you’re not out of the running quite yet.

Besides, you’re not alone in this.

Hopefully.

You still don’t actually know if Grian is still with you now that you’re red. Last you had seen, he was watching you fall to your death, desperately reach out to try and catch you.

You should probably go check on him actually. He’s probably worried.

You think The Universe might hate you. That’s the first conclusion you come to after you wake up. It’s also the only explanation you can really think of for why you’re in this situation.

Not only are you the first yellow, but now you’re the first red! And not only are you the first red, but all the color of your skin seems to have drained away.

And on top of all that, there’s sand in your blankets!!

Well. That one isn’t a new development, but it’s certainly not pleasant.

The second conclusion that you reach is that you don’t really care. Yeah you might be red, but you’re still alive! So you’re not out of the running quite yet.

Besides, you’re not alone in this.

Hopefully.

You still don’t actually know if Grian is still with you now that you’re red. Last you had seen, he was watching you fall to your death, desperately reach out to try and catch you.

You should probably go check on him actually. He’s probably worried.

~~~

You manage to get to the end. You’re not sure how it happened.

No, that’s a lie. You know exactly how it happened.

It’s because Grian helped you.

You would have died a long time ago without him. The Universe would have ripped you up and tossed you away.

Perhaps that would have been kinder. Maybe not to you, but to him.

He wouldn’t be here, cradling your dying form.

You want to reach out, to tell him that it’ll be ok. Your arms won’t respond.

Just another way that The Universe has screwed you over.

~~~~~

Not to toot your own horn, but you think you might be The Universe’s favorite.

When you had woken up, there had been six hearts on your arm. One heart per life.

Meaning you started out with six lives. Six!

And ok sure maybe Grian had managed to trick you into giving him one, but that still left you with five! Which was still way more than most other people!!

And if that wasn’t good enough, you’ve managed to find yourself a promising new business venture! Since there’s only one enchanter that you know of, you have no doubt that people will be willing to pay a decent amount to be able to use the thing.

It’s not your fault that it had been left completely unattended. It’s not your fault that no one else saw the incredible opportunity right in front of them!

Well. No one except Joel. But that’s why he’s your new business partner. No reason in having competition when you can have help instead!

Magical mountain. That’s what you call it.

~~~

And then Joel dies. And he dies again.

And again.

And again .

And suddenly he’s red and you’re being forced to tear down the bridge that leads to his little cave in the mountain and he’s screaming that everyone better watch out before he kills them all.

You come out of the whole ordeal with no allies and no enchanter.

Honestly? It could be worse.

It strikes you just how easily you could have ended up in his place. Both started out with five lives. Both felt the weight of the curse upon your shoulders.

The only real difference is that you got lucky. He didn’t.

Well. No one ever said being The Universe’s favorite was easy.

~~~

As it turns out, it doesn’t really matter how kind The Universe decides to be. No matter how good of a hand you’re dealt, people will still find a way to take advantage of you.

It almost makes you want to laugh.

~~~~~

You think that Grian might hate you. You don’t know why.

And before anyone says anything, yes you know how stupid that sounds. This is Grian that you’re talking about! One of your best friends!

So why won’t he look at you?

On a certain level, you get it. You’re not exactly the best at surviving. You’re reckless and you don’t exactly think about your own well-being and you’re no stranger to dying repeatedly. You’re sure that it would be far easier for him if he was tied to literally anyone else.

But that doesn’t mean you’re useless. And it certainly doesn’t mean that he gets to look at you like your fate is already sealed.

Fine. That’s fine.

You suppose you’ll simply have to prove it to him.

There’s only a moment of hesitation before you launch yourself off the tower. You can hear him yelling your name as you fall.

Something tells you that if looked up, you would be able to see him reaching down, desperately trying to catch you.

You don’t bother to check.

~~~~~

The Universe is kind to you in this world.

But not only that, the people are kind as well. For some reason, you can’t help but feel that it’s not something that happens very often.

When you die, it isn’t alone.

Something tells you that might be rare too.

~~~~~

Well! That’s it! The Universe hates you! Or the Secret Keeper or god or whoever might be out there listening!

Point is, you’re not having a very good day.

Someone thought that it would be funny to ruin whatever good relations you might have with these stupid tasks.

You had tried your best to be welcoming and kind. You had filled your home with flowers and light, thinking that maybe, maybe it would be enough to keep people around.

But no . Of course it wasn’t. It never is.

Because some jerk thought it would be funny to watch you make everyone hate you.

Fine.

Fine!

The Universe wants a show? The world wants to be entertained?!

You can do that. You can fill that role with ease .

~~~

You make it to the end. You’re not sure how.

It’s certainly not because of your allies. You didn’t have any of those until Pearl had grabbed your hand and told you that she was with you until the end.

You still don’t know why she did that. She could have easily taken Gem’s side in the final fight. You’re not blind. You had seen the way that the two of them had looked at each other.

You had seen the way Pearl had hesitated as Gem had begged her to reconsider.

By all means, you shouldn't have made it out of there alive. She should have slit your throat and left you for dead.

You don’t think you would have blamed her.

But she didn’t! And now she’s dead regardless! And you’re the last one standing!

Huh. You always thought that winning would feel… better? Maybe?

Less bad, at the very least.

You’re so tired. You’re so so tired.

The dirt feels cold beneath your palms. You don’t know when you collapsed.

Stand up. You have to stand up. You have to go hit the button. You’ll be free once you hit the button.

Get up. You have a game to win.

~~~

You hit the button. Your wounds close up. You collect your prize.

And.

You.

Remember .

~~~

Your memories of home had grown fuzzy while you were here. Slowly, they had slipped between your fingers like sand.

The broad strokes were always there. Even at the end, you had known that you had come from a world filled with laughter and creativity. You had known that there were more people there than there were here.

But the specifics were gone. You couldn’t remember the name of your cat, or what items you had sold, or what the world was even called .

You remember it all now.

You remember a sprawling theme park and a fracture in the world and pandas and a hut atop a mountain and the desert oh god you remember the desert.

The red and purple flowers on your poncho suddenly make so much more sense.

You brace your arm against the stone pillar to keep yourself from falling. There’s so much.

There’s so much.

But…

You’re still here.

You’re no closer to getting home than you were before Pearl died. The only difference now is that you remember everything you’ve lost.

You don’t know if this is better or worse.

You hit the button again. There’s another rush of energy. Items pour up from the ground.

You’re still here.

You hit it again.

Nothing.

Again .

Nothing.

You scream.

The statue doesn’t reply.

~~~

You don’t know how long you stay by the button. Maybe hours. Maybe days.

You don’t know.

Mobs don’t come near the Secret Keeper statue. Or maybe they do, and you’ve just stopped noticing.

Drip .

A drop of water hits your nose. You blink.

Another hits your hand.

Oh. It’s raining.

You should go inside.

~~~

You return to the secret keeper frequently during the first few days. Every minor injury brings you back. The idea of dying terrifies you. You don’t know the rules of this world now that the game is over.

For all you know, death could be permanent and no one would ever know what had happened to you.

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

~~~

You find yourself holding your breath each time you hit succeed.

As if doing that will make it easier for you to return home.

It’s a stupid idea.

~~~

You build a cemetery for your friends.

16 graves, all dug by hand. 16 coffins, each carved with painstaking detail.

16 bodies, laid to rest in the dirt.

You try to make it beautiful. You want your friends to rest in a place that would make them smile.

You wonder what they would think.

~~~

Time passes. Your visits to the secret keeper become less frequent. You injure yourself less often, so you tend to let them build up before you push the button again.

There’s still no sign of returning home.

The sunflowers are starting to wilt. You should probably harvest them soon.

~~~

The weather begins to turn cold. You’ll have to move to someone else’s base. You haven’t been able to repair Trader Scars yet.

Pearl's base will work just fine.

~~~

It’s snowing. You hope you have enough firewood.

~~~

If there’s one thing that’s worse than being hated by The Universe, it’s being forgotten. You wonder what you did to deserve this.

~~~

Neither of the other two buttons work anymore. You don’t know what you expected.

~~~

You find an old sewing kit tucked away in one of Cleo’s chests. There’s some embroidery hoops and thread in it.

You had found one of Pearl’s jackets the other day. A dark blue one, not the bright red that she wore near the end.

Something tells you she won’t mind you using it.

~~~

You wonder how your friends are doing. You wonder if they miss you.

~~~

Flowers begin to grow in the explosion craters left behind. Poppies. Because of course it's poppies.

They bloom for weeks. It looks like the ground is bleeding.

You try not to go outside too often during that time.

~~~

You hope Jellie is ok.

~~~

Pearl’s hoodie is covered in intricate swirls and stars. You wonder if she’ll ever get to see it.

You hope so.

~~~

Why haven’t they tried to find you? It’s been months now. Surely by now they would have realized something is wrong and come looking. And even if they don’t remember the games, Xisuma should have been able to track your player data.

But no. You’re still alone.

~~~

The sunflowers need to be planted. Maybe you’ll try to plant some other flowers as well. That sounds nice.

~~~

Your hair is getting long. You need to cut it.

…

You drop the blade before it can get anywhere near your neck.

That’s fine. Grian taught you how to braid, back in the desert. You can work with that.

~~~

You wonder if they’ve forgotten you too.

~~~

You begin work on rebuilding Trader Scars. It’s not the same as it once was, but that’s ok. You don’t think you’d want it to be the same.

~~~

You don’t know how long you’re alone. A year maybe? If the growing cycle of the sunflowers is anything to go off of.

In the end, it’s a careless mistake that leads to your death. You haven’t hit the button for a bit now. You figured it was fine. Time here has made you more careful, more aware of your surroundings.

Not too much more aware, it seems. You don’t even hear the creeper coming up behind you.

You’re standing at the entrance of the cemetery when it happens, looking at the graves of your dead friends. You miss them. You miss them so much.

One moment, you’re paying your respects to them. The next, an explosion.

The world goes white. You’re overwhelmed by pain.

You don’t even get the chance to scream.

#yes the title is from isat #yes you can very very clearly see my inner isat fan in this one #yes it was so much fun to write teehee #yes it will in fact get worse for grians fic and im very very excited <33333 #Fire Writes :D #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #gtws #gtwscar #grian #life series #trafficblr #3rd life #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life

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lightdancingwords · 1 day ago

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Second Chances - Part Nine of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 5391 Tags/Warnings: 18+ smut, fluff (so much fluff), a touch of angst A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Nine: Gratitude

The hum of the kitchen was warm and familiar, but Beau’s thoughts drifted to the past. Gratitude had a way of sinking in when you’d had your share of loss, mistakes, and missed opportunities. And Beau had plenty of those.

It wasn’t long ago that his life had felt hollow, even if he’d never admitted it out loud. After his divorce from Carla, he’d moved to Montana to stay close to Emily. His daughter had been his anchor, the one thing that kept him grounded after the shooting of his former partner in Texas—a moment that had fractured his world and, eventually, his marriage. He couldn’t blame Carla for leaving. He’d shut her out, drowning in guilt and refusing to lean on her. By the time he realized what he’d done, it was too late.

Montana had offered a fresh start, but it had also been lonely. Nights in his trailer, surrounded by the endless quiet of Big Sky Country, had given him too much time to think. He’d buried himself in work, playing sheriff with a smile that masked the cracks underneath. For a while, it worked. Until it didn’t.

Then Y/N happened.

He hadn’t been looking for anything—just a quick trip to the grocery store. But the moment he saw her, laughing softly as she tried to wrangle her spirited daughter, something shifted. It wasn’t just her beauty that caught his attention; it was the way she handled Eliza, her patience and humor shining even as the toddler threw cans of Chef Boyardee like grenades.

It had been an ordinary moment, but Beau had felt something extraordinary. A spark he hadn’t felt in years. And when she’d turned those eyes on him, wide with a mix of surprise and intrigue, he’d known he couldn’t just walk away.

The months that followed had been a whirlwind. Their first date—a disastrous combination of a flat tire, scraped knuckles, and terrible food—should’ve been a dealbreaker. Instead, it became a memory he cherished, a reminder that even imperfect moments could lead to something beautiful. He’d watched Y/N’s walls come down slowly, her trust growing with each shared laugh, each tender moment. And Eliza? That little wolf-child had stolen his heart in ways he hadn’t expected.

But life had thrown its punches, too. The domestic call that ended with a gunshot had been a harsh reminder of how fragile everything was. He’d come so close to losing it all—the life he’d only just begun to build with Y/N. Waking up in the hospital to see her face, tear-streaked but steadfast, had been a revelation. He’d fought to stay awake, just to tell her he loved her, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them.

Then there was the pregnancy.

The memory of that moment still made his chest tighten. Y/N, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, her hands trembling as she told him. “I’m pregnant, Beau.” The fear in her eyes had mirrored his own—fear of the unknown, of whether they were ready for this. But his heart had leapt at the news, the joy washing away any doubts. He hadn’t thought he’d get another chance at being a father. Yet here it was, wrapped in the woman he loved.

And now, with the smell of dinner still lingering in the air, Beau felt the weight of it all—the heartbreak, the healing, the hope—settle into a quiet, steady joy. His journey hadn’t been easy, but it had brought him here, to this moment, to this life.

Beau leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed loosely as he watched Y/N at the sink. She was humming softly under her breath, a tune he couldn’t place but instantly loved. The warm light of the kitchen cast a golden glow over her, catching in her hair as she rinsed a plate and placed it in the drying rack. Eliza babbled happily from her playpen in the corner, the little wolf-child giggling at something only she understood.

Beau’s chest tightened as he took it all in. This moment, this ordinary scene, was everything he hadn’t dared to hope for. A home filled with laughter and warmth, with Y/N at its center. She didn’t even realize how much she’d given him—a second chance at love, at family, at finding meaning again.

He pushed off the doorway, walking toward her with quiet steps. When he reached her, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. Y/N let out a soft laugh, startled but pleased, and leaned into him instinctively.

“Beau,” she murmured, her hands still submerged in soapy water. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” he said simply, his voice low and warm. “You got a problem with that, darlin’?”

Her smile widened, though she didn’t turn around. “Not at all. But you’re distracting me.”

“Good,” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair, the scent of her filling his senses. “You deserve a little distraction.”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her shoulders relaxing against him. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Just been thinkin’ how lucky I am.”

Her hands stilled in the water, and she tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing his jaw. “What brought that on?”

He didn’t answer right away, his arms tightening around her as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You. Eliza. This life we’re buildin’,” he said softly. “It’s more than I ever thought I’d have. More than I deserve.”

Y/N turned then, water dripping from her hands as she faced him. Her eyes searched his, her expression tender. “Beau, don’t say that. You deserve every bit of this. Every bit of us.”

He smiled, his green eyes filled with emotion. “You say that like you’re sure.”

“I am,” she said, her voice steady. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, Beau. To us.”

The sincerity in her voice broke something open in him, and before he could stop himself, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you. More than I’ve got words for.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Beau didn’t waste another moment. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His hands slid from her face to her waist, pulling her closer as he poured everything he felt into that kiss. Gratitude, love, longing—it was all there, tangible and unspoken.

Y/N responded in kind, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned into him. The dishes were forgotten, the hum of the kitchen fading as the world narrowed to just the two of them. Her body pressed against his, her warmth igniting something in him that had been simmering since the day they met.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Y/N let out a shaky laugh, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re something else, Beau Arlen.”

He grinned, his thumb brushing her cheek. “And you, darlin’, are my everythin’.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned up, her lips brushing his again, softer this time but no less intense. Beau groaned softly, his hands tightening on her waist as he deepened the kiss, letting the passion build between them.

“Beau,” she whispered against his lips, her voice a mix of laughter and longing. “Eliza’s right there.”

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “She’s busy countin’ her toes, darlin’. I think we’ve got a minute.”

Y/N laughed, swatting at his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But ya love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “More than I thought I could.”

Beau pressed a kiss to her palm, his green eyes holding hers. “And I’m never lettin’ you forget it.”

The house was quiet, the soft creak of the floorboards under their feet the only sound as Beau and Y/N moved through their bedtime routine. The warmth of the day lingered in the air, softened by the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Eliza had been tucked in hours ago, her little wolf-child snores drifting through the baby monitor on Y/N’s nightstand.

Beau climbed into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He stretched out on his side, propping himself up on one elbow as Y/N turned off the light and slipped under the covers beside him. Her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders, and her face carried the peacefulness of someone finally at rest after a long day. She nestled into his side, her head finding its place on his chest, where his heartbeat thudded slow and steady.

Beau wrapped an arm around her, his large hand gently trailing up and down her back. “How’s my darlin’ doin’?” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Y/N smiled against his chest, her fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “I’m fine, Beau. Tired, but fine.”

He kissed the top of her head, the faint scent of her shampoo filling his senses. “And the little one?” he asked, his hand sliding down to rest lightly on her stomach. “How’d the doctor’s appointment go?”

Y/N shifted slightly so she could look up at him, her eyes soft and warm in the dim light. “Everything’s perfect,” she said, her voice filled with quiet joy. “I’m about 12 weeks now. The baby’s growing right on track. We even heard the heartbeat again.”

Beau’s face lit up, his green eyes shining. “That’s my boy—or girl,” he said with a grin. “Strong little heart in there.”

Y/N laughed softly, covering his hand with hers where it rested on her stomach. “You always light up when I tell you about the baby,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder.

“‘Cause it’s a miracle, darlin’,” he said simply, his thumb brushing against her skin. “You, this baby, Eliza… it’s all more than I ever thought I’d have. You’ve given me a second chance at everythin’.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her free hand moving to trace the faint outline of the scar on his stomach. The wound that had nearly taken him from her. Her fingers were light, reverent, as she followed the line of it. “You scared me so much that day,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” Beau said gently, covering her hand with his. “I’m here, darlin’. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she leaned up to kiss him, her lips soft and lingering. “I love you, Beau Arlen.”

“I love you more,” he murmured against her lips, his voice full of emotion.

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, the quiet intimacy of the night enveloping them. Beau’s hand slid back to her stomach, cradling the life growing there. “I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he said softly, his voice full of awe. “This baby… it feels like a second chance I didn’t even know I needed.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers brushing through his hair. “It’s a second chance for both of us.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand moving to cup her cheek as he pulled her closer. The tenderness between them shifted, deepened, as the kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Y/N melted into him, her hands sliding down his chest, over the faint ridge of his scar, as she pressed herself against him.

“Darlin’,” Beau murmured, his voice low and rough, his green eyes dark with need. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Y/N nodded, her lips brushing against his jaw as she whispered, “Always.”

Beau rolled her onto her back with care, his hands steady and gentle as they explored her curves, lingering over the slight swell of her belly. He kissed her deeply, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every touch, every sigh, every soft moan that escaped her lips.

Their lovemaking was unhurried, filled with the quiet reverence of two people deeply in love and fully aware of the fragility of life. Beau’s hands were steady as he held her, his whispers a mix of sweet words and promises that made Y/N’s heart ache with love.

When they finally stilled, their bodies tangled together under the covers, Beau brushed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “I don’t deserve you, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m gonna spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be the man you and our kids deserve.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining. “You already are, Beau. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside faded into insignificance. In that moment, in the quiet warmth of their bed, they were a family—a family built on love, second chances, and the promise of all the tomorrows yet to come.

The room was cloaked in the kind of stillness only found in the dead of night. The faint glow of the baby monitor cast a soft light on the nightstand, a quiet reminder of the little life sleeping soundly just a few rooms away. Beau stirred, his green eyes fluttering open as his senses adjusted to the dark. He glanced at Y/N beside him, her soft breathing steady and even. Her hand rested loosely on his chest, her face peaceful in a way that made his heart ache with love.

He carefully eased her hand off him, not wanting to disturb her. As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool wood floor, he caught the faint sound of Eliza’s tiny snores coming through the monitor. He smiled to himself, shaking his head. “Wolf-child,” he murmured fondly under his breath.

Unable to resist, he slipped out of the room, his steps quiet and measured as he made his way down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboards underfoot reminded him that this wasn’t just a house. It was a home—his home now. The thought filled him with a warmth that went beyond words.

He pushed open the door to Eliza’s room just enough to peek inside. The soft glow of her nightlight illuminated her tiny form, curled up with her favorite stuffed rabbit tucked tightly under her arm. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with her little snores, her curls a wild halo around her head.

Beau leaned against the doorframe, his heart tightening at the sight. It still amazed him how much this little girl had come to mean to him. She wasn’t his by blood, but in every way that mattered, she was his. She’d claimed a piece of his heart the first time she’d called him “Bo-Bo,” and every moment since had only deepened his love for her.

Stepping into the room, he crouched beside her bed, his hand reaching out to gently smooth a curl from her forehead. “You’re somethin’ else, kiddo,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, and I don’t even mind.”

Eliza shifted slightly, letting out a soft sigh as she snuggled deeper into her blanket. Beau stayed there for another moment, his hand resting lightly on the edge of her bed, before standing and slipping quietly out of the room.

He wandered through the house then, his hand brushing the walls as he moved. The living room, with its cozy couches and the basket of Eliza’s toys in the corner, felt lived-in and warm. The kitchen, where Y/N had laughed over burnt toast just days ago, felt like the heart of the home. Everywhere he looked, there were pieces of them—of the life they were building together.

Beau stopped in front of a framed photo on the wall. It was a candid shot Y/N had taken of him and Eliza at the park, both of them laughing as they played in the grass. He traced the edge of the frame with his finger, his chest tightening with gratitude. This wasn’t just a house he was walking through—it was a life he’d thought he’d lost the chance to have.

The soft creak of a chair drew his attention to the dining room, where Y/N had left her laptop open on the table. A stack of Eliza’s artwork—scribbled rainbows and wobbly stick figures—sat next to it, along with a planner Y/N used to keep track of everything. He smiled, shaking his head. “Organized chaos,” he muttered, the affection in his voice unmistakable.

As he turned to head back to bed, he paused in the doorway of their bedroom. Y/N was still asleep, her hand now resting on the spot where he’d been. The sight made his heart swell, and he realized how much this moment meant. This house, these people—they were his. Not just something he was lucky enough to be a part of, but something he was deeply, irrevocably tied to.

He slipped back into bed, careful not to wake Y/N as he settled beside her. She shifted slightly, her hand instinctively finding its way to his chest again. Beau wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as he let his eyes drift shut.

As sleep took him, one thought echoed through his mind: This is it. This is home.

The morning sunlight spilled through the windows of the doctor’s office as Beau sat on the edge of the examination table, his shirt folded neatly beside him. Dr. Patel, the same no-nonsense woman who had overseen his care since the shooting, studied his chart with a critical eye.

“Well, Sheriff,” she said, setting the clipboard aside and crossing her arms. “Your wound has healed nicely, your strength and mobility are back, and your labs look great. I’m clearing you for full duty.”

Beau let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a grin spreading across his face. “You sure about that, Doc? No reservations?”

Dr. Patel gave him a wry smile. “Just one—don’t make me regret this, Sheriff. Take care of yourself out there. And try not to get shot again, would you?”

He chuckled, pulling his shirt back on. “I’ll do my best. Thanks, Doc.”

As he left the office, the crisp morning air hit him, and he paused for a moment, letting the reality sink in. He was back—really back. Field duty wasn’t just about being in the thick of things; it was about feeling whole again, about doing what he loved.

The drive to the sheriff’s department was short, but his thoughts were already ahead of him, running through everything he could dive into now that he wasn’t stuck behind a desk. When he walked through the front doors, he immediately felt the energy shift.

As he left the office, the crisp Montana air hit him, invigorating and fresh. The drive to the sheriff’s department felt different today. It wasn’t just a commute—it was a return. He’d spent weeks on desk duty, restless and itching to get back into the field, but now, as he approached the familiar brick building, he felt a swell of emotion he hadn’t anticipated.

He parked his truck and made his way to the front door, his boots crunching against the gravel. The moment he stepped inside, the sound hit him like a wave.

Applause.

Beau froze, his green eyes widening as he looked around. The entire department was there—Jenny Hoyt, Poppernak, Morales, Jenkins, Doris, and even some deputies from the next county over who had stopped by. They were all clapping, smiles lighting up their faces as they greeted him.

“Sheriff Arlen,” Jenny said, stepping forward with a grin. “Welcome back.”

Beau shook his head, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “Y’all really know how to make a guy feel missed,” he drawled, his voice carrying over the clapping.

Doris, standing near the back with her ever-present clipboard, called out, “Don’t get used to it, Beau. This is a one-time deal.”

That earned a round of laughter, and Beau chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “Noted, Doris. Noted.”

Beau laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. Y’all are actin’ like I’ve been on vacation.”

Poppernak clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You might as well have been. Desk duty’s not your style, Sheriff. We’re glad to have you back for real.”

“Glad to be back,” Beau said sincerely, his gaze sweeping over the room. “I’ve been itchin’ to get back in the mix. And I gotta say, it feels damn good to know I’ve got a team like y’all waitin’ for me.”

Jenny crossed her arms, leaning against her desk with a smirk. “We’re just glad you’re in one piece. You gave us a scare, Beau.”

He nodded, his grin softening. “I know. And I appreciate y’all holdin’ the fort while I was recoverin’. But I’m ready to pull my weight again.”

Jenny stepped closer, offering a hand. “Well, Sheriff, welcome back to full duty. Let’s just hope we can keep you out of trouble.”

Beau shook her hand, his grip firm. “No promises, Hoyt.”

The room erupted in laughter, the sound carrying through the department as Beau took in the faces around him. For the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again—not just their sheriff, but part of a team, a family.

As the applause died down and the crowd began to disperse, Beau felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Jenny, her expression softer now.

“You really scared us,” she said quietly. “It’s good to see you standing here.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” he said, his voice low. “It’s good to be standin’ here.”

Jenny gave him a small smile and nodded before stepping away, leaving Beau to take in the moment. He looked around the department—the desks, the bulletin board cluttered with flyers, the coffee pot in the corner—and felt a deep sense of belonging. This wasn’t just a job; it was a part of who he was. And now, after everything, it felt even more meaningful.

With a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked toward his office, ready to take on whatever the day—and the future—had in store.

The sun was dipping low in the Montana sky as Beau parked his truck in the driveway, the warm hues of twilight casting the house in a soft glow. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment, letting the day’s events sink in. The sheriff’s department had welcomed him back with open arms, the applause and camaraderie cementing his place among the people he respected most. But now, as he looked at the house before him, the glow from the kitchen window spilling out onto the porch, he realized this was the place he truly belonged.

Beau stepped inside, greeted immediately by the faint scent of something savory lingering in the air. The quiet hum of home life enveloped him—the distant sound of the TV in the living room, Eliza’s gentle snores through the baby monitor, and the soft sound of Y/N moving in the kitchen.

He closed the door and slipped off his boots, letting the comfort of being home wash over him. As he stepped into the kitchen, Y/N looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Hey there, cowboy,” she greeted, her voice soft but teasing. “You’re home late.”

Beau crossed the room, pulling her into his arms. The tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding melted away as he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth.

Y/N chuckled softly, resting her hands on his chest. “You were only gone for the day.”

“Still missed you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. His green eyes were bright, his smile wide. “Got some good news, darlin’. Doctor cleared me for full duty.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, just for a second, before she masked it with a nod. “That’s… that’s great, Beau. Really.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “But?”

She sighed, her hands sliding down to his. “I’m happy for you, I am. I know how much you’ve been waiting for this. But… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.”

“Worried?” he asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “What if something happens again? What if you…?” Her voice caught, and she shook her head. “I don’t know if I could go through that again, Beau.”

He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head so their eyes met. “Darlin’, I hear you. I do. And I’d be a fool to say there aren’t risks. But I’ll be careful. I’ve got too much to live for now—too much to come home to.” His thumbs brushed her cheeks as his voice softened. “You. Eliza. The baby. I’m not takin’ any chances with what we’ve got, I promise you that.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, leaning into his touch. “I just need you to come home, Beau. Every time.”

“I will,” he vowed, his voice steady. “Every time, darlin’. You’ve got my word.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him close. “You’d better keep that promise.”

He held her tightly, his hand smoothing over her back. “You can count on it.”

They stood like that for a moment, the weight of their love and shared fears settling into a quiet understanding. Finally, Y/N pulled back, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “You’re a good man, Beau Arlen.”

“And you’re my good woman,” he replied with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss her.

The kiss started soft, a gentle meeting of lips that spoke of love and reassurance. But as their bodies pressed closer, the tenderness gave way to something deeper, something more urgent. Beau’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him as the kiss deepened, his lips trailing down her jaw and to her neck.

“Beau,” Y/N murmured, her voice breathless as her hands found their way to the buttons of his shirt. “The dishes…”

“Can wait,” he murmured against her skin, his hands moving to her hips. “Right now, it’s just you and me, darlin’.”

Beau’s lips lingered on Y/N’s as he pulled her closer, his hands settling on her hips as if anchoring himself to her. The warmth of her body against his, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt—it sent a slow burn through him that started in his chest and spread outward. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving over hers with a mix of tenderness and longing, as though he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say with words.

Y/N’s breath hitched as his hands slid up her sides, his touch firm but reverent. “Beau,” she murmured, her voice soft and filled with affection. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We’re still in the kitchen.”

“So?” he drawled, his green eyes darkening with a playful spark as he kissed along her jaw, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Pretty sure the kitchen’s seen worse.”

She let out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing as her hands worked their way down his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. “It’s not exactly private, you know.”

Beau paused, leaning back just enough to meet her gaze. His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “Then let’s go somewhere private, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I want to take my time with you.”

Her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze, and she nodded, her fingers curling around his hand as he led her out of the kitchen. The walk to their bedroom was unhurried, filled with small touches and glances that spoke volumes. The house was quiet, save for the soft creak of the floorboards beneath their feet and the faint hum of the baby monitor in the background.

When they reached the bedroom, Beau turned to her, his hands settling on her waist as he guided her gently toward the bed. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting warm shadows that made the space feel even cozier. Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of love and anticipation.

Beau’s hands slid to her face, cradling it as he leaned down to kiss her again, this time slower, deeper. His lips moved over hers with deliberate care, savoring every moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with emotion. “You know that?”

Y/N smiled, her hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough,” he said softly, his hands trailing down to the hem of her shirt. He paused, meeting her gaze as though silently asking for permission. When she nodded, he pulled the fabric over her head, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

He took a moment to look at her, his eyes tracing every curve, every line, with a reverence that made her cheeks flush. “You take my breath away, Y/N,” he said quietly, his hands resting on her waist. “Every time.”

She reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down into another kiss. This time, it was her turn to take the lead, her hands working to remove his shirt, her touch lingering over the faint scars on his chest and stomach. Her fingers brushed against the scar from his gunshot wound, and she paused, her lips trailing down to press a soft kiss to the healing skin.

Beau let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to thread through her hair. “Darlin’…”

“You scared me,” she admitted softly, her lips moving against his skin. “But you’re here. You’re okay. And I’m so grateful for that.”

He tilted her chin up, his green eyes meeting hers. “I’m here,” he said firmly. “And I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’ve got me, Y/N. All of me.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she pulled him closer, their bodies pressing together as the weight of their emotions spilled over into their movements. Beau guided her to the bed, his hands gentle but sure as he laid her down. He followed, his body covering hers as he kissed her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a mix of tenderness and passion.

The world outside faded into insignificance as they moved together, their love and connection driving every touch, every kiss. Beau’s hands lingered over the slight swell of her belly, a reverence in his touch that made Y/N’s heart ache with love. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you know that?”

“You make me feel that way,” she replied, her hands sliding up to cup his face. “Every day.”

Their lovemaking was slow, unhurried, a celebration of everything they had built together and everything that was still to come. Beau worshipped her with every touch, every whispered word, and Y/N gave herself to him completely, her love for him shining in every kiss, every sigh.

When they finally stilled, their bodies tangled together under the soft covers, Beau pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand resting protectively over her stomach. “You’re my whole world, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “You and this family we’re buildin’. You’re all I need.”

“And you’re everything to us,” she replied softly, her head resting on his chest. “Always.”

As the night settled around them, they held each other close, the love they shared a quiet but powerful force that made everything else fade away.

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fruitybashir · 9 months ago

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okay upload in about.. 3 hours from now 🫡

#sorry i literally had to still finish writing it lol #i love how after the break i was like yayyy i have this chapter done already now i have a bit of extra time for the others and i dont have #to rush the end yayy <33 #and then i still did have to rush the end bc i kept rewriting everything two or three times bc i HATED ITTTT but anyways. 🙂 im good.#im going through shit but im taking it out on bojan and kris so im. good. 🤙🏼✨️#but the end is here and its a long chapter and i think i like the way it came out now so <3 its all happening #rambles

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skydigiblogs · 6 months ago

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Okay, we're like

actually finally reading Seekers

(and by "reading" I mean listening to the Lost in Translationmon fan audiobook version at work)

We've finished the first chapter and I am tentative about most of it aside from the fact that Loogamon is a little shit and we love that for them.

#sky talks #digimon #digimon seekers #we've been putting seekers off for so long mostly because the inclusion of police in a digimon story is uhhh #look if i'm gonna be real our savers rewatch started out mostly as us wanting to reevaluate that series #because we wanted to see if it held any real commentary on the nature of law enforcement #(to that end i think savers did considering its main villain was enabled by the powers of the government into mass digimon murder)#i really hope i have something positive to say about seekers' relationship to law and law enforcement #but it's too early to say now #like i think at the end of chapter 1 we're supposed to probably feel like the digipolice are kind of inept #but also the scene they were introduced in did me no favors in trusting how this novel will handle them #considering it started off with a “look at how bad the digital world is because of humans!”#compared it to colonialisation #and then introduced us to the digipol taking out the code cracker espimons #it came across in a way that we were supposed to assume that code crackers are to blame for why the layer we've seen sucks so bad #and like yeah loogamon backs that up by talking about discarded cracker digimon but also #from loogamon it doesn't feel as gross as when it's paired with some “really skating around the edges of the law here” shit #idk #we'll have to see

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saph-yells-into-the-void · 1 year ago

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i got into blue lock nearly a year ago now... damn...

#legitimately have not been in a fandom for this long that is media-related #sure my mcyt phase lasted a year and a half but i dont count that #i wonder how much longer ill be here for...#im thinking im in it for the long run. til s2 and eventually s3 #and with new manga chapters coming out too #bitch im not leaving until i see how this shit ends like 😭#bllk #oh and for the record i mean this as in actually being *in* the fandom #like i dont count smth like beyburst for example bc for the longest time i wasn't in the fandom and i kinda have an on and off relationship #with it #which is usually how it goes. i get obsessed for a few months - then move onto the next thing #so its weird just being consistently obsessed w smth #(once again excluding my mcyt phase we dont talk bout that)

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mooodyblue · 1 year ago

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i hope y'all know i haven't forgotten about any day now 🥹

#i've been seeing ppl reread it recently or discover it and anytime i see a notif for it im like OH. Right #i swear to goodddddd u guys i think abt it every single day #im putting too much focus into requests and not the things that i wanna write #im gonna do a clean up of my requests this week cuz im sitting on 20ish and there's nooo way #i know its like #why do i keep requests open if i can't bring myself to write them all #thats such a great question unfortunately i just do not have an answer to it #but also im like ... what if i get something really good and i can combine a couple requests into a huge fic #anywaayyyyyy i added (SLOW) to my profile like it makes any difference #i didn't mean to ramble here i just wanted to let yall know that i know it still exists and i miss her and think abt her every day #bc i have a lot of ideas it's just a matter of writing it out #i started on part three ages ago and never went back to it #let's all pray i get at least one more chapter out by the end of the year 🥴🥴#been slacking this week cuz i been busy but not busy #it's a long story #damn ok lily shut up

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acid-ixx · 7 months ago

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ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

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awrkive · 3 months ago

Text

THE LOVE PROGNOSIS, fin. — JJK (m.)

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (angst, fluff, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 43.2k idcccccc atp😭 take ur time!

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, hopeless romantic!oc. dont read further warnings if u dont wanna be spoiled: ANGST. im aware i kinda overkilled it here but uh.. hear me out! explicit sexual content [ male mast*rbation, oral s*x (f&m receiving), making out, dry h*mping, penetr*tive s*x (protected and unprotected, missionary, cowgirl, doggy, spooning), a bit of c*mplay, jk <3 boobs, ily kink (redacted) cries during sex lol ]. FLUFFy fluff fluffff 😖 some of the scenes give very much like 2000s romcom vibes but idc sue me also theres a #merder reference ifykyk

NOTES we have finally reached the end! sorry it took me a month to get this out sjdfhd but its here and its long as fuck n im so proud of this and happy that i finished a series!! for once!!! will always love my silly tlp couple and the characters 🥹 let me know ur thoughts on my inbox oki and circulate by liking and reblogging if u enjoyed reading hihi ty ok bye enjoy reading!🫵🏼🫵🏼 [ important: pls make sure to read the note below ]

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] // [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

A day passed since the fiasco at the villa happened and Jungkook and you have acted like total strangers since then. The rest of your friends easily took notice of it; the silence between you two on the ride to the airport, the not-so discreet way you avoided each other at the waiting area, even going as far as exchanging seats inside the plane when on any other day, you two didn’t mind being close together physically.

Jungkook knows absolutely that the avoidance is doing you both a disservice. You’re both grown adults and going to extreme lengths to ignore each other – like not even looking at the other when you bump in the hospital hallways – is a one-way ticket to your relationship’s foundations crumbling.

That thought terrified Jungkook so much that he decided to come clean tonight. Talk to you properly when his mind is cleared and there was no Mingyu to aggravate his thoughts and project actions he’s not necessarily proud of – because the fight was juvenile, he knows that. Him committing and giving in to violence is not something he wants you to see, no matter the context. You were right when you said that was not him, and Jungkook can’t have you thinking otherwise.

When he steps in front of your apartment door, he thinks if you’re already there. He isn’t entirely sure. You two haven’t seen each other at the hospital and you haven’t been texting him either. You might still be doing your rounds, he thought, but when he opens the door to your unit and trudges his feet to the living room, he catches a sight of you going out from your bedroom.

The two of you freeze upon seeing each other, but Jungkook’s surprise soon turns into confusion when he notices the carry-on luggage in your hand.

“Oh, you’re here,” You utter, filling the silence in the air. “I was just going.”

“Where?” Jungkook instantly asks, taking you both by surprise.

But you quickly recover. You give him a small smile – but what Jungkook clearly sees is a wince.

“I’m going over to my sister’s,” You must’ve seen the way Jungkook’s boring holes at your pink luggage, and so you take a glance at it momentarily, tugging on the handle to scoot it over closer to your side. You clear your throat. “I’m staying there for a while.”

Jungkook feels a certain weight drop on his shoulders, his lips parting at your declaration.

“__, i-if this is about what I said, you don’t have to leave—”

You cut him off quickly. “No. It’s not that. I just… I just need some time away.”

Even though he doesn’t like the implication, he gets you.

Blinking, he thinks what to say next. Jungkook doesn’t want to say the wrong words – he’s well aware of the fact that he's put his foot in his mouth back at the resort, and he’s not fucking up the second time around.

While he intended to talk to you tonight to address the elephant between you two, he also understands completely why you need time for yourself. It was too much. He told you a lot of things and he can’t expect you to process all of them in a single day.

So, he nods, still stricken, heart heavy when he looks at you again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You repeat, voice a little louder than him. A pregnant pause, and you’re pulling up the handle of your luggage again, the wheels gliding on the floorboards as you begin to head towards the door to your apartment.

Jungkook doesn’t mean to sound so alarmed when he suddenly blurts out, “Now?”

He doesn’t even know why. It was the obvious. You’ve packed your things – you’re heading out. But he couldn’t stop himself. It’s like there’s a sense of fear clouding his mind the more this moment of you leaving stretches out further.

You stop on your tracks, blinking at him. “Y-yeah?”

“Oh.” Jungkook feels his hand itching to do something. Something stupid like grab your wrist gently to make you stay.

But he knows that’s futile. He doesn’t have the right to make you stay if you don’t want to in the first place.

“Seokjin’s actually coming in a few minutes,” you tell him, glancing at your phone. “My sister’s still at work, so she made him pick me up.”

Jungkook can only give you a nod.

It makes sense for your brother-in-law to come pick you up. It also makes sense for you to stay over their place considering that their apartment isn’t that far from the hospital and you won’t have a hard time commuting to work if you planned to stay there for a little while.

He wonders, though, why you aren’t staying at Doyeon’s instead… he doesn’t know if you’ve talked already, but from what it seems, you aren’t talking to the rest of your friends, either; judging by the way he hasn’t seen you together with any of them at the hospital. Taehyung had suggested that maybe you just need time, to which Doyeon and Nayeon agreed to. Jungkook can’t help but feel bad, though. You’re seemingly coming out isolated at the end of his own doing. If you’re avoiding your friends just because of him, that would be extremely unfair to you. Taehyung, Doyeon and Nayeon are just as much as your friends as they are his, and during these times, you should feel comfortable taking solace in their friendship like how he’s leaning on them currently.

Guilt washes over him at the thought. He can’t bear thinking about you hurting in the process of all of this. He just wants so badly to make it up to you, for you both to be okay again. You didn’t even have to acknowledge what he said – about him being in love with you. You could totally ignore it and act like it never happened, go on about your days like nothing changed as long as you’re by his side.

It hurts. It hurts that even when you’re just physically within his reach right now, he can’t seem to get a hold of you. And he has no one to blame but himself.

A phone rings and Jungkook watches as you fish out your device from your pockets.

“Must be Jin.” you say, picking up the call. You exchange a few words with your brother-in-law for a few seconds before hanging up and looking at him again. “He’s outside already.”

Jungkook nods, biting back the words that consist of something stupid like “don’t leave”.

“Your car…?” He hesitates, remembering how you’d drive to work.

“It broke again yesterday. I’m actually… uh… thinking of just selling it. Get it over with.”

Your car. You mentioned your parents have turned it over to you during your junior year in college. It always broke in the most inconvenient times – like the one time you had a bad date, and you panicked-texted him about the car towing company not picking up. It was a Sunday and Jungkook was supposed to go over some paper works, but he scrambled out of his room to get you – and he didn’t regret it one bit because you were actually crying the moment he arrived. You had been overstimulated, what with another failed date and your broken car – it was all too much. And you just needed Jungkook to be there. You told him so.

Jungkook cherishes those moments a lot. Not because you cried in them – he always felt like it was a punch to the gut whenever he sees you even an ounce of upset – but because it tells him that you trust him with that vulnerable side of you. It means he’s important enough to you to let him in your life. It’s one of those moments where Jungkook truly steps back to reevaluate your relationship – because sure, it could be merely friendship to anybody, but Jungkook doesn’t really think so. Your bond runs deeper than friendship, and he doesn’t even mean romantic. It’s the… camaraderie. The partnership.

He could’ve confessed a long time ago – that’s what people kept saying, but what they don’t know is that he has so much to lose. You are more than just the woman he would love to kiss and make love to or call his girlfriend – you’re the love of his life, you’re everything to him. And if he can’t have you in any way, he’d truly break.

And now that everything’s said and done – with him finally baring his truth to you – it’s come to this.

You, leaving.

The silence that follows pricks Jungkook’s skin like needles, and the creak of your steps on the floorboards ring in his ears – a daunting harsh whisper of your farewell – although it’s just temporary.

But something worries him.

What if it’s not temporary? What if during your stay at your sister’s place, you decide to completely get rid of his company for the good and better?

It’s all those frantic thoughts that urges him to call your name, but he doesn’t expect your voice overlapping with his as you say his name at the same time.

Jungkook’s lips curl up slightly. “What is it?”

Predictably, you wave your hand at him. “No, you first.”

“It’s okay.”

Your hand hovers over the handle of your suitcase as you pass by him, stopping on the threshold of your apartment. “I just…” you trail off. You look at Jungkook for a moment. “I just wanted to say bye. And uh… that… I drank all your banana milk in the fridge. But I’ll wire you the money later. Or buy you another batch and I’ll give it to you at the hospital or—”

Jungkook cuts you off by calling out your name, broken by a laugh of amusement. His first smile today, maybe. You look at him wide-eyed. It’s fascinating the way you have him completely wrapped around your finger and you’re not even doing anything.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to wire me anything.”

“Oh... well, I’m still sorry.” He nods, giving you a small smile. “What was it you wanted to tell me, then?”

Right now, he forgets what it was even all about. “Just, uh, please tell your sister and Seokjin hyung I said hi.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to delude himself into thinking that your face flashed a look of disappointment for the briefest moment after he said the words. At the back of his mind, he thinks you were expecting more – but he knows he’s reaching, grasping for straws, and he’s just desperate for anything from you he can’t really rationalize his line of thinking.

So with a final wave of your hand – a bit timid – you turn around and open the door to your unit, and Jungkook watches as your form disappears completely, leaving him stoned in his position in the middle of the living room for a long time; head empty, body numb, until he gathers time to collect himself and finally move over to the bathroom, where he takes a cold shower in hopes for an improved mood.

It didn’t really do anything, and he found himself having a hard time sleeping – waking up randomly during the wee hours of the morning.

When he stirs awake from his blaring alarm at 5:30, he’s nothing but adrift.

It feels weird when he goes to the kitchen and he doesn’t see you, as he expects you to be there in whatever worn up shirt from high school you still have, making toast or some quick breakfast – with your playlist playing from your phone – but you weren’t.

And Jungkook remembers that would be the case for another few days to come. Something he has to be okay with.

For the meantime.

He hopes.

Jungkook doesn’t get drunk often, but now, his friends are assuming he is. For the record, though, he is not drunk and they are just exaggerating. Sure, he’s staggering and he’s mixing up his syllables and grammar – but he swears he just feels a little woozy.

“Jungkook,” Doyeon calls him, laughing a bit. “Come on, Taehyung’s driving you home.”

“Don’t want to,” He says as he takes another swig of his fifth canned beer he’s been consuming since they all arrived at the barbecue place. “I can handle my alcohol.”

Which — fair. That’s not new news. But still—

“No shit, you have a shift tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Don’t be stubborn. It’s time to go home.”

“It’s fine, I’ll Uber back.”

Jungkook watches as Doyeon rolls her eyes.

“Are you really moping right now?”

He sends her a glare – one that she predictably does not take seriously. “‘M not moping. You’re moping.”

“And I’m Kate Bush. Taehyung, can you just drag Jungkook out of here? I think he’s gonna cry any minute now and the auntie is closing. We gotta go.” Nayeon butts in, and even though her words may seem harsh around the edges, she looks at Jungkook with a concerned gaze. The playful atmosphere from earlier now dissipating.

Jungkook appreciates the warmth that he gets from Nayeon’s gentle approach to everything – but right now, all it does is make him feel pitiful. Doyeon’s right. He is moping. Moping for something that should’ve been within his control in the first place.

“Man, you know you bench way more than me. I can’t carry you out all by myself if you’re all drunk and shit.” Taehyung nudges him on the shoulder, enough to make Jungkook move from his seat. He only grumbles.

Doyeon sighs. “What do you want, Jungkook? Call __? Tell her you’re getting wasted and come pick you up?”

Jungkook visibly flinches at the mention of you.

Ever since they arrived at the restaurant, Jungkook has noticed that his friends have been deliberately omitting your name in the conversation – until now, anyway. He thinks they all planned this spontaneous hang to “cheer him up” or whatever the fuck Taehyung said on their way here – which seemed like a slip-up, because Doyeon had hit the back of his head lightly right after saying it.

They’re walking on eggshells around him like he’s some kind of house of cards – one nudge and a blow and he comes crumbling down.

Jungkook hates getting doted on like this. It’s not like you two broke up. They just knew that you went to stay at your sister’s place for a while and you never said when you’re coming back. He hasn’t had any encounters with you at the hospital nowadays – you’re getting good at hiding from him and the rest of the gang, and every single day bleeds into countless sleepless nights. You’ve been gone for five days; no calls, or at least a text. And it seems like you deactivated your IG. You aren’t tweeting or reblogging shit on Twitter as well. You’ve gone completely silent – and with every waking moment that Jungkook spends a day without your presence, it feels like you’re slowly slipping through his fingers.

“No.” he glares at the three of them. Standing up, he feels his vision dancing at the sudden action.

Well. Maybe he is sort of drunk. A little.

“Hey, man, let’s go.” Taehyung ushers once again. This time, Jungkook acquiesces but with a groan. Nonetheless, he lets Taehyung wrap his arm around him to prevent him from tripping on his own feet.

When Jungkook manages to stand firm on the ground, he shuts his eyes tight to get a hold of himself and once again look at Doyeon and Nayeon who are still sitting by the table. With a confused expression, he asks, “Thought we’re all going?”

“Minhyuk will pick me up.” Nayeon says. Jungkook nods, directing his gaze to Doyeon.

“Somebody’s picking me up, too,” When Jungkook squints his eyes at her, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t start. Tae, drive safely, okay? You didn’t drink, right?”

Taehyung shakes his head and gives both women a reassuring nod before they head out of the building when goodbyes were bid, with Taehyung still pressing a hand on Jungkook’s back because he’s still a bit unstable on his feet. It’s not bad, though, Jungkook doesn’t think so. He just feels dizzy and shit, but it’s not anything water can’t solve.

Fuck, now he wants to get in bed as soon as possible. After a cold shower.

“Sorry, man.” he says as he plops down on the passenger’s seat, buckling the seatbelt around himself.

Taehyung comfortably settles on the driver’s seat, adjusting the rearview mirror a bit before starting the engine. But not after he responded to Jungkook with a snort, “It’s fine.”

It’s a quiet car ride and Jungkook can already feel his eyelids threatening to fall, the haze of sleep already clouding his mind. He can’t recall how far it takes from the restaurant to his complex, but soon enough, Taehyung’s voice wakes him up from his stupor.

“You okay there?”

Jungkook hums, leaning back to relax his nerves. A minute flies and he sighs loudly, making Taehyung look at him momentarily.

“Don’t sleep on me. Again, I am not willing to carry you all the way to your apartment, fucker.”

That makes Jungkook laugh, a snicker escaping past his lips. It makes Taehyung do the same, scoffing at his friend as he did so. The car ride continues into a stretched-out comfortable silence before Taehyung breaks it with a question of, “You two still haven’t talked?”

Jungkook stiffens at the mention, and he knows his friend notices the way he did, but he quickly tries to shake it off. “Yeah. She’s still at her sister’s.” Taehyung nods. When Jungkook looks at him, he decides to ask, “What ‘bout you? She reached out yet?”

“No.”

Jungkook inhales a sharp breath.

This is bad. You’re ignoring all your friends because of him.

“Sorry.” Jungkook says after a pregnant pause.

“What for?”

“Dunno. Feels like it’s all my fault,” a sigh escapes past his lips again. “You guys don’t deserve to get caught up in this.”

“Jungkook,” There’s a lilt to Taehyung’s voice that reminds Jungkook again that the man beside him is older than he is and sometimes, Taehyung can be way more mature, almost like an older brother. He forgets their age difference most of the time. “Don’t say that. __ just needs her time. She’ll come around.”

The smile Jungkook gives his way is bitter but it’s a smile, nonetheless.

“I don’t know, Tae,” He leans his head back on the seat, staring at nothing in particular. “It’s different this time.”

“You’ve fought before,” Taehyung points out. “How is this different?”

Jungkook does know what he’s trying to point out. He may be referring to the time in third year of med school when you didn’t talk to him for a month – but still. This, right now – whatever is happening – is far from what happened back then.

“Just different,” He shrugs, a poor attempt at nonchalance so Taehyung doesn’t think he’s being pathetic. “I feel like this is it.” Taehyung looks at him curiously when the red light turns on. It makes Jungkook squirm, but he voices out what he feels, anyway. “I’m losing her.”

That felt weird the moment it slips his tongue. For the past few days, it’s been in his head – making up the mess of his thoughts. When he said that, for once, it felt like finality. Like its verbalization actually made it real.

He does feel like he’s losing you. And it feels like the absolute truth.

“You can’t say that when you haven’t even talked to her, Jungkook,” Taehyung says and he says it so firmly. When Jungkook studies the older guy’s face, it’s etched with sincerity, especially when he adds, “Do you really think she’ll let go of an almost decade-long relationship just because of what happened? Frankly speaking, even if she does not feel the same way about you at all, I know her enough to know that she’ll have at least the decency to let you down properly. I think she’s just trying to think all of this through. She’ll talk when her head’s clear.”

Jungkook finds himself processing his words. You are exactly like that. You’re the type of person to need your personal space when you’re confronted by huge predicaments. When he thinks about it – you have so much on your plate. Mingyu, him, your relationship with each of them; Jungkook realizes things must be so hard for you right now, both emotionally and physically. And you’re dealing with all this while still showing up for your rotations.

“You’re right.” Jungkook whispers.

“Just… time, okay? You both need time.” Taehyung says and for once, Jungkook smiles a genuine one.

The light turns green, and Taehyung continues to drive.

Taehyung decided to turn up his jazz playlist and it eased Jungkook’s mind a bit. But it did lull him to sleep all the way to his apartment complex. Thankfully though, it only took Taehyung a few seconds of nudging him before he stirred awake, disoriented when he opened his eyes only to hear his friend say they were already there, ushering him out of his car.

He said his thanks to Taehyung, and his friend made sure to tell him to take it easy before he took off. When he was gone, Jungkook went straight to the elevator to press his floor, mind and body working on autopilot as he sauntered over the hallway to stop in front of his unit.

When the door opens, he feels a sense of calmness at the sight of his own place with everything at his disposal including the bathroom that he quickly head towards, not hesitating to strip himself naked on the way to the shower, letting his clothes form a heap on the threshold; bare and naked without a care in the world.

Stepping into the shower box, he turns the showerhead on, hissing at the cold water spraying onto his skin. He needed the cold to get rid of his sluggishness – and it works just as instantly as he’d hoped.

Both of his hands shoot up to brush his hair off his forehead, and he stays in that position for awhile; with the water running on his body and his head leaned back a bit, eyes closed as he relaxes.

He mindlessly reaches for his shampoo bottle, but when he opens the cap, he smells a completely different product. What welcomes him when he opens his eyes back again is the familiar sight of Bath and Body works bottle. Your water lily springs body wash.

Despite his current headspace, it brings a smile to Jungkook’s lips.

Right.

He’s noticed in the past few days that you left it in your shared bathroom. Considering all the things that you still have around the apartment, it didn’t really look like you packed a lot of things when you left – which should ease Jungkook’s mind. Still, though; the small size of your luggage and the quantity of what you brought with you do not matter when you still aren’t home.

And with that, Jungkook feels himself slipping back into… mulling again. And he can’t help but heave out a sigh.

He just… wants to rest for tonight. Just wants his head emptied out. Relax. He feels like he’s been on edge for the longest of time and he just needs some sort of – he’s not sure – comfort? Maybe something along the lines?

And as if his hand has a mind on its own, he grips the bottle of your body wash and squirts an ample amount on his palm, the scent of water lily springs surrounding the confined space of the shower immediately.

He lathers it all over his chest, inhaling the gentle waft and how it weirdly calms him from the inside. The room smells just like you. He smells just like you. And it isn’t the first time he’s doing this – he’s always liked the way you smelled, and he may have used your body wash by accident countless of times. Jungkook sometimes does it just to tease you – because you always point it out when you notice that he smells the same, and then you get all irritated and it makes Jungkook keen because you’re just so goddamn cute when you glare at him and when you get mean. Teasing you also means that you’d get mad enough to sulk at him, and that gives him the opportunity to make it up to you; and making it up to you means he gets all of your attention.

It’s pathetic but Jungkook’s not ashamed to admit that – just to himself, though. He likes when you give him attention, can you blame him?

His mind goes back to the memory of you cuddling with him on the ground at that random playground near your complex, how you snuggled up to his arm, giggling and threatening him to stop using your body wash. He remembers all the times you would cook together on nights when you’re both free – lounging on the couch mindlessly, either watching a show and debating over useless, stupid stuff – or when you would force him to rub your foot or massage your neck. Jungkook doesn’t relent until after you complain for a good five minutes. He’s gotten better at pretending overtime that he doesn’t look forward to touching any part of you.

At that thought, he recalls the way your back felt on his hands when he rubbed sunscreen all over it when you were at the resort. How the plane of your gorgeous skin felt so smooth to the touch, how you make him feel even with just the slightest baring of your skin.

Jungkook shuts his close when his mind goes into overdrive.

You. You. You and your bikini. You and your short shorts that might as well just be panties in disguise. You and those cute little, tight camisoles you always wear around the apartment. How he could just sometimes see the outline of your nipples where the thin material of your shirt clings to. How your bare legs look so good when you cross them while reading the paper on a Sunday morning by the kitchen island. How your breasts look like they could fit in Jungkook’s big palms with a bit of overspill – enough to drive him insane.

These are the thoughts in Jungkook’s head as he continues to lather the liquidy texture of your body wash all over his body – and when his hand finally nudges the dick in between his legs, he groans.

He’s not a stranger to getting off to the thought of you – you’re a gorgeous woman and it doesn’t really help the fact that he’s been in love with you for god knows how long – but it doesn’t mean that he does it guilt-free. He almost always feels like shit afterwards.

But he can’t help it. Not when you’re all over his head again. Not when he’s thinking about how good it would probably fucking feel if he could just have a taste of your plump lips. How it would feel if he could just suck on your neck, paint you with his love there, down to your cleavage then play with both of your tits with his hands – be greedy with it – get your nipples rock hard and pretty tight for him, suck and latch and nip and lick them, make sure it’s all wet before he goes down more south.

God. He thinks about it all the time. How’d it feel to go down on you. You’re so fucking pretty he could just imagine how gorgeous you would look down there, too. Were you the type to like getting eaten out? Jungkook hopes so. Because he would do everything to satisfy you. Fuck, he’d be so good to you. He’d tease your clit with his thumb first and you’d tell him that you’re aching for him bad – and he’d cave in and get his first taste with the flat of his tongue and fuck. You probably taste so good he’d crave it for days to come.

The next thing Jungkook knows, he’s holding the base of his cock firmly, feeling it getting harder every second. It grows in his hand as he continues to think about eating your pussy, imagining the sounds you’d let out, how you’d look extra beautiful getting fucked by his tongue. Shit. He’d do it so well if you just asked.

Jungkook traps his bottom lip with his teeth as he starts teasing his own cock, already in its full mass, hard and standing tall against his abdomen. He can see the shiny texture of his tip, precum leaking out, begging to be touched. He doesn’t wait any second to thumb the liquid off his head, letting out a half-sigh, half-hiss at how sensitive it felt, especially when he runs it over the veiny base.

Inhaling a sharp breath, Jungkook steps back a bit to cup his balls, squeezing it just enough to make him close his eyes. He repeats the motion of sliding his hand up and down his erect cock, feeling himself getting wetter at every second that passes.

He gets a picture of you on your knees, and as he pumps himself at a slow pace, he imagines it’s you instead kneading him. You have slender fingers and pretty nails, it would feel so much better if they were wrapped around his cock right now. Your nails would scrape against his length, and you’ve held hands enough times for Jungkook to know that his hand is significantly bigger than yours, so you probably won’t fit all of him in your hand – but that’s alright. You’d tease him on the tip instead, spread his precum all over, get him needing and wanting more.

Jungkook’s hips start to buck as he speeds up his pace, this time jacking himself harder as his mind jumps to more thoughts of you — but this time around, you’re not on your knees: you’re pressed on the glass wall of the shower box, your ass bent for all of him to caress and squeeze, and you’re craning your head to look at him with hooded eyes, lips parted into a gorgeous “o” as you beckon him to come closer and put his hard dick in your warm, tight, and aching pussy.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses as he lets his forehead fall to the wall, resting there for a few good seconds, other hand scrambling to turn off the shower and quickly shutting his eyes close as he pictures himself thrusting into you instead of his stupid fucking hand.

“Shit, shit, shit—” He hisses, hand going faster around his length, pumping himself desperately to the thought of his dick sliding in and out of you.

Your moans would fill the tight room, and you’d sound so pretty. You’d be so pliant against the strong arm that he would wrap you with — and Jungkook would make sure to flick your nipples and fondle your breasts as he pounds into you from behind.

“Fuuuuck…”

He grunts and he moans, hand impossibly going faster — dick getting harder. He just wants a release. He wants to cum so bad — to kiss you and love you and have you say it back with the same earnestness as him.

Jungkook wants so badly to have you in his arms right after he eats you out, to cuddle with you and pretend like you have all the time in the world after he’s made sure to make love to every single inch of your body. To caress your hair and press a kiss on your head anytime he likes – because he’s allowed to. Because you love him. He just wants to be able to touch you in any way possible. Run his fingers over your back, kiss your cheeks, and your scrunched nose. Just wants to bury his face in your chest after a long day at work. Hold you tight against him. Have you close to him, whenever and wherever.

But he doesn’t have all that. He can’t have all that. Not when you don’t even feel the same. Not when you reacted that way when he told you he loves you more than just his best friend.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. You’re not telling me the whole truth and frankly, I don’t believe you.”

Your words ring in his ears as he continues to jack himself.

The memory is still so vivid in his head — the surprised look on your face — certainly not the pleasant one. You were so… surprised. And angry. Like you didn’t believe any of what he said. Like you were trying hard to convince yourself that whatever you were hearing from him wasn’t true.

Because she doesn’t feel the same way. Jungkook thinks.

He remembers the night you left. How you could barely look him in the eyes.

“Shit—” Jungkook hisses as he squeezes his balls, hand pumping faster around his swollen cock. He closes his eyes as he tries to regulate his breathing, his stomach tightening at his impending release – and it’s the last thing he does in favor of his own sanity before his mind slips back again to life without you in it.

He would never have you. He can never be anything to you anymore.

He will never be, especially as he looks down at his hand on his cock.

How pathetic.

What would you think if you were to see him right now, getting himself off by imagining it’s you instead? You’d be so disgusted. You’d look at him like he’s a different person and feel betrayed because – how could the person you trust think about you like this?

There’s that sense of self-hatred again that Jungkook feels whenever he jacks off to you. That fear of you finding out and not liking it.

Jungkook tugs at his cock angrily as he thinks about all that, and he doesn’t notice that the stinging in the sides of his eyes would soon turn into tears running down his cheeks as he tries to reach his climax.

You would hate him so much. You don’t even like him anymore. Don’t even want to live with him anymore.

But he just wants to cum so bad. Just wants to feel some sort of clarity. Delude himself into basking in that quick dopamine.

He traps a sob in his throat as he makes quick work of his cock, and with one last squeeze around his tight balls, he shoots his hot cum to the wall, hips bucking at his orgasm.

Letting out a series of hushed curses, Jungkook continues to pump his cock for more until he feels sensitive, and his dick turns soft and languid against his legs.

He grabs the shower head to spray the cum off the wall, feeling the water already turning lukewarm. When he finishes cleaning his mess up, he grabs your body wash and exits the shower, throwing the bottle in the trash can with haste as if it burned him. As he turns back around, he catches sight of himself over the lavatory’s mirror.

There are dark circles under his eyes — not too visible — but they’re there. His eyes are red from crying, and suddenly his body itches. He should shower again and actually clean up this time.

But Jungkook realizes as he stares at himself again… he has never looked so tired. Not even in med school. Or during internship.

This whole thing is taking a toll on him – he knows that well by now. Even his friends do as well. He’s fucking up his sleeping schedule and he’s not even eating properly. He hits the gym not because he wants to but because it helps shut down his head.

Jungkook sighs.

He’s long accepted that the love he holds for you is so big it sometimes borders on piteous. He’s spent so many years going into this kind of phase where he just mulls over the same thing; that he loves you, but you will never ever feel the same way back.

And the thing is, he's always been okay with it. Jungkook loves loving you. He’d be a fool not to when he genuinely thinks that you were made to be loved.

But at this point, he just feels… tired.

Exhausted. Empty.

He wants to sleep. He wants to rest. He wants to wake up the next day and not feel like shit anymore.

Maybe Doyeon was right back at the villa.

It is time to move on.

And maybe… just maybe… unlike all the other times he’s attempted to do the same thing, this time around will be successful.

Your 7am to 2pm shift had just concluded when you arrived at your sister’s place, only to see them both all dolled up, ready to go out.

They told you that you could come with them if you liked, but of course you refused. You’re not the type to interrupt a date and they were certainly too in love for your liking. Don’t get you wrong, you love that for both – but you’re getting pretty sick of romance these days and you’re trying to avoid it as much as possible. Seokjin made sure to throw another one of his “Don’t mope around, okay? We have Macallan in the cupboards. You know the one.” jokes, though – having already known why you’re here in the first place – and your sister pinched his ear painfully enough for you to ignore and roll your eyes at him lightheartedly.

Which leads you to now, binge-eating a left-over tub of vanilla ice cream on a Sunday afternoon from last night’s impulsive purchase. You know it’s going to make you feel like shit later, but you can’t really bring yourself to care – not when the ice cream tastes too good paired with a Sex and The City episode.

You like to delude yourself you’re the early season Miranda; independent, boss bitch, career-driven, straightforward but kind. But you had a mortifying realization that maybe you’re actually Carrie. You’re both so obsessed with love and glorify the idea of “The One” that you overlook red flags in a guy just to stay in a relationship. And for what? To be completely broken and fucked over in the end of it all.

But you don’t want to be Carrie – sure, she has a special place in your heart as a fictional character but real-life Carries, with all of their delusions and ideals, are not meant for the real world.

“You’re watching that show again?”

You almost fall over the couch when you hear a familiar voice behind you, and when you crane your neck to look who it was, your eyes widen.

“Mom!” you exclaim, rightfully surprised. Your mother – in the flesh – smiles as she sees you grin. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you’d be here— wait, how’d you get inside?”

She waves you off. “You know your sister and Jin gave me a duplicate key to their place. Anyway, I’m just here to drop off some side dishes. Also, I know what you’ve been up to. And stop eating that ice cream.”

You pout, taking the tub away from you. When you see her walk towards the kitchen with her bags – presumably the side dishes she was talking about – you follow behind her steps, helping her load the containers in the fridge.

“What do you mean you know what I’ve been up to?”

“You and Jungkook fought, I heard.”

“Mom,” you say with a tone that tells her you don’t want to talk about it at all.

“You know I’m going over there shortly to give him these, right? Supposed to be for the both of you, but oh well, you’re lounging around here.” She says.

“I’m not lounging around here. They love that I’m here.” You counter, referring to your sister and Seokjin. It almost sounded like a whine, though, more than anything. But it was true! They like you being here! They’ve always treated you like their child… but you know you’re kind of pushing it with your sixth-day-stay.

Your mother looks at you disapprovingly, loading the last container before shutting the fringe doors shut.

“Whatever you’re fighting about, you know avoiding it is not going to make it better.”

You sigh. “I’m not even sure if we’re fighting, anyway.”

“What’s that mean?” Your mom asks, sounding confused. You can imagine.

“I don’t know… just – I don’t think we’re angry at each other.”

“Not being angry at each other is worse than being angry at each other. That sounds like withdrawal.”

You wince at her words. “Maybe.”

Your mom sighs. She takes out a bit from the container of stir-fried zucchini and slides you both a plate. “Have you been eating real food? You look like you’re not eating properly.”

Teenager and college you would’ve rolled your eyes because she always says that you’re losing weight and blah blah blah, but it’s not even true. However, you do know she’s just concerned, though, and so you nod your head, picking up a zucchini and eating it.

“Yes. Jin’s a good cook.”

She nods, eating as well. “So is Jungkook. He hasn’t talked to you at all?”

You thought you’ve dodged the topic of Jungkook completely but apparently your mom’s still on that. You nibble on your bottom lip as you think what to say.

“He… uhm… he didn’t text or call.” Well. There was one time. Two days ago. And it was just a simple text about informing you of the sudden change in the OR schedule. You replied to it with a thanks and a smiley face, but he didn’t say anything after that — not that your thanks should guarantee anything. That was not exactly a conversation starter.

Still.

“Have you talked to him?”

Shoot.

You shake your head a bit.

The truth is that you can’t be sad about Jungkook not reaching out when you haven’t been doing the same thing either. You’re running away from him – you can admit that. The past week hasn’t been your proudest moment. You’ve thought it over countless times; why you just can’t go ahead and speak to him – because heck, for eight years you’ve always done a good job at it, communicating with each other when things went wrong. Like when he teases you too much and you actually get offended, and the same goes for him.

But what happened wasn’t just something that came out of a supposedly lighthearted banter. It wasn’t your usual banter at all.

“What happened, sweetie?” And this time your mom’s voice is bordering on concern.

You don’t look at her when you say, “Jungkook said he’s in love with me.”

You don’t get a reaction. At least – the reaction you were expecting. You thought she would gasp, or at least let out an, “Oh”, but there’s none of that. When you peer up at her, she just nods.

As if the news was no surprise.

“And I take it didn’t go well?” She looks at you gently.

“N-no,” you stammer. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you say, “It was – it was so messy that day, mom. You know we went to that resort for his birthday, right? He and my boyfriend fought, and just – so much happened. I don’t even remember half of it. Just that he told me he’s been in love with me for the past eight years.”

Your mom nods. “Your boyfriend… is that Mingyu?”

“Yes.” It feels weird to call him your boyfriend now. You used to be so giddy calling him that. But right now, it feels almost icky.

“Why did Jungkook and him fight?”

You told her what Jungkook told you – everything, and your mom is sweet almost all of the time but as she listens to everything that Mingyu supposedly did and say – especially about you – she can’t help but knit her brows in that quiet anger you know all too well now. But it soon dissipates to worry.

She steps closer to you. You look at her with a sad smile. With that, she encloses her arms around you, and you let your chin fall on her shoulder as you reciprocate her hug. You almost cry when she squeezes you. “How are you feeling then, sweetie?” She asks, voice so gentle and soft. Comforting. You think this has been what you needed all this time.

“Like shit.” you chuckle. “I’ve never been so tired. I haven’t even talked to Mingyu yet – I haven’t been talking to anybody, even my friends. I don't know why I’m like this.”

“You know I worry for you.”

“Hm?”

“You’re such a lovely, sweet girl. And these men keep breaking your heart. I wish I can ease your pain, honey. You have the biggest heart in the world.”

You nibble on your bottom lip as you feel that stinging in your eyes at her words. You remember Jungkook saying almost the exact same thing.

“Jungkook told me that sometime ago.” you say, holding back the cry you know is coming out any second now.

“He knows you well.” She says as she caresses your head.

“I just…” you let out a sigh again, trying to shake off the oncoming tears. “When he told me he loved me all this time, I said I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I still can’t.”

“Do you think he would lie about something like that?”

It’s firm and final when you say, “No.” Because you know in your heart that was true. Jungkook is anything but a liar. And especially about something like that… you just don’t think he would ever hurt you intentionally. That’d be cruel and Jungkook was never cruel. It’s just not in his nature.

“Hm. Then is it because you don’t feel the same way at all? That’s why you can’t believe it?” Your mom asks and it’s the most groundbreaking question you’ve ever heard after a while.

Do you just… not feel the same way?

That was definitely the biggest question you’ve been avoiding answering.

But as your mom pushes you slightly so she can look at you earnestly, gently, like she has no expectations whatsoever – just here to hold and comfort you – it beckons you into spilling your emotions.

“I… I really don’t know, mom.” You intake a sharp breath. “He’s been a constant presence in my life for eight years. We’ve never– we’ve never considered the possibility of being more than just friends. I– I don’t know why he would love me. Or fall for me. He’s never shown interest, the way I saw it – but these days I’ve been rethinking that and I’m beating myself over for being stupid because it’s like – how could I have not known? He’s always been so caring towards me. Always makes time for me. He’s never let me down and he’s just – he’s my person, mom. Always has been. And how could I have thought that he didn’t mean for that to come off as purely platonic?” you stop, feeling your lips wobble. “It’s just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel. All I know is that these days without him have been so painful, especially when we haven’t properly talked. I miss him everyday and it kills me that we aren’t like before right now. I want to be by his side all the time, and I think I may have taken that for granted for the past eight years we’ve known each other.”

You don’t realize you’ve let out so much, but your mom just lets you snuggle closer to her, knowing that you’re feeling a lot right now. And you do. You haven’t talked to anyone about what you really felt – not even your sister, even though you knew she did her best to do so – but as your mom soothes your back with the gentle rub of her hand, you let yourself be comforted.

“You know what I think, honey?”

You look up at her with teary eyes, nodding weakly.

She gives you a small smile. “Do you remember that time when I thought he was your boyfriend when you brought him for Christmas?”

Nodding, you chuckle. Second year of med school it was. Eunwoo was in Switzerland for a a big project – and Jungkook’s parents weren’t in town. You both didn’t have anybody to celebrate Christmas with and so you ended up asking Jungkook to come home with you.

It wasn’t just your mom who thought he was your boyfriend. Your sister and Seokjin also assumed the same thing.

Around that time, you haven’t introduced Eunwoo to them yet so basically, they didn’t know that you were taken already.

“I think this is just me being old… but you kind of… you get to know these things, __. You’ll see somebody's eyes, they way they gaze at somebody. When we were opening those gifts during Christmas eve, I saw the way that kid looked at my daughter with so much adoration that I even thought you were just being coy about him being your boyfriend.”

Your lips curl into a tight line.

You… certainly did not notice any of that. Did that really happen?

“I think Jungkook’s a good man, and your dad is fond of him – he asked me yesterday if you’re gonna bring him for Thanksgiving or Christmas, he misses his chess buddy, it seems. No pressure, though,” your mom chuckles. “But Jungkook’s smart, kind, polite, works hard, really charming—” you laugh again, despite yourself, because that’s definitely true. He charmed your parents so quickly with ease. It’s just really about his pleasant personality that attaches people to him. “But most especially, he makes you really happy. I liked that Jaehyun guy and Eunwoo because they made you happy when you were together. Up until they didn’t. I only like people who are good to you, sweetie. That was why I liked your ex-boyfriends for a while,” She begins caressing your head again and you feel like a little girl again, finding comfort in your mom’s bedroom after a bad day at middle school. Your mom smiles softly before she continues, “But those men hurt you. And they leave you. And you know who hasn’t in the past eight years? The only one who’s been consistent in making you happy?”

It’s Jungkook. He’s always been under your nose while you cried over other men, and he was there to support you through it all. He’s the one who makes you laugh at his stupid jokes. The one who sits with you in your feelings on days when you don’t feel your best. He’s the one who lets you cry on his shoulder when a surgery doesn’t go well, the guy who would drop everything for you with one text or call, the guy who gifts you stupid, stupid random things because they reminded him of you. He’s the guy who shares his playlists with you, comments silly stuff on your equally silly posts, and he’s the only one who has never, ever made you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the only one who has never left and hurt you.

It’s always been Jungkook.

Your mom doesn’t need to say the name, though, just one look at you and she knows you're thinking the same thing.

It’s during midday at the hospital when you see Jungkook again.

The elevator dinged and the doors finally opened on your floor, but you froze in your position when you saw who was inside the whole time.

It was Jungkook, sitting slightly on the handrails while crossing his arms. His posture straightened for a bit as he met your eyes, looking equally surprised as you. But then he recovered and relaxed in his position just as quickly.

You couldn’t read the look on his face.

Taking a hold of yourself before the door automatically closes, you stepped a foot inside the lift and pressed on the button of your floor immediately. The 7th floor button is lightened up, so you assumed Jungkook was gonna get off earlier than you since you were going down on the sixth floor.

The confined space had never felt more suffocating. You could feel there was something in the air – a thick tension that was getting too hard to bear every second you felt the elevator moving down.

There was a lump that formed in your throat, especially when you caught a glimpse of the reader going floors down fast, and the 7th one was nearing.

Your heart beat erratically against your chest. You didn’t even feel that nervous back in the OR twenty minutes ago.

But you figured it was the first time you felt close, after all.

It was funny, really – what you felt at that moment. Being physically close to Jungkook had never made you feel like that – like you’re on edge – you’ve always just approached it as something natural, like you were meant to be that way. And those times, you never really thought about the contact ending.

But in that moment, it felt like he was slipping away – even though you were not even holding him in the first place.

It was probably why you let out your next words, craning your neck to the side to try and look behind you where you knew Jungkook was at.

“I miss you.”

You barely said it. Felt like just a soft whisper as the words slipped past your lips, but there was a break around its edges – like it was the most vulnerable thing you’ve ever said.

It was.

And you didn’t exactly know why you did it.

Maybe you just wanted him to know. Maybe you just wanted him to understand that… that you were still there. And that you missed him. Every single day. Regardless of what happened.

There was a thick silence that hung in the air after that, and you should’ve taken back your words right after they came out. Embarrassment should’ve clouded you by then. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

That was as honest as you could get.

You didn’t even expect a reply – assuming that maybe Jungkook hadn’t heard it.

But you heard the soft tap of his steps on the floor and felt his overwhelming presence coming near you. And just like that, you knew he was behind you. Close. A hair's breadth away.

Then, you hear him let out a soft sigh, and you could feel his breath brush against your ear as he leaned down. You never realized how much you craved his affection until you felt him slightly nudging his cheek against the crown of your head.

It made you keen. Made you shut your eyes close. Basking in the moment, but you didn’t ignore the pain that it caused.

Because somehow, despite what might seem like a sweet gesture – the whole thing felt like goodbye.

It was so intimate, though, that you almost forgot that you were currently on the 8th floor and he was dropping off on the next.

The elevator dinged like a wake-up call. And when you opened your eyes, Jungkook had already peeled his body away from you. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you fought the urge to cry as you saw him walking out.

Before the door closed, he took one look at you. His mouth opened, as if wanting to say something. You waited. But he closed his lips again, not bothering to look back for even one last time before the elevator doors closed in front of your face.

The interaction left a certain melancholy in your heart, and it made you run on auto-pilot when the elevator stopped on your floor.

You never expected for the encounter to happen – but it did, in its own way. And now you have to deal with the consequences of your impulsive actions.

Your mindless walking has led your feet to somewhere a bit secluded. It’s far across the hall, and you recognize it as some old, empty ward. You and your friends have one on the 5th floor but you don’t think you’ve never really been here before and so you weren’t sure.

But you’re desperate to let out a good cry. Maybe not exactly cry – but just be alone for awhile. The hospital and your schedule are busy enough as they are and it’s enough to keep your mind occupied since the morning – but that interaction with Jungkook at the elevator reminded you of the weight that you’ve been carrying lately and you just… want to dissipate a little. Even if it means sacrificing your three-minute lunchtime.

You don’t suspect anything as you twist the doorknob open – surprise to see it’s not locked like you thought it would be.

And the sight leaves your mouth hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

“What the fuck.”

“Shit!” You watch as Doyeon pushes off the man wearing a white lab gown on top of her – a very familiar figure that you can only recognize as none other than the attending surgeon Dr. Kim Namjoon.

A panicked, “I’m sorry!” leaves your mouth before you turn on your heel, ready to fly off the scene when you hear Doyeon’s voice calling you from behind.

“Wait, __!”

You hesitantly look back.

It’s obvious what they were doing before you entered the room. Doyeon’s hair is unusually out of the ponytail she always shows up to work with, and Dr. Kim… Jesus. He’s always been so intimidating to you – with his tall stature and his aura that reeks so much of authority, even though he doesn’t even try, it feels so fucking weird to suddenly see him with his hair all mussed up when it always looks kempt every single time you see him along the hallways of the hospital. Right now, he looks coy, like he’s shrinking himself as he avoids looking at you.

“Dr. __, I am so deeply sorry,” His apology sounds so remorseful that you feel bad for even having to barge in. You can see Dr. Kim fumbling with his coat as he looks at Doyeon like he’s looking for help. Doyeon looks at him, but she just… rolls her eyes.

“Joon, just–” She cuts herself off, shutting her eyes close. Seemingly agitated. Or embarrassed. You don’t know why you’re still here. “You should leave now, I’ll talk to __.” Doyeon lets her gaze fall back to you and your eyes widen at the declaration, not really knowing if she was serious or not.

You mean… what are you even going to talk about? Sure! You’re shocked as fuck to see them together in that position but you’re not about to ask her about her sex life!

… Okay. So maybe you are a little bit (only a little) curious about that.

Dr. Kim has always been a mystery to all of you. Taehyung and Jungkook admire him so much, the latter lowkey idolizes him at this point. Nayeon has always spoken highly about him and you’re literally a fan of all his work in his field, especially his books. It doesn’t help that he’s attractive as hell, too, and you all may have gossiped about him at one point in your lives – so sue you for being curious! You’re just human.

“You sure?” Dr. Kim says, barely spoken, but you don’t miss the gentle way he holds Doyeon’s shoulder as he asks that, the way his face contorts into a concerned expression when he looks down at her. One quick interaction and you instantly realize that oh… this is serious.

They’re not just having casual sex in this ward.

This is Doyeon’s boyfriend.

Your bestfriend nods at him and you step aside to give Dr. Kim some space to leave the room, still visibly stunned. You thought he was going to leave when he utters another apology again.

“__, I’m really sorry about this behavior. Doyeon and I—”

Doyeon groans. “Joon, oh my god. It’s fine.”

You watch as Dr. Kim’s (who Doyeon apparently calls “Joon”— what the hell) lips fall into a thin line. “Fine. I’ll go. We’ll talk about this later, alright?”

“I know.”

He gives you both one last glance before the door closes on you.

You swear you tried to look for cameras everywhere – like they do in The Office – to see if the whole thing was a prank. But no. Your life’s unfortunately not a sitcom.

“I told him to lock the door earlier,” Doyeon starts, sounding defeated as she falls back on one of the emergency beds. Sighing, she covers her face with her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

At that, you can’t help but react immediately.

“You’re embarrassed about the fact that you’re fucking an insanely stupid hot, intelligent man?” Your brows knit.

Doyeon looks at you and you both stare at each other. She holds her own, like she usually does, but for the first time ever, she breaks and chuckles. The laughter turns hilarious, and you follow her into the bed.

“God,” she utters. She licks her bottom lip and looks at you shyly. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“I mean… what did you mean to do instead?”

She hesitates. “I’m not sure.”

You frown. “So, you just… you just weren’t going to tell me? Us?” You didn’t bother to hide the tone of disappointment in your words. Doyeon looks a little ashamed when you verbalized that.

“It’s not that. I just didn’t know how,” She says. You knit your brows in confusion. “You know I’ve always been… private about my dating life or whatever. I don’t tell you guys I’m dating until I’m sure the guy and I are official. I… I don’t even date a lot in the first place.”

Well… that was true. You nod at her, giving her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I get that.” Doyeon smiles a little. “How long?”

There’s a pregnant pause before she says, “Uh… since Feb?”

“Jesus.” She winces at your reaction. You stare at her with your jaw slack. “What the fuck, Doyeon? Nine months?”

“Well, technically, eight but—” you look at her dryly and Doyeon gives up on her attempt at being facetious. “Okay. I’m sorry. It just happened.” You raise your brow at her. She sighs. “Okay, so we may have hooked up last year in December. You remember the Christmas party at the Ritz?”

Your mouth just hangs wider, looking at her incredulously. Every drop of information she lets out just grows your surprise bigger, and you have nothing in substance to say except, “You… whore.”

Doyeon laughs so loud you worry it might have been heard from the outside, but you wince at the slap that follows on your shoulder as she giggles nonstop.

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god.”

“No– I just– Oh my god, was that the reason why you bailed on our own Christmas party over at Nayeon’s?” She nods at your question with her lips pursed. You scoff, still not believing it but just overall amused in general. “You’re really throwing me a curveball here, babe. Like – I have never ever heard you talking about Dr. Kim except when you said you’d totally fuck him in that one drinking session. And then, you actually fucking did.”

She rolls her eyes, scoffing. “He started asking me out on dates in January and he asked me to be his girlfriend in Feb. I don’t even know how it happened. It just did,” She shrugs, as if she just said that the skies are blue. “I’m pretty good at hiding, huh?”

You don’t hide the way you instantly frown.

“I’m happy for you, Doyeon, I really am. But… did you not feel like you could tell me? Or any of us?”

At least she looks apologetic, nibbling on her bottom lip before she says, “It’s not that, __. I didn’t know how to tell you guys. There’s this – there’s this thing when you date a co-worker, especially in the hospital. He’s an attendant, and he’s about to be chief of surgery next two months, you know that right? And it’s just— I know you will never think it, or the rest of our friends – but I just. I didn’t want anyone to think that I’m… that I’m sleeping my way here, you know? It’s fucking weird. And Ms. Yan from fuckass HR hates me for some reason. I’d be public enemy number one around here, __.”

You wince hearing her explanation. Nodding, you rub her shoulder to offer some kind of comfort, noticing that she’s actually silently fuming just by the mere thought of that. Meaning she must have been thinking about it for quite some time now.

“But you know we’ll never think of it like that, right?” You confirm with her, just to be sure. You love Doyeon – she’s basically your sister at this point – and you don’t ever want her to feel like she can’t trust you.

“Of course. I don’t… I can’t really offer you any explanation other than I got scared and just wasn’t ready. Joon wants to let people know… and I don’t know. I guess I’m thinking about that too nowadays.” She says, and she’s not really looking at you anymore, seemingly deep in thought.

You begin rubbing her back. “It’s fine if you’re not ready yet.”

“Oh, this is getting kind of mushy. I hate it.” Doyeon says dryly. You push her slightly which sends her sideways a bit, earning a laugh from her.

“Joon, huh?” You decide to tease to lighten up the mood. Instead of backing down and getting shy like you expected, Doyeon raises her brow. “Can I be honest with you, though?” You say, fiddling with your fingers. She nods so you tread lightly to your next words. “This will sound crazy, I know, but for the longest time I thought Jungkook was your secret boyfriend.”

“What the fuck?” Doyeon says, sharp and almost… disgusted. You don’t expect such a reaction.

“Okay, you don’t need to sound so disgusted. Jungkook’s a good-looking guy and he’s very decent.” You say, sounding weirdly defensive – even to your own ears.

“No– that’s not what I meant—” Doyeon cuts herself off with a laugh. “That’s actually really funny, though.” You look at her curiously. “Somehow, I thought about you thinking that. Especially after that time at the villa when you walked in on us talking by the pool deck.”

“I…” you try to come up with an excuse, something to deny her claim, but nothing comes, and your eyebrows knit in confusion because you actually don’t know yourself why you felt that way back then. You still remember the weird feeling that flared up in your chest upon seeing them in such an intimate position — with Jungkook’s head on Doyeon’s stomach and her caressing his head. Maybe you’re more malicious than you let on, but can she really blame you for thinking there was more to that? Besides, Jungkook’s second closest in the group is probably her. It made sense to assume they were secretly together.

“God, don’t,” Doyeon says incredulously. “Obviously, he’s not my secret boyfriend. I don’t like him and he does not like me, at least not that way. That man only has heart eyes for you and I’m only into Namjoon, thank you very much.”

You wince. “Sorry.”

“But were you really jealous that time, though?” Doyeon asks, intrigued. “I mean, I thought about it. You were acting weird. But I kind of just shrugged it off.”

“I was not jealous, what the hell,” you quickly say. “I was just surprised. And you’re both really close, so I don’t know.”

Doyeon arches her brow. “You’re also both close, so going by that logic, are you two together?” You frown at her. She laughs, knowing she proved her point. “Alright, enough about that. How have you been these days?”

You stare at her before sighing.

“I’ve been wanting to say sorry.”

“Damn straight,” she tells you immediately, like she’s been looking forward to it. “Like, you bitch– I thought you died. Not talking to me or to anybody for a week is crazy.”

“It’s not my proudest moment.”

“Why?”

You subtly inhale a shaky breath. “I… to be honest? I thought you guys were mad at me.”

“What?” You can hear the incredulous tone Doyeon’s taking on. And you slowly realize that you completely just conjured a whole ass narrative in your head the whole time.

“I know. I feel terrible about it. But I just… I couldn’t help but think that I ruined… things.”

“Oh…” Doyeon says, and she cranes her neck down to meet your gaze as you’re tucking your head down slightly. “Why did you think that?”

You open your mouth and close it, trying to find the right words.

“I… know I was completely being ambitious when I said I wanted to bring Mingyu along to the trip – and I realize I shouldn’t have done that. Our relationship was still so fresh, and I was already bringing him along to what was supposed to be our vacation. And the fight happened and the whole thing just went to complete shit. We didn’t even get to spend our five nights there because you guys had to book us a flight immediately and I just… I guess I just feel so bad about it. Had I not invited him… the trip would’ve been way more different. Happier, that I’m sure of.”

“__,” Doyeon calls your name firmly. “That was not any of your fault. Sure, you should’ve consulted with us – because I’m not gonna lie, you threw us in for a surprise when you said that Mingyu was coming, but that fight was not your fault. At all. They physically fought each other on their own accord, even though they knew they were already too grown to be doing that shit. Don’t feel guilty about what those men did.”

You bite your lip. “Still. They— uhm. They apparently fought because of me. It’s stupid.”

“Exactly. But… Mingyu kind of deserved it. Sorry.” Doyeon comments.

You wince. “You know?”

“Jungkook told us about it, yeah.” Doyeon says, as if hesitant to even mention his name in the conversation.

You sigh. You’re not really surprised. “Did he… did he tell you guys… everything?”

“He did.” Doyeon confirms. “It’s not actually new news for us, __.”

You look confuse when you meet her gaze. “How do you mean?”

She presses her lips into a thin line. “He’s in love with you. We’ve known for a while,” You stare at her, mouth agape. Doyeon reluctantly adds, “Since med school.”

“Oh.” You close your eyes for a moment. “Even Nayeon?”

She nods. “Yes.”

You’re silent for a while before you look away. Nodding, you whisper, “I see,” You sigh. “I don’t even… I’m not even surprised about that. Even my mother knows — I mean, Jungkook didn’t tell her of course, but she said she knew he had feelings for me.”

“I think… everybody knows, __.” Your eyes fall to Doyeon. She gives you a gentle smile. “Everybody who sees the way Jungkook looks at you immediately knows right away. He doesn’t have to tell someone he likes you for them to know that. Taehyung and I figured it out ourselves as well. And then Nayeon met you both and she did the same thing. Just had to fish out the confirmation from Jungkook himself.”

“That’s…” you trail off, not really knowing what to say. “I’m really stupid for not noticing all this time, huh?”

“Hmm… maybe. Sort of. But also, not really. I guess it must’ve been just different for you. We’re just bystanders of your interactions — when Jungkook teases you like a fucker it’s easy to assume he’s flirting with you, but it must’ve been annoying as hell for you.”

You chuckle a bit. But it’s with fondness as you agree, “Yeah…”

“He sucks ass at flirting.”

“I agree…” you trail off. “I – well, you probably know, but I told him I don’t believe him,” Doyeon hums, listening in. “I regret saying that. It really hurt him. But… who can blame me, Doyeon? I mean, am I not right for having doubts? Being confused? I mean, okay, yes, I was taken for the first four years we knew each other but I was— I was available two years ago and he didn’t— he didn't do anything. Why didn’t he do anything?” The words are coming off as a rant, you’re fully aware, but you let yourself go, anyway. “He was dating all those women and I just… how am I supposed to believe him when I thought he showed me the opposite?”

“You mean how were you supposed to believe him when he sleeps around?”

You shut your eyes close. “I don’t– I don’t necessarily think he sleeps around, okay? Jungkook’s not a fuckboy or someone who sleeps with anyone with a pulse. He’s too grown for that shit. But I… I just meant, that… he dated a lot all throughout the time we knew each other, so where was I in the equation? You know what I mean?”

Doyeon stares at you for a bit, then she nods, looking ahead. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. Then, “Are you worried he’s not sincere about his feelings? Because he dated a lot of people?”

“I-I’m not sure about that.” But maybe, that thought bothers you a bit.

“When was the last time he was with somebody?”

You don’t mean to sound defensive when you retort back with, “I wouldn’t know that. Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook and I do not actually talk about everything, and that includes our sex lives, but I know when he’s… seeing somebody.”

“How?” Doyeon asks, looking at you. She wasn’t trying to trick you into anything, just genuine curiosity written all over her face.

You shy away from her gaze. “Four months ago… Nayeon’s engagement party. He was checking that woman out.”

“Oh… Kwon Jihyo?”

Your brows furrow. “You know her?”

Doyeon nods. “Yeah. Physio class back in freshman year. I talked to her at the party as well,” you grow more confused and Doyeon adds, “Also, she’s gay. Married with two kids.”

“Oh.”

That earns a chuckle from Doyeon. Tapping your arm, she tells you, “You don’t have a gay radar, it’s fine.”

“Oh my god…” you slap a hand on your forehead. “I teased him about sleeping with her after the party…”

You’ve always seen Jungkook as a regular ladies man in your head due to the fact that he gets women, quite very easily. Empirically, Jungkook goes on a lot of dates. But to be completely honest with yourself, you don’t even know the extent of those said dates. Jungkook doesn’t exactly oppose it when you lightheartedly tease him about being a playboy, but you do notice when that puts him off a bit.

Maybe you should’ve pried – maybe he gets put off because it’s simply not true? But you don’t think it’s not not true either, so… do you really think he sleeps around?

“Look,” Doyeon suddenly says which makes you look at her, snapping you out of your own messy thoughts. “I’m not trying to defend him or put in a good word for him or whatever. But I do know that you know him better than I do, so I’m sure you don’t actually think he isn’t sincere about his feelings for you. If you’re worried about his dating history, talk to him about that – but if we’re going by technical definition here, I don’t think Jungkook sleeps around, __. He doesn’t have a new woman switched out for another every seven business days, does he? Or is that a wrong assumption—”

“God, no,” you roll your eyes at her. “And anyway, why are we talking about this? I don’t care who he has sex with. He can do whatever he wants. He’s a grown man.”

“Yeah… but you just said it’s sort of the reason why you’re holding back.”

You feel blood rushing to your cheek because… that is true. You don’t even know why. Because you stand for what you said that he can do whatever the hell he wants. He’s young and he’s objectively attractive and he can have sex whenever he wants…

But somehow, that very thought — of Jungkook being with anybody that way, suddenly made a weird feeling flare up in your chest. You’ve never really paid it mind before, but right now that you now know what you know…

“It just kind of hurts a bit, I guess.” You say, not looking at Doyeon. “I mean, it’s irrational, really. I don’t expect him to be celibate for the eight years he’s claimed to love me, that’s just insane. I’ve also had sex with other people throughout the time and it would be unfair of me to dwell on the fact that he’s been with other people in the past when I also have but… it’s just… you know…” you trail off, and you feel like you’re gonna burst with so much embarrassment from the thoughts running through your head.

“I know… what?” Doyeon says, trying to fill in the gaps.

“I guess I just…” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I guess…. I guess I just expected him to want only me.”

“Oh.” you look at Doyeon. “Oh wow. That’s…”

You huff. “It’s childish, I know. It’s so stupid – I can’t think that. It’s unfair for him.”

Doyeon shakes her head. “No, I mean, I get that. I get that completely,” She scoots closer to you. “You have to know, though, that for the past eight years, Jungkook has tried many times to move on from you.” That words felt like a bucket of cold water. He’s tried…? Doyeon gives you a small smile when she notices the way your face fell. “It was really tough for him when you and Eunwoo got serious, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He tried seeing other people, in the hopes that they could make him feel what he does for you. He didn’t do that in vain – like he did it maliciously in hopes that you would get jealous or whatever. He did that – he does that – because he also genuinely wants to be with someone who can reciprocate his feelings. Min Sora was really close… but I don’t really know what happened to that. I’ve assumed since then that he must still probably love you. And he still apparently does, even to this day. I’m not saying all of this in favor of him, okay? But do you not want to give him a chance because of that? He really loves you, __. He admires you a lot. You don’t know how much he’s just in awe of you. He talks about you a lot when you’re not around, and he’d ditch just about anything to get to you with one call. Look… I don’t know what you feel, and at the end of the day, you call the shots. But I think he’s worth it, __. Because I know him as well and everybody knows he’ll treat you right. You just gotta give him the chance.”

You take in Doyeon’s words carefully.

“That’s not really the only thing I’m skeptical about,” you sigh. “Him having slept with other people is not the top of my concern, because we weren’t in any relationship. Again, I couldn’t have expected him to be celibate all this time. What I’m really worried about is the fact that he’s so— he’s so important to me, Doyeon. I’ve known him for eight years and he’s… he’s quite literally the best thing that ever happened to me—” you stop for awhile because you feel your voice breaking, just in time when the sides of your eyes sting with precedent tears. But you can’t cry right now. You’ve done that a lot in the past few days. “And if— and if I do feel the same, and then we do this thing, what if it all goes wrong? I don’t – I can’t really bear the thought of him not present in my life. I have never considered that ever since I’ve known him. I’m so lucky with my friendships but my romantic relationships all suck. They’re shit. And I don’t want to have a shit romantic relationship with Jungkook, because that would mean I’d lose him. And I don’t want to lose him… do you— do you get me, Doyeon? I’m so scared. Because there's this part of me that wholeheartedly believes what he said, but there’s a bigger part of me that’s in denial because I can’t stop thinking about things going wrong.”

“Hey,” Doyeon gently calls, and you don’t realize that you’ve been holding back a sob because the moment she scoots closer, arm circling your back, you bury your face in her chest and let out a quiet cry. She cradles your head, and you close your eyes at that. “What if things don’t go wrong, though? What if it works out?”

You sniffle. “But things always go wrong for me and my boyfriends. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but they just never end well.”

Doyeon lets out a heavy breath. “I completely understand that. Again, you know Jungkook better than I do. Better than anybody I know, really. You would know exactly what he’s capable of – and that includes the possibility of him hurting you, or the lack of it thereof. It’s really your choice, __. Just… just talk to him, okay? He’s been wanting to, but you’re not reaching out and he said he didn’t want to suffocate you or anything like that.”

You quickly perk up at that. “He said that?” Doyeon nods. It makes your shoulders deflate. “But… but we were in the elevator today and he…”

“He what?”

“He… uhm… well I said something stupid,” you wince, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks. “I said I miss him, but he didn’t – I don’t know. He didn’t say anything,” Nibbling on your bottom lip anxiously, you look at Doyeon reluctantly, gauging her reaction. “I think he actually hates me now.”

Doyeon is quiet for a moment before she speaks. “You just… you really have no clue how much he loves you, huh? You can kill a close relative of his and he’ll make excuses for you, I don’t doubt that even for a second,” She says and for a moment you’re a bit offended because you’re getting kind of tired of people pointing out that Jungkook being into you is obvious like how the grasses are green, but Doyeon shakes her head, face in pure disbelief. And you just know she didn’t mean it that way. She genuinely looks baffled. “You really need to talk, __. This is… it really hurts seeing you both like this."

You tuck your head down. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I’m going back to our place tonight. But I’m not sure. I’ll probably chicken out last minute.”

Doyeon pats your arm. “Do it, okay? Just be honest with yourself and to him. You both need that.”

You give her a small, weak smile.

You’re pretty much drained the moment you arrive at your place. Sighing heavily, you punch in the passcode and almost feel your knees buckling at the sight of the interior of your apartment.

It feels like it’s been so long since you’ve been here, and coupled with the discussion that you had with Doyeon yesterday, everything suddenly feels overstimulating and there’s an urge at the sides of your eyes to cry.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you breathe in and out as you enter the threshold, noting the fact that nobody is at home. Or Jungkook isn’t present anywhere in the living room. You’re a bit grateful for that if you have to be honest to yourself – after all, the last time that you talked to him did not exactly go as well as you’d like.

He could be in his room, though. That’s what you assume as you go straight over to the kitchen in hopes to heat up the take-out that you bought at the driveway. As you leave your phone on the counter, you notice the to-go container from Chipotle on the same surface, as well as the laptop that is left open beside it.

So Jungkook is home.

The question is, where could he possibly be, leaving out his stuff here in the kitchen? Might be in his bedroom to grab something real quick?

You don’t mean to do the next thing that comes to your mind, but your feet – your stupid feet – track back from the microwave to the island, and your eyes betray you as they go look and read the words on the screen of Jungkook’s macbook.

The tab that shows is an apartment listing website, and besides are more tabs that show some familiar real-estate names you’ve come to on the internet before when you were looking for a place.

It makes you freeze in your spot, eyes glued to the daunting images of the apartment layout that Jungkook must’ve clicked on awhile ago, and you take note that he’s seemingly, specifically, looking for one-apartment bedrooms and studio apartments.

Your mind goes into a sudden haywire at the sight.

What does this mean?

“Oh, hey,”

The embodied voice makes your head snap to its direction, and you see Jungkook standing in front of you in his sweats and shirt – his usual home clothes – with a charger in his hand.

“Jungkook.” You say, or more like, breathe out. Your heart feels like it’s somersaulting for some reason at the sight of him.

But Jungkook looks just as surprised as you.

“I… I didn’t know you’re coming ho– back.” He says, and there’s a twinge in your heart that you ignore when you caught him pointedly avoiding the word home when pertaining to your place. Somehow, that felt intentional.

But you give him a smile. Probably a weak one. Probably doesn’t really look like a smile at all and more like a grimace. If Jungkook notices, he doesn’t say anything. Just goes straight to the direction of the highchairs on the island and plug in his charger for his laptop.

Then, he turns to look at you. “Uh... you just got off from your shift?”

“Yeah. You too?” You say, nibbling your bottom lip with your teeth. A nervous habit.

“Nah, got off a few hours ago.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

You nod your head. You stand there for a while, letting the silence that’s admittedly awkward hang in the air.

It’s weird, really. Jungkook and you usually have a lot to say to each other – but right now, there doesn’t seem to be a single thing you can say to one another.

It breaks your heart that’s the current case.

“Well, uhm. That’s Zillow.” You say, pointing to his laptop. The moment the words left your lips you swear you could have slapped yourself.

How stupid to ask him about it. How incredibly stupid for that thing to be your choice of topic after weeks of no proper communication with him.

Jungkook seems surprised at this, though, turning his head immediately to look at his own laptop. There’s a certain jerk in his movements when he moves his fingers to the trackpad that closes the entire window of the internet and shows his wallpaper instead.

“Oh. Yeah. That was… Zillow.”

Stupid, stupid you makes everything even more awkward when you say, “You’re looking for a place?”

Jungkook stares at you for awhile. There’s a pregnant pause, and then he nods his head. A bit hesitant. But his voice is full when he speaks.

“Yeah.”

So, he’s moving out. That’s what you think as you avoid looking at his face and let your gaze fall back to his laptop.

You give him a small smile.

“Ah. Good luck with the search, then.”

Your heart completely breaks when you say the words.

Suddenly, the words of your supposed confession get stuck and they die in your throat. You let yourself believe that coming home tonight would fix everything; you just had to go inside, talk to Jungkook, tell him you were sorry about what you said – and the rest would just do its thing and you'll be back to okay.

But he's moving out, and every bit of hope in you shuts down.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, and you’re just about to turn on your heels to go to your room but then he utters lowly, almost like a whisper.

“It’s not final.”

“Hm?” You hum, not sure if you caught that.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jungkook looks away as he says again, “I mean, I’m just looking. I was gonna talk to you before I finalize my plans.”

“Talk to me? Why?”

“Since we’re on a joint lease and all that.”

“Oh.” You nod to yourself, dumbfounded. It's embarrassing the way you lit up with expectation when he said it wasn't final, for it to completely die anyway when he said that. You feel like you're not wanted. “Yeah. Right.”

“I assume you’re tired from your shift, though, so maybe we can go over it tomorrow? Or any day you like, really.” Jungkook shrugs.

“No, tonight’s fine,” You wave your hand, walking towards his direction and seating yourself on the chair beside him. You try to focus all your attention on the screen in front of you instead of Jungkook’s overwhelming presence. You’ve always thought he was big but tonight, he feels even bigger and you’re intimidated. “Are you writing a notice to the landlord?”

“Yeah – I mean, after we talk about the move, that is.”

“Wow.” You can’t help but let out. “You really thought about all this while I was away?”

You regret the words just as instantly as they leave your mouth.

Looking at Jungkook hesitantly, you watch as his face falls, mouth opening and closing, as if at a loss for words.

You take them back before he says something. “Sorry — I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” Sharp and edgy, clipped and… angry. Sort of accusatory. Like you’re pinning something bad on him.

“It’s fine.” Jungkook says after awhile, returning back his gaze on the laptop.

His withdrawal makes you deflate. He seems so uninterested. Is he done with you? Just like that?

“You know what,” You utter after a pregnant pause, standing up from the chair and getting back on your feet. “I actually have a headache. I think we should go over this tomorrow.”

Jungkook looks confused but he nods, anyway. “I just… stocked up on Advil yesterday. So, if you need it… it’s just in the kit.”

“Sure. Thanks,” You give him a small smile. “I’ll, just go, uh, shower for a bit.” You point to the bathroom across from you.

Before you go, Jungkook calls your name.

“__.”

You turn around to look at him. “Yes?”

“Are you…” He trails off. You wish he’d look at you like he usually does. “Are you back for good?”

You don’t expect that question at all. But you collect yourself on time to respond. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Jungkook’s expression is something unreadable, so you throw him an awkward smile. You’re not sure if he returned it, because everything is becoming too much, and you can’t help but overthink every single thing he does. So, before you can dwell on that, you go straight to the bathroom to do your business.

You shower quickly – you can’t focus when you know that Jungkook is just outside, and he can probably hear the water running. You’ve never really paid thoughts to these stuff except the first few weeks of moving in with him, but right now, there’s a certain awkward tension in the air and it’s slowly suffocating you. You needed to get out of the shower box quick.

And so you did, but you don’t expect the series of knocks on the door, with Jungkook’s voice behind it.

“__?”

“Y-yeah?” You stammer, wrapping your towel around you (that Jungkook thankfully hasn’t thrown out yet) with haste and getting to the door immediately to answer him.

When you open it, Jungkook visibly freezes for a bit. And you realize you’re in nothing but a piece of cotton; bare underneath, droplets of water running through your body from the tips of your uncovered, wet hair.

You consciously tighten the towel around your body, making sure to act unbothered when you say, “What?”

Jungkook seems to snap out of the moment just as you did. When you follow the hand that he lifts, you see your phone in it. Weirdly enough, you had time to notice the way the device fits so small in his hand when you can barely wrap your phone around your fingers yourself.

What the actual fuck are you talking about, you tell yourself at the back of your head. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

“You left this on the counter. Mingyu’s been calling you.”

It’s like you’ve been suddenly hit by a truck upon hearing the name.

“Oh. Okay. Sorry about that.” You take your phone when he offers it to you. You don’t know why but you avoid Jungkook’s eyes as you step out of the bathroom and press the decline button, causing the ringtone to stop abruptly.

You don’t look back at him as you enter your bedroom, locking the door and throwing your phone on the mattress and going straight to your closet.

Nothing much has changed since the last seven or so days. What would change, anyway? It’s not like Jungkook has some sort of business in here.

When you finished dressing yourself up with your usual pajamas, a worn-out tee and a pair of short shorts, you go over right to your bed, picking up your phone.

The notification bar says that you have six missed calls from Mingyu and two texts. An upgrade from his three to four times in the previous days.

See, it’s not only Jungkook or Doyeon or Nayeon or Taehyung whom you’ve been avoiding. It’s also Mingyu. The last time that you two talked was when you said goodbye to each other when he was catching his flight from the resort. You’ve completely shut everybody out after that thing happened, and again, it’s not your proudest moment. You’re only non-confrontational to a certain degree, but you usually handle your problems like a grown woman.

You just really don’t know how to handle this one.

But Mingyu’s been calling, and you haven’t answered or replied to any of his messages ever since.

It’s just… everytime you think about him… it hurts.

It hurts to think of somebody you’ve given your trust to, only for them to step on it without any remorse. It hurts that you once thought he was going to be the one, only for him to end up as someone you’re starting to… hate. It hurts extremely that just eight days ago, you held this high level of adoration for him, but now you don’t feel anything at all but simmering anger.

Sighing, you click on his message instead of sliding it out, gearing yourself for what you’re about to read.

gyu😽 [10:15pm]: Dinner at my place tonight? gyu😽 [10:32pm]: Can you pick up my calls?

You scrolled through the other ones he sent in the past week, and you find out that they’re simply just a variation of “do you want to have dinner together tonight”, “why aren’t you picking up?” and shockingly… a couple texts of “i miss you”.

You’ve only been bullshitting when you told Jungkook that you had a headache, but right now that excuse might be true because you can feel a tick in your head, a certain bang on the front, and you just want all of this to end.

Letting out a controlled breath, you swallow the lump in your throat as you type a reply. Finally.

You [10:50pm]: Can we talk tomorrow?

To your surprise, Mingyu responds quickly.

gyu😽 [10:51pm]: of course. dinner?

You [10:52pm]: yeah. i get off at around 8 tomorrow.

gyu😽 [10:52pm]: I have some paperworks to attend to but 8 is fine by me. gyu😽 [10:53pm]: Can we go to a restaurant? gyu😽 [10:53pm]: I haven’t cleaned my place so I thought we could go outside

You [10:54pm]: It’s alright. Also, no need to pick me up. I’ll uber.

gyu😽 [10:55pm]: You sure?

You [10:56pm]: Yeah.

gyu😽 [10:56pm]: Alright then.

You don’t get a lot of sleep that night.

“Hey, sorry I’m a bit late. The partners had a meeting over at the firm,” Mingyu says, loosening his tie a little, breathing a bit sharp as he takes the seat across from you.

You nod, giving him a small smile. Taking a sip from your water, you watch as Mingyu fixes his tie again, some sort of attempt to look kempt, like he hasn’t just run here. He was in a rush, and you feel bad that he had to go over here quickly when the partners meeting was probably something important. He could’ve canceled and you wouldn’t have mind.

“So. Hi,” Mingyu greets you as if he’s making up for his rash entrance earlier. He gives you a smile, the one that’s his usual charming smile – you remember fawning over it the first time you met him. “How have you been?”

“Fine. I’ve been doing well.” you answer. In your lap, your fingers fiddle with each other.

You’ve thought about how you are going to go over this, but obviously the scenarios that played in your head yesterday and before you went here were so much more different than now. You weren’t an anxious mess in your imagination.

Mingyu nods. “That’s good to hear. Been doing fine as well.” He says casually.

That makes something flare up in your chest.

Fine? He’s been doing fine?

Before you can say something, a waiter comes up to your table to give you the menu, and that effectively keeps you from saying the words you were probably going to regret as soon as they come out of your mouth.

You both tell your respective orders to the waiter before he walks away, leaving you two nodding and smiling ahead. When he’s gone, you’re left alone with Mingyu again.

You look at him — and his usual suits and tie ensemble would usually make you gush internally about how good he looks, how you can still see the way he’s built under the pristine fabric of his clothes, and how attractive he is the way he carries himself.

“I’m glad you called me tonight, sweetheart.”

And you don’t expect the way the hairs on your body tingle with… ick.

“Sure.” You say, drinking from your glass of water again.

Just get over it, your mind convinces you. But how are you going to approach it?

Moments pass and then suddenly, Mingyu lets out a heavy breath. You peer up at him, raising a brow.

“Alright, I’m not gonna skirt around this anymore, __,” He says, and his eyebrows are knitted in what seems like confusion when he meets your gaze. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been avoiding me.”

The confrontation somehow eases you even though it shouldn’t.

Licking your bottom lip – an anxious habit that you try hard to forgo – you compose yourself before you say, “I have. Yes, you’re right.”

“Why?” Mingyu asks with genuine curiosity.

Somehow, this bothers you. Does he really not know or he’s just pretending not to know? Whichever it is, it does not really make you feel any better about him. If he’s pretending not to know, then he’s an even bigger asshole than you’re letting him on, but if he does not know, then that’s just even worse. Imagine doing all of those things and not being aware that you did something wrong enough to upset people?

“I have to be completely honest with you, Mingyu. I want to break up.”

The words come out easily as opposed to what you expected.

Somehow, it’s strange, really. You’ve never dumped anybody before. Of course, you don’t count those casual dates you’ve had in the past two years because they were never that serious. But usually, in your long relationships, the other guy does the dumping and never you.

So, right now, as you sit across from Mingyu, finally declaring what you’ve been thinking over the past week, you feel a sense of liberation. A cliché, really. There’s a feeling of discomfort gnawing at some parts of you, but you choose to ignore it, bravely meeting his gaze instead.

“What?”

“I want to break up with you.” You reiterate, this time fuller so he knows your decision is final.

His mouth opens and closes, and there’s a pregnant pause that hangs in the air before he finds his tongue. “But why?”

“Are you serious?” You can’t help but snap. “Do you really not know?”

“No. Fill me in, because I’m confused.” Mingyu doubles down, and it fires you up a little bit.

“Mingyu, Jungkook told me everything,” You say, and you notice the way his expression changes into something more… unreadable the moment you dropped Jungkook’s name. “And I mean everything. What you did with his girlfriend back in college, and what you said about me to goad him into a fight. I mean, what were you thinking, Mingyu? All of that was just… low. Even for you. I can’t believe you’d do any of that.” You catch your breath after you say the words, not realizing how heavy it would feel to let them out. You’ve never been confrontational, would prefer if the other person did all the talking, and to do this right now is taking so much from you.

“He told you everything?” Mingyu asks again. You watch as he relaxes his posture, and you grow confused when his lips curl into a smirk. “I knew he would do that. Come crying to you with his lovesick head. Did he finally grow some to tell you he loves you, then?”

You recoil, not expecting that. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business. You’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m not anymore.”

Mingyu inhales a sharp breath. “So, you’re choosing him?”

“I—I— what?” you blurt out, surprised at his audacity. “I’m not choosing anybody. And it’s really bold of you to assume that you’re still one of my options after all that.”

Scoffing, Mingyu drinks from his water. He looks at you with a blank stare as he says, “Well, be honest with me now. Do you love him?”

“Do I love him?” You chuckle, not the least bit of humor in it. “You don’t really deserve my honesty, Mingyu. You had all of those four months to be honest with me and you didn’t do shit. Don’t ask me any personal questions and expect me to give you an honest answer. Because I won’t give you any of it.”

“You said a lot of things but I know you love him just as much as he loves you.”

“What are you talking about?”

This time, Mingyu’s tone borders on sharp when he leans down to get to you closer so you can hear him clearly. “You think it was easy for me to be in a relationship with you when all you could talk and think about was Jungkook? Jungkook who was only supposedly your bestfriend?” It’s said with so much wrath that you can’t help but physically recoil at his words. When you don’t say anything, Mingyu continues, “Jungkook told me this movie’s good, Jungkook said their aglio e olio tastes great, Jungkook and I were just talking about this — I could go on how many times you’ve always managed to insert him in anything even when we’re together, but I did not want to be that kind of boyfriend who got jealous over their girl’s friends, and I was that for you – and you think I’m the bad guy here?”

You blink, mouth opening and closing. You fish for some words, something to defend yourself with. Have you really said all that? Did you really do that? Did you really talk about Jungkook enough times that Mingyu took notice of it?

You’ve always thought that your friendship with Jungkook is platonic. You’ve convinced yourself of that and Jungkook seemed to think the same — at least that’s what you thought prior to his confession – and you like to think that your friendship works, even though the majority of people don’t agree that opposite genders can be purely friends.

But… did you think wrong? Did you really just convince yourself it was platonic when all along… it was not?

You don’t exactly recall the moments that you talked about him while you were with Mingyu. It’s hard to when talking about Jungkook just comes like second nature. You don’t count the times you see the grass being green – because they are and will always be green.

And that’s what Jungkook is to you. He’s been such a constant presence in your life that you can’t help but bring him up in any case because… because it just feels right to do so.

Now you think about your relationship with Eunwoo. How he never really liked Jungkook. Did he think the same as Mingyu? Did you also talk about your best friend too much in his presence? Did he count the times you mentioned Jungkook’s name in your conversations? Do you really talk so much about him?

“See?” Mingyu says after a while and it snaps you out of your stupor. “Don’t tell me I’m a liar when you’ve also been lying to me this whole time.”

“How dare you?” You snap at him. You can take him pointing out about the thing with Jungkook, but never this. “I didn’t hide anything from you. I was not the one with the history of cheating with their friend’s girlfriend and I didn’t talk behind your back like you’re merely just a piece of meat.”

Mingyu visibly stills and you bite your lip after saying the words. You didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Didn’t really mean to say that in the first place. But it’s done and you can’t cry over spilled milk.

Doesn’t negate the fact that you feel like shit, though.

“You think I didn’t regret what I did?” Mingyu says, a little quiet this time. If you weren’t at the quieter part of the restaurant, in a booth where the sound of the classical music and people’s chatters are muffled, you won’t hear him at all. “Jungkook and I were close, __. We really were. And I fucked up and ruined his trust. But you also don’t know how and why that happened. Jiyeon was already cheating on him before she hit on me–”

“Oh, so is that the part where you volunteered to be one of her “victims”, too?” You say sarcastically, cutting him off, incredulous about the fact that he’s really trying to make excuses for himself right now.

“We were fucking drunk– and high, okay? We didn’t know what we were doing.” Mingyu says through his teeth, and it’s the first time you see him lose control. He’s always so kempt and so composed, it’s baffling you’re seeing him in this state.

But you refuse to believe his bullshit.

“You know what, I don't know why you’re saying this to me. You should be saying this to Jungkook and frankly, I simply don’t care. What happened back then is between you – don’t include me into any of your arguments ever again,” You say exasperatedly. “My issue is that – and why I’m breaking up with you in the first place – is that you lied to me, Mingyu. You lied to me about so much. And If I were to go through this relationship with you longer, I don't know what else you’re going to lie to me about, and I don’t want that. Let’s not waste each other’s time and end it right here, right now.”

Mingyu leans back on his seat. “I can’t change your mind even if I apologize to you about that, huh?”

You shake your head.

He nods.

“Alright.”

You look at him again.

Kim Mingyu has sharp features that usually make him look broody from an outsider perspective, but you’ve seen the way he smiles and how gentle he looks when he does. Right now, though, he looks… genuinely sad.

He lied to you, yes, but somehow, there’s still some part of you that wants to know if he felt the least bit genuine about you. That it wasn’t all just a ploy to get to Jungkook.

“Did you really like me? Even for a moment?” You break the silence, voice breaking slightly at the end.

Mingyu looks up at you and you don’t expect the way his lips curl up into a small smile. “Yes, __. I did. I liked you the first time we met and believe it or not, I still have feelings for you right now.”

You look away to avoid his intense gaze.

It’s weird. It’s so weird. Because even though you know in your heart that he’s not and will never be good for you and that he’s not a loss, your heart still aches at the declaration.

“I don’t really know if I believe that.” You say, almost like a whisper.

“I’m sorry, then.” Mingyu says, and it sounds so sincere that you start to feel some sort of stinging in both sides of your eyes.

In what seemed like forever, the waiter arrives with your orders, and you both look up and offer him a hand in placing them on your table, bidding him thanks as he once again walks away.

You and Mingyu both look at your food.

“I think I’m going first. I have a trial tomorrow, so I need to take care of that.” He says suddenly.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you watch as he begins to fix his shirt, ready to stand up.

“Okay.”

“__?” You look up at him when he calls your name. He seems to hesitate for a bit, but he says, “Can you… can you tell Jungkook I’m sorry?”

Staring at his face, you try to look for a hint of sarcasm. Or anything indicative of malice. But all you see is sincerity.

At that, you shake your head. “No.” Mingyu’s face falls. “Talk to him yourself if you really are sorry. I’m not your mailman, Mingyu.”

He sighs. “Alright. I guess you’re right,” And then, “And I’m saying sorry, to you too, you didn’t deserve that. I was angry, and that’s not an excuse. So, I’m sorry. Will you…” he clears his throat. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Probably.”

Mingyu gives you a timid smile. “Okay.”

When he takes out his wallet and a black card from there, you instantly stop him from calling over the waiter.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll take care of it. I’m the one who invited you here.” You say, talking him out of paying.

He shakes his head, insisting, “It’s okay.”

“Seriously, I can handle it.”

Mingyu lets out a chuckle which makes you smile a bit before you scold yourself.

“I know. But can you let me? This is… this is probably the last time we’ll see each other.”

At that, you relax back in your seat, staring at him. He stares right back at you.

With a slow nod, you let him call over the waiter.

He departs with a small goodbye that you return with a timid wave.

When you go home that night, you cried yourself to sleep, thankful that Jungkook hasn’t come home from his shift yet.

Things are… fine.

Unlike your previous break-ups that left you in agony for the following days after it happened, the one with Mingyu did not really leave a huge emotional impact. It makes you wonder if you’ve overestimated your feelings for him… makes you question yourself if you really thought he was the one when things were fine, and you both dated happily.

You don’t bother yourself looking for answers, because the relationship is done and there’s no point in going over the details when it’s you yourself who ended the ties.

While that is not the sole reason of your melancholic feeling these days, it lies on another person; your roommate, Jungkook – your best friend of eight years who’s apparently been in love with you the whole time.

It’s only been a few weeks ever since you talked about him moving out. He said it was about time for him to leave the place – he’s been here longer than you, after all. He wrote and sent the notice to his landlord, and it’s been about two weeks since then, so you assume he’s already got his approval.

While things may look normal and right from an outsider’s perspective… things aren’t exactly the way they were before.

Jungkook and you are close. You share almost everything together. Your friendship has been honed throughout the many years and obstacles you’ve faced together and so it’s only natural for you two to be as close.

But nowadays… you can feel that closeness slipping away. It flares up something inside you; like that feeling of grief when you remember that friend in highschool who you stopped talking to after graduation. You don’t know exactly what the reason is for the abrupt end of communication, but the finish line is there and you’ve both reached it without the other knowing – and you’re left fending for yourselves, looking ahead at your own worlds and letting your lives flow to the stream of the river.

It’s strange, really; how everything feels somewhat normal but also really under that condition.

Jungkook and you would text each other nonstop – he could be in his own room, and he’d still text you about random shit that ends up with him going to your room anyway just to annoy you for a bit before you kick him out and you both go to sleep. He’d ask to borrow something – anything, ask your food preference for the night, and he’d always ask you when your shift ends so you can go together if your schedules align. Meanwhile, you ask him to join you in the living room for spontaneous movie nights, ask him to give you a massage, and you’d both talk about your days, catching up on the hours you weren’t together.

And now there’s none of that.

Now, you both greet each other when the other one gets home almost like a chore. Like how your roommate from college used to welcome you when you arrived at the dorm from classes. When either you or he is in the living room or something, you’d both tell each other that “Dinner’s in the fridge, you can microwave it”, instead of “What do you think we should have for dinner?”. Jungkook asks if you need a ride to the hospital because he knows you don’t have a car anymore, but you refuse because it’s obvious it’s just for formality.

You don’t know if it’s just the overthinker in you, but it feels like Jungkook’s pulling back and he has no intention of making things right – or talk about what happened.

He’s so… he’s so civil.

And you miss him so much it makes you sad.

It makes you confused. Sort of mad. He makes you feel a lot of things – but you hate that you’ve just been compartmentalizing and not doing any processing at all.

You spent the past few weeks pointing out to yourself the differences that your relationship is going through. You spend some nights beating yourself up whether to go barge in his room and confront him with everything – but you do none of that.

Instead, you pretend everything’s okay. At the hospital, you’ve no longer avoided him and said hi which he returns with a smile. Nayeon, Taehyung, and Doyeon, thought at first that everything’s back to normal, but you know they’re slowly realizing that it has not.

Tonight, though, at Nayeon’s reception party after her wedding, you try hard to ignore all those angsts and choose to enjoy yourself instead. It’s Nayeon’s big day. The last thing you wanted to be was a bum.

Everybody is socializing with each other, and since you’ve had your fair share of conversations with other people at this point, you choose to sit out on the dance.

Suddenly, Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl is playing and the majority coos and exclaims in excitement as they hurry to the dancefloor, some taking their partners along with them.

“Look, they’re playing your favorite song.”

Your head snaps to the side in reflex to see who it was, only to see Jungkook. Words get caught in your tongue for a moment, a bit surprised to see him. You mean – sure, he’s been here for a while. It is Nayeon’s wedding, after all, but weirdly enough, you two haven’t shared a conversation yet throughout the day.

Until now, anyway.

Recovering from your initial surprise, you scoot over to the side, giving him space to maybe… sit beside you?

“That’s not my favorite song.” You scoff, sipping on your champagne right after, looking right ahead as you feel Jungkook situating himself on the chair beside you.

“Oh… has it changed now?” Jungkook says, and there’s a lilt of teasing tone to it that you look at him in wonder.

Meeting his gaze, you find he’s just smiling at you. He’s in an off-white tux, a lily pinned on his chest pocket. He’s done his hair in that usual way he cleans up for formal events like this, gelled and parted slightly off center to show off his forehead. It’s slightly longer than you’ve last noticed it looked, and you think he hasn’t been trimming it…

Nonetheless, he looks simply put… dashing.

“I change my favorite song every five to seven business days,” you say coolly. “Anyway, why aren’t you there?” you point to where the flock of people is having a ball to Billy Joel.

Truthfully, you kind of wish you were there as well. You’ve always danced to that song in your room or in the shower.

“I’m right where I want to be,” Jungkook shrugs. “Why aren’t you there?”

You lie, “I’m right where I want to be as well.”

He hums. “You don’t want to show them your moves?”

You look at him in disbelief, gawking at him. “Are you teasing me?”

Jungkook widens his eyes, but you know he knows what you’re talking about, and it sounds like he’s trying to keep from laughing when he says, “No. I just happen to know you’re a great dancer.”

With that, you feel yourself getting carried away by how easily your conversation goes. It makes you think about the old times – where talking to him always made your day because he's funny and he makes you laugh and you make him laugh.

“Fuck off. You know very well I have two left feet.” You chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“Wasn’t the case when you were dancing inside a boiler room during med school at that rave party we went to, but okay.”

You can’t help but laugh louder, and with that, you jab a lighthearted slap to his bicep without thinking too much of it.

“I told you that never happened.”

“Oh…” Jungkook puts down his champagne and cocks his head to the side. “What happened?”

You giggle. Yes, giggle. Like a schoolgirl. And you watch as Jungkook joins in your laughter, taking the glass close to his face to sip from it.

Then: “You wanna dance?” Jungkook suddenly says, but he’s looking at the dancefloor.

“Hm. Dunno. Uptown Girl isn’t exactly rave music.”

That earns you a chuckle from Jungkook. “But it’s fun music, right?”

Soon after, he stands up from his seat. You look at him questioningly, but he mirrors it back with an expectant gaze and a raised brow. Seeing you getting apprehensive, he offers his hand and that’s when you roll your eyes, taking his hand as you pretend to stand up against your will and follow him to the crowd.

You chuckle as Jungkook suddenly sways his hips to the upbeat of the song, moving his arms around playfully. You’d like to think he’s doing that intentionally – to make you laugh? Loosen up? Whatever the idea behind it, it’s effective, because you can’t stop laughing as you watch him.

“Come on, we do this all the time!” Jungkook says over the loud music and people’s candid chattering.

And he’s not wrong because you do have mini parties in the living room of your apartment, pretending like the city before the glass wall across the area is your audience.

But you two are usually drunk during those moments, and right now, with only one glass of champagne, you’re not near being tipsy.

“This is so silly!” You exclaim, but you find yourself matching Jungkook’s spontaneous choreography, and it earns you a laugh from him as well.

“And when she’s walking, she’s looking so fi-i-ne,” Jungkook sings along, gesturing to you. You cover your face because you can’t stop laughing at how he looks – how you two must look – but you’re almost sure nobody’s paying attention because everybody is just having fun on their own. He has a good voice, though – even though he’s trying to act goofy with it. Jungkook doesn’t like when people point it out, or more like, gets shy when you bring it up.

Suddenly, he steps closer to you and reaches for your hand. Looking at him with confusion, still with that wide grin on your face, he gives you a playful smile before he guides your arm upwards. You utter a sound of a delighted snort, understanding where he’s getting at. With Jungkook guiding you, you do a mildly successful turn that makes you both laugh because as you were just getting back in your original position, you almost trip. Good thing that Jungkook’s there to catch you by the waist, the contact only lasting for a brief second before he lets go to dance on his own again.

“I wish I was an uptown girl!” You yell over the music.

“You’re kinda an uptown girl if you think about it.” Jungkook responds, nodding his head as if he believes that.

You chuckle, shaking your head at him. “No.”

“Yes, you are. You’re sophisticated and elegant.”

“Well, this—” you point between your bodies, “– is not very sophisticated and elegant of me.”

“Touché.” Jungkook laughs.

“But will you be my downtown man?” You say, not really thinking too much about it but then you suddenly realize what you just said and you’re about to add something to it – like putting a disclaimer that it was just a joke.

But then Jungkook leans closer, ducks down to level with your ear. “I can be if you want me to.”

The song ends and you barely had time to process what just happened before the soft piano progression of Carole King’s Will You Love Me Tomorrow begins to play.

You hear the collective “Aww”s from the audience and you watch as everybody suddenly pairs up with someone else. As the first lyric of the song is sung, you can feel the upbeat energy from earlier dropping to a calmer atmosphere. Romantic, you’d say it is.

When you look at Jungkook again, he has a small smile on his face. It’s as gentle as the piano behind the song.

“Can I?” He says.

You nibble on your bottom lip. “You want to?”

Jungkook only nods, still smiling.

“Only if you want to as well.”

You look around again. It’s not hard to spot Taehyung from afar on the dancefloor as well, with a gorgeous Hyerin in his arms. He doesn’t seem to notice you looking, though, but you watch the way he ducks down to whisper something in her ear, prompting a laugh from her.

Putting your gaze back to Jungkook, you blink as you say, “It’s… okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” Jungkook clarifies. You nod your head and he smiles that dashing smile again before he steps closer to you.

Slowly, he puts a hand around your waist. And you know he did it awhile ago, but the contact ended so briefly that you didn’t really have the chance to… somehow… savor it, maybe? But right now, as you fumble with your own hand, deciding whether or not you should put a hand on his waist as well, the proximity makes your breath hitch.

Your heart beats abnormally fast against your ribcage, and usually, it’s not hard to stare Jungkook in the face – but you find it a difficult task to do nowadays.

Jungkook, unsuspecting of your inner dilemma, only seems to notice your confusion with your hand placement, chuckling as he guides your wrist to his shoulder. He raises his other arm with yours and interlocks your fingers with his mid-air.

“There,” Jungkook says once you’re in the right position. “Now we look like professional dancers.”

You wince. “What’s the next step?”

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Jungkook snorts as he begins to move his feet.

You try to match his pace, and that distracts you from the fact that you're so close you can smell his cologne very well.

“Where did you learn this?” You ask instead, quite amazed at how Jungkook is approaching this. It’s not like you’ve never slow danced in your life – but you weren’t kidding when you said you have two left feet.

“Wikihow.”

“Wow.”

“They can be super reliable at times,” Jungkook chuckles as he continues to swing you both gently. “Stop looking down.”

You groan. “Ugh, no. I’m trying very hard not to not step on you.”

“So what if you step on me? Just relax.”

Jutting your bottom lip out, you look up at him. “My heels are Louboutin.”

“Even better.”

“Stop.” You break away from his hold with your other hand to jab at his chest lightly. Jungkook lets out an “Owe!” but you know it didn’t actually hurt when he just grins down at you, placing his hand on your waist instead so now he’s just… simply holding you.

You ignore the weird feeling in your chest at the action, choosing to keep your hand on his chest.

“You wanna know something?” You whisper. Jungkook hums. “I didn’t go to prom in highschool.”

“What? Why?” Jungkook genuinely seems surprised to hear that.

You smile sadly, looking back at the memory bitterly. “Changsub and I were fighting around that time because I saw him at the mall with some girl the previous week. I was so angry that I didn’t care about what I’d be missing out on. My mom tried really hard to get me to attend, but I was very stubborn. Now I still regret not going to prom. My dress was really pretty back then too but I didn't even get to wear it.”

“Damn,” Jungkook utters. “He really was such a dick to you, huh?”

“Yeah. But it was still on me, though… I can’t believe I let a boy make me miss out on prom night.” You pout.

Jungkook’s quiet for a while before he abruptly stops his swaying. You look at him in confusion as he lets go of your waist.

“Well, I don’t have a corsage… but this can maybe do?” He fumbles with his chest first before he takes out the silk lavender handkerchief from his suit’s pocket that matches his tie and the lily on his chest. He looks at you for a while before he takes your wrist in his hand. Your brows knit together as he ties the fabric around your wrist, making sure to finish it up with a ribbon – an attempt at a ribbon, that is.

You chuckle. “What’s this?”

Jungkook grins. “You wanna know something too? I didn’t have a date on prom night – was too scared to ask anybody out. I went home after the first hour. Wasn’t really a fond memory. So, prom night definitely sucked for me… what I’m saying is that, it’s not really all that.”

You duck your head down to laugh, partly to hide the flutter in your heart at his words.

“So, like, is this our – what – our upgraded prom night?”

Jungkook nods proudly. He takes both your hands as you laugh, wrapping them around his neck, taking you by the waist again.

This time, you don’t feel like your breath is being taken away.

You feel… serene. The beating of your heart is back to normal. You realize, there’s a sense of comfort that comes from being close to him like this – talking and laughing like good old times.

You miss him. You miss him so much and you can’t believe you ever considered accepting a life without him in it.

“The dress looks good on you, by the way,” Jungkook comments, and it sounds so sincere that you can’t help but smile. As if that wasn’t enough to melt your heart, he adds, “And you look really beautiful.”

“T-thanks,” you stammer, taken aback at the almost intimate way he looks right into your eyes as he said that. You tighten your hold around his neck. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Thank you.”

You both chuckle, though there was nothing really funny said in particular.

Carole King’s gentle voice soothes you as Jungkook takes the lead of the dance. You’re not even doing anything other than just going with the flow, letting him take you wherever. There’s a moment when you were sure you stepped on his shoe, but Jungkook’s quick to dismiss you with a hush and saying it was nothing.

Tonight with words unspoken,

You say that I’m the only one

But will my heart be broken,

When the night meets the morning sun

You scoff as you finally hear the lyrics.

That may have taken a hit on you.

“This is so stupid.” You say.

Jungkook’s quick to react.

“Rude. I’m literally giving you a prom night from scratch.”

You look at him and you feel bad because he genuinely seems offended at your supposedly throw-away comment.

Shaking your head, you tap his chest lightly. “No, no. I mean– the lyrics. The song.”

Jungkook arches a brow. “I have a video of you crying over this song in your car when it came up on your playlist.”

“I didn’t cry over this song.” You roll your eyes.

“Not as much as you did over Silver Springs, anyway.”

“Oh my god, why do you know so much, Jesus,” you hiss, embarrassed at being confronted by your dramatic antics. “I just meant, why are they playing such a sad song at a wedding? Who approved this?”

“Eh,” Jungkook shrugs. “Maybe Nayeon’s a Carole King fan.”

“Is she?” you ask, genuinely curious. If she is, she never told anybody.

“Maybe…?”

You can’t help but laugh because of how the conversation progressed. Jungkook laughs as well, and he takes the jab you send to his chest with a light hand. They’re really hard, you think, and you don’t know what comes over you as you lean your head down and let your body fall towards him, laying your cheek on the lapel of his suit. It’s warm.

You feel Jungkook stilling in his position at your sudden action, but soon enough, he does nothing to pry you off like you feared for a moment he would, tightening his arms around your waist and swinging you both in that kind of laxed way.

Shutting your eyes close, you let the soft melody of the song ease your nerves, basking in Jungkook’s presence and his familiar scent.

You stay like that for a while, and just when the song is coming to an end, you feel Jungkook’s breathe in your ears, his lips almost brushing to the tips of your ears when he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything back then, but I really miss you too.”

You drank more champagne than you anticipated and it’s why you wobble your way into the bathroom to do some half-ass retouch. Just as when you were putting away your make-up, Nayeon comes out from one of the cubicles.

“Hey, you gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” She says with a huge smile, now changed into a much simpler dress, in contrast to her voluminous one earlier.

You mirror her grin, opening your arms wide to engulf her in a hug. “Hi to you too. Congrats again on the wedding. I’m so incredibly happy for you. You and Minhyuk are perfect.”

When Nayeon breaks apart from your hug, she looks at you closely. “I saw you with Jungkook earlier. Lots of people saw you two earlier.”

“What?”

“I mean… slow dancing to Will You Love Me Tomorrow in a weirdly intimate way was kind of insane, if you ask me.”

“Oh, uhm…” you feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you grow embarrassed at the thought of people catching you in that position. You remember after the song ended, you made up some excuse about going to the bathroom to pee and you did – but you pointedly tried to stay out of Jungkook’s sight ever since.

One step forward, three steps back.

“How are you two by the way?”

“We’re fine.” You say, giving her a reassuring smile.

Nayeon stares at you for a moment. Then, she sighs. “You’re not, are you?”

“No, we really are. We’re– we’re talking, right?” You point out.

“But… he’s moving out of your place.”

“Well, he needs a change of scenery. He’s been there for four years so he must be tired living there.”

Nayeon stares at you again and when you look at her face, your heart twinges as you see the disappointment written all over her features.

“I don’t understand you both, really. You have this… this beautiful thing going on and you’re choosing to ignore that? It’s obvious that you feel something for him, __. Just be honest with him and see where it goes. I know you two are pretending that everything’s fine but you’re both hurting each other and you’re acting like it’s nothing – it’s all just unnecessary angst at this point. What are you two doing?” Nayeon asks.

“I…”

“Come on, __. Do you really want to let each other go? Do you really want to drift apart? Because it’s been almost a month of pussyfooting. And I don’t know if you’re just expecting that your luck is not gonna run out, but it is going to. And I know you’re going to regret it.”

You stare at Nayeon while listening to her words. You don’t expect the sharp edges to her voice. You’ve always thought that if someone was going to call you out on your bullshit – it was going to be Doyeon. She’s the bluntest in the group and would not hesitate to tell someone if they’re being a bitch or not – so you don’t expect Nayeon to be like this at all because she’s always been a soft-spoken sweetheart.

It's not like Doyeon hasn’t been harsh, either, though. You had a drink with her and Taehyung a month ago and let’s just say she kind of ranted about you feeling like you’re in a romcom or something.

She shuts her eyes close, and you can just feel her frustration emanating. “I’m sorry – I know I’m being harsh right now. But I just can’t bear seeing you two like this. I just got married today and I feel like I’m learning and realizing so much right now and one of those is that I’m extremely lucky to have found someone I’m so sure of, and while Minhyuk was saying his vows I looked back at my past relationships and just thought that… that I’m so glad I was finally at that point and… and right now I can’t stop thinking about you two,” Nayeon sighs. “You two love each other so much. Everybody can see it. Why are you both running away from each other? What gives?”

You look away.

You both do love each other. They are right.

And while you can’t exactly say if what you feel for Jungkook right now bounds in being in love – there’s quite literally only one thing in the world that you’re certain of, and it’s that he’s the most important person to you – the only one you can think of spending a lifetime with and not get sick of it.

And that was something.

But…

“Because it’s scary.” You say, finally.

“What’s scary?”

You inhale a sharo breath.

“For eight years I’ve always thought that we were only platonic. But somewhere in my head I always thought that he was my soulmate, you know? I thought about us ending up together and I remember liking that thought. But years went by, and nothing ever happened and I swear I was happy with Eunwoo but you know what I’m ashamed of all this time that I never told anybody?” Your vision of Nayeon gets blurry as you begin tearing up. “I think… I have been in denial for so long. I think… I think I secretly looked for a part of Jungkook in Eunwoo and I think Eunwoo knew that. I think everybody who I’ve ever been with knew that except for myself. Because I was in denial. Even right now, I’m still in denial. You don’t know how – you don’t know how strange it is to suddenly wake up and realize that you don’t see your friend as a mere friend anymore. You don’t know how hard it is to overthink things – like what if it doesn’t work out and everything falls apart? Our friendship is so important to me, I hold it in the highest regard, and I don’t want anything to ever go against it. But now I’m doing that myself and I just… I hate it. But I don’t know what to do. Jungkook’s moving out just like it seems like he’s moving on and I’m scared that I’m too late to do anything.”

Your speech leaves Nayeon’s mouth agape, clearly not expecting your outburst. But she recovers quickly. She steps closer in front of you, and in a second, engulfs you in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff, making sure to not let your tears fall down her dress. “I think I’ve been keeping that for a long time.”

“It’s okay… I’m glad you said that.”

“Yeah… I think I’m glad too,” you both chuckle.

“__?”

You hum.

“Just talk to Jungkook. If you’re worried about him moving out, he’s not. I can tell you that much.”

You break the hug and look at Nayeon. “Nayeon, he literally has everything packed. I think he’s leaving early in the morning tomorrow.”

Nayeon fixes a strand of stray hairs from your hair framing your face. “Hm. He has?” You nod. “Well, as I said, he’s not leaving. Trust me. But you have to tell him everything that you told me just now. Be honest, __. It feels scary right now but, try to take a leap of faith, okay? This is not some toxic positivity shit or anything like that, but just be honest, alright?”

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you look at her hesitantly. “Are you… are you sure?”

Nayeon nods, and she looks so sure of herself that it may have fired up a little bit of hope in you.

The party is still ongoing, but you decide that it’s time for you to clock out. After you bid your goodbyes to Nayeon and her now husband, to Doyeon and to Taehyung, you head out of the venue to try and book a taxi. You couldn’t find Jungkook earlier at the party, so you decided to send him a text that says you were going home.

“Need a ride?”

The ever-familiar voice expectedly appears to be Jungkook when you look at him.

“Hey,” you greet. “No. I was just about to book an Uber.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow. You think he looks handsome under the moonlight. “We can ride together in my car. I’m going home as well.”

“N-no, no, ‘s really fine,” you wave your hand, emphasizing your point.

Jungkook grows more confused. Then: “Are you drunk?”

You wince, hating that he instantly knows right away.

“Sorta, kinda…”

“And you want to Uber?” You pout. You hear him scoff. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone in this state. Okay, let’s get you to my car.”

“I’m fine, really,” you say but it sounds whiny even to your ears.

“You can be stubborn all you want. But in the passenger’s seat.” Jungkook gives you a sharp stare, but his hold on your wrist is gentle as he guides you to the parking lot.

He wears the seatbelt around your waist and lets you settle on your seat, rounding the car to get behind the wheel right after. You look away. You thought he'd be more... not nice to you since you just left him earlier with a poor excuse.

You feel guilty. So guilty. Jungkook is so... he makes you feel so loved but you're just... so confused. You're so scared it doesn't even make sense.

When he starts the engine, he asks, “Why did you drink so much?”

It's easy to ignore the heavy thoughts in your head when you're half-asleep at this point.

“I dunno. The champagne was so good… I bet it was probably expensive. I can’t have that much free stuff until –” you stop, as if remembering something, sitting upright. “When is Taehyung’s wedding?”

“He doesn’t have a wedding, ba—__. He hasn’t proposed to Hyerin yet.”

You slump in your chair hearing that.

“Why? They’re so perfect together… they should marry…” You say before dropping back down to your seat again. The AC in Jungkook’s car whirrs softly in your ear, and when you look to the side, you find yourself staring at his side profile.

He’s taken off his white coat, now left with a white shirt and his purple tie. He’s pushed the sleeves up to his forearms, showing the veins all over them.

“Jungkook.” you call him.

“What is it?” He says, momentarily looking at you before focusing back on the road.

“Can I…” you look at his hand. You sniff. “Can I hold your hand?”

Well, he does not expect that at all. But he smiles anyway, taking off one hand on the wheel and reaching for your own hand over the center console. You watch the way his huge palm dwarfs your own, and you almost sigh in relief when he laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as he rests it over his thigh.

The last thing you hear is Jungkook’s soft chuckle before you completely drift off to sleep.

When you awake, you’re in your room. Seconds after regaining consciousness, you notice the banging in your head – and when you blearily open your eyes, reaching around for your phone, you don’t find it.

Groaning, you stand up from your bed, realizing you’re now in a shirt and some pajamas. But weirdly enough, you seem to still have your bra on.

You peek through the inside of your shirt and alas, the white lace of your bra from last night’s event welcomes you, and when you stretch the waistband of your shorts to check on your panties, you still adorn the pair of white thong, which means only one thing.

You haven’t changed completely out of the garments you’ve worn to Nayeon’s wedding and you wonder how it all happened. When you look to the side, your clutch is placed on the nightstand and so you grab it, relieved to find your phone there.

Shockingly, you read it’s only over 2 am.

With furrowed brows, you go over to the mirror to check your ensemble. Your face isn’t and doesn't feel as heavy with make-up as it was back at the venue, and you’re definitely dressed down now.

You remember passing out in Jungkook’s car after he insisted that you ride with him… and everything had been a blur since then.

Suddenly, an idea goes into your head.

Did Jungkook… change your clothes and remove your make-up? That’s the only plausible thing that you can consider because you honestly don’t remember ever dressing yourself or going to the bathroom to remove your make-up. And if you did change out of the gown, you would've opted out of your underwear as well.

Maybe Jungkook did all that.

And the thought makes you smile. But it drops just as quickly.

You head towards your door and go straight knocking on Jungkook’s bedroom.

You don’t expect him to be awake at this point, but when you hear steps coming your way and the doorknob clicking, you stare at Jungkook wide-eyed when he welcomes you with his presence behind the door.

“Hey,” He greets, predictably surprised to see you. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah…” your eyes don’t mean to subtly roam his room. Then that’s when you catch it. The bags lying around his bedroom floor and the neatly piled boxes to the side. Your eyebrows meet each other. “You’re packing?”

Jungkook nods. “I’m leaving tomorrow, I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Y-you did, yeah.” You stammer, blinking at him. You suddenly feel like throwing up. “Well, I just came to thank you for…” you trail off, gesturing to your clothes.

Seemingly getting what you mean, Jungkook’s lips curl up into a coy smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I tried to wake you up, but you were complaining about your dress when you were sleeping…”

“Yeah… I’m glad you took it off.” You wince. “That sounds wrong. Anyway, the make-up, too. I have to ask, did I throw up on you?”

Jungkook laughs, incredulous. “No, no, you didn’t. Are you seriously worried about that?”

“I just feel bad.” You give him a tight-lipped smile.

“It’s okay. You should sleep now, it’s late. Do you have a shift tomorrow– or later, actually.”

“Yeah, I do. But it’s the evening shift. So. You?”

“I have the morning until three in the afternoon.”

Nodding, you ask, “Are you leaving at three then? I mean, to your new place?”

“Yeah. Will just pass by here to get some of my stuff.”

You try to look for something on his face. But Jungkook looks casual at best. Now you remember what Nayeon told you. Was she lying when she said you’re going to convince Jungkook not to move out? Because from the looks of it, Jungkook doesn’t seem like anything would budge him from leaving tomorrow. He seems so set on a mission, and you can’t lie and say that it doesn’t break your heart.

You find yourself thinking about the events at the reception party. How he threw you a quick prom, told you you were beautiful… how he said he missed you.

Was that all a lie? Just something he said to avoid some sort of dead air?

Because if he truly misses you, then why would he leave?

You find yourself getting annoyed.

“I’ll be back to my room.” You say to get out of the situation. You notice Jungkook getting taken aback by the change of your tone, even more so when you turn on your heels quickly to take the two strides it takes you to your own bedroom.

In there, you throw yourself on the mattress, the impact affecting you a little bit. You must still be drunk because you feel your vision getting blurry a bit but as you quickly shut and open your eyes, everything goes back to normal.

You sigh.

Well, maybe you’re actually meant to be alone and it’s true that you’re not meant for any romantic relationships. You’ll die alone and you’ll just have to deal with the heartbreaks you went through your whole life.

A stray tear escapes your eye, and you quickly raise the back of your hand to wipe at it. You glare at the wall dividing your and Jungkook’s rooms, finding it annoying that you’re not really mad at him. It’d be so easy if you were mad at him… but you have no reason to.

But why is he so stubborn? Why isn’t he saying anything? Can he just… can it just be him who takes the leap of faith, so you won’t have to? You know that’s unfair, though. It’s juvenile.

In a burst of courage, you take one pillow from your bed and stomp your way out of your bedroom, finding yourself in front of Jungkook’s room again and knocking.

He opens it, rightfully surprised to see you again. “H-hey, __, I thought—”

“Can I sleep here?”

You can see the way his face contorts into confusion. “What?”

“Can I sleep in your room?” You reiterate, but you’re already forcing your way in. You throw your pillow on his own heap of dark ones, frowning when you see the bags on the floor. “Are you just going to pack forever? You’ve been packing since yesterday.”

Your clipped tone throws Jungkook off a little bit, but he doesn’t point that out, though, when he speaks. “No. I’m actually done now.”

“Okay? Well, then, let’s sleep.” You say, staring at him. He looks stoned in his position from the edge of the bed, so utterly confused.

“Are you… still drunk?”

“What? No.”

“O… kay?” Jungkook looks extra cautious when he seats himself on the mattress by your feet. “Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. About not being drunk and… sleeping here.”

“Yeah,” you answer, pointing out the obvious. “Why are you acting like we haven’t had sleepovers before? You used to sleep in my room when there was a spider in your closet.”

Jungkook makes a face. “It was a huge spider.”

You roll your eyes, going into a lying position, making sure to leave some space for him on the side. “Jungkook.”

“Okay, I’m going. So demanding.”

He playfully clicks his tongue as he lays on the bed as well, sliding his body across the mattress. He doesn’t expect the way you take his arm to spread it on your side of the bed, and you don’t let him say another word when you lay your head on it, keeping your hands close to your chest as you snuggle beside him.

You could feel there was a moment there that Jungkook stiffened for a bit, but he relaxes just as quickly, feeling him caress your head tentatively as if feeling you out before he goes for it completely.

“This is what you’re gonna be missing out on when you move out.” you mumble.

You’re grateful when he only says: “Hm?”

“Nothing.” You open your eyes and because of the close proximity, your eyes are at the level of the side view of his chest, and you see the way his thin white shirt clings to his body, rising up and down with his breathing. “I saw your keys earlier. I’m glad you like the Claddagh.”

Jungkook laughs. “The Claddagh, huh? I knew you knew what that keychain meant,” You frown when you realize you were supposed to pretend you didn’t know that. Oh, well, he figured you out right away, anyway. “I really like it, by the way. It was very thoughtful,” Jungkook says. You can’t see him in your position, but you just know he has a smile on his face. He sounds like it.

“Thank you. I thought about gifting you a watch… but watches are expensive, so…” You decide to joke, and Jungkook laughs which makes you smile.

“I would choose the Claddagh any day. I just… I really like it. I interpreted it as a deep sense of belonging and shared history, and I’ve known you for eight years, so that seems very fitting. I’m glad you chose to give me that.”

It was also a reminder of your relationship. Your love for each other. The loyalty that lies in its foundation, and how you’ve managed to build that over the years. Jungkook’s ultimately your soulmate – that you’re sure of – even though that’s a bit of a cliche and you don’t exactly believe in it entirely. A bit of a conflict, really, since you’re a hopeless romantic.

But you’ve long known that you and Jungkook are more than just friends. You trust and respect each other beyond words – and it’s more than what you could say about your previous romantic partners. Sure, there was that sense of admiration for one another with your ex-boyfriends, but Jungkook is different. He’s always been different.

You’ve known that all along – but it’s only now that you decided to read between the lines.

And you want to tell him that. So badly. But you choose to let the gentle tips of his fingers lull you to that comfortable annexe of warmth, easing you from overwhelming thoughts.

Has Jungkook always felt like the embodiment of comfort for you? Has he always felt like everything good you can imagine having in your life?

Then, you feel him lean down to the top of your head. “You smell so nice. You aren’t my soulmate after all.”

That makes you violently crane your neck up to look at him. “What?”

“There was this article that Tae sent to me. It was from Cosmo, I think. It says you’re not supposed to be able to smell your soulmate.” He says, looking so serious that you can’t figure if he’s bullshitting you.

You lean on your elbow so you can look down properly at him, saying, “That’s not even plausible. Since when was Cosmo reliable to you? That’s ridiculous. We literally have four hundred different types of olfactory receptors which help us perceive various smells – I mean, unless you’ve damaged them somehow, or there’s a disruption in your signal transduction, or you’re anosmic – which I know you’re not – then I don’t think that’s true.”

Jungkook laughs and you can’t help but frown.

“It made sense, okay? If you ignore the science stuff.”

“You’re a doctor.” You quickly counter.

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, for the record, I believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life, so that’s that.”

“Ugh,” you flop down on the bed again, falling back on Jungkook’s body. He scoots closer to hold you close against him, which you welcome casually. You don’t even know how you got this comfortable, but you’re glad either way. He feels so big and warm. “Are you going to show me that Youtube video of top ten UFO sightings around the world again?”

“You don’t think that Nebraska one looked very real?” Jungkook says with disbelief.

“No,” you turn to Jungkook only to find him already looking at you. “They were college boys, Jungkook. They probably just turned nineteen or something. Have you seen their eyes in the video? It was pixelated as hell, but if I were that high—”

Jungkook suddenly snorts, effectively cutting you off. “Ohh, if you were that high?”

You jab at his chest which only makes him laugh louder.

“I tried my first weed with you.” You pout.

Jungkook catches the stray hair that falls from behind your ear and hides it back there again as he says, “You coughed nonstop and had a sore-throat the next day. You have baby lungs.”

You roll your eyes and go back to lying on his arm. “Whatever. All of that still doesn’t justify that we’re not soulmates.”

“The concept of soulmates doesn’t even have a scientific explanation.” Jungkook chuckles.

“No…? But there's psychological research about it; the attachment theory, look it up.”

“There’s also cognitive dissonance.” Jungkook pitches in.

“That’s so mean!” You gasp, but you know Jungkook’s only teasing when you see that he’s got that huge stupid grin on his face.

He apologizes in between his laughter, squeezing your waist a bit before he says, “Okay, okay. But what if you’re my soulmate, but I’m not yours?”

“That’s not how soulmate-ism works. Isn’t it nice to think that there’s like a system to it? Like if you’re my soulmate, then that would automatically make me your soulmate. It doesn’t make sense otherwise.” Your eyebrows knit together as you explain.

“I guess you’re right…” Then you hear him letting out a loud sigh. “For what it's worth, I think I’d be really happy if I was your soulmate.”

You smile against his pec after he says the words.

You like Jeon Jungkook. You like him so much it’s starting to feel unbearable.

There’s silence that hangs in the air for some time before you look up at Jungkook alarmingly. “Kook.” He doesn’t say anything. You lean on your elbow again to peer down at him, only to see that he’s now closed his eyes. “Jungkook.”

Finally, he stirs. But his eyes are still closed. “Hm?”

“Don’t sleep yet.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives your waist a brief squeeze again.

“I’m watching you.”

He chuckles. “What is it?”

“Let’s talk more.”

“How are you still not sleepy?”

“Because…” you drop your head down to his chest this time. “I want to know if you could ever —” you shrug, staring at his ceiling. “—cannibalize someone.”

“I like this. Conversation’s getting raunchy,” You hear him snorting through his breath. “Is this your pillowtalk?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, that’s an interesting question. I have never really thought about that.”

“Really? Never?”

“I’ve never been in any situation where I had to think about that, thank god.”

You laugh together. “Okay, but if you really had to, would you?”

“I don’t know… I’m a huge germaphobe, you know that. But I guess humans inherently have indomitable spirits and that conditions us to do whatever it takes to ensure our survival under extreme conditions. I don’t think I’m beyond that.”

You nod against his chest. Mindlessly, you start tracing random lines over his shirt, and you wait for Jungkook to pry your hand off or say something to stop you or ask you what you’re doing, but he doesn’t really say anything.

“It’s fascinating, right? The way we can just alter our brains and mindsets when we’re put under certain conditions. It’s amazing and weird at the same time how we work psychologically.”

“Exactly.” You feel Jungkook nodding.

“This is– of course this is not an extreme condition where I have to cannibalize someone,” you chuckle, which earns the same thing from Jungkook. You continue, “but you know when you’re experiencing a heartbreak and you think it’s the end of the world but then you wake up one day and suddenly you’re fine?

When Jungkook turns quiet, you know you’ve touched on a subject that feels personal.

You sigh. “I broke up with Mingyu awhile ago.”

“Oh.”

You hum. “Yeah… like a month ago?”

“Ah. I had a hunch.”

“But you didn’t ask,” you smile. “Well, anyway I just want you to know.”

Silence.

Then, “Do you feel… do you feel sad about it?”

“That’s what’s weird,” you say. “Because I don’t necessarily feel sad about the break-up, or the relationship. But it’s more like – the thought of breaking up with somebody again.” You chuckle, but there’s no humor to it. “I feel like you can only take so many break-ups in your life before you completely give up on love, you know? And it’s like… I don’t even get it… I mean, I’m decent, aren’t I? I can hold up a conversation, I make sense, I have a good job, and I don’t look bad – although, maybe that’s what’s wrong all along?” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Am I ugly?”

“Hey,” Jungkook calls, and you feel him rising from his lying position just as you feel tears slowly streaming down your face.

You scold yourself for it – because what the hell even is this about? Just earlier you were talking about cannibalism and now you’re tearing up. Your emotions are all over the place, and it doesn’t help that Jungkook’s quick to dote on you, guiding your back as you both sit on the bed instead.

You inhale a sharp breath. “Look at me, I’m a mess,” you look at him through blurry eyes, hoping to look apologetic at the very least for barging in his room at fuckass o’clock and disturbing his packing and not noticing that he’s been in love with you for the past eight years. God, you want to say sorry for a lot of things. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s not that deep.”

“If it’s bothering you then it’s a big deal. And I’m looking right at you,” Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulders as he looks you in the eyes. “I’m looking at you and you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent, and you’re the funniest person on Earth I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m so glad I met you.”

“Well… do you still feel that way when I only ever seem to come to you when I wanna vent or cry?” You ask, attempting to joke, but your voice breaks at the end.

It cracks a smile on Jungkook’s face though. “That’s not true at all. You also come to annoy me.”

Your laughter turns into a sob and that’s when Jungkook wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you close to his side, letting your head fall to his bicep and resting his chin on top of yours. It’s a barely-there gesture, but you’re pretty sure you feel him kiss the crown of your head.

“I know… I know we still have a lot to talk about, __. That we’re glossing over the important things. But I want to say sorry. I never said sorry about what happened back at the resort. For Mingyu. For doing what we did. I never said sorry about bombarding you with all those things and for taking so long to talk to you just because I was scared. But right now, I’m saying sorry. I have been completely unfair to you all this time.”

You quickly get out of his hold to look up at him. “No, you—”

“Just…” Jungkook cuts you off. “Just let me, okay? I know you’re gonna say none if it was my fault but you’re right about what you said. You’re right about doubting my feelings for you.”

“Jungkook…”

He nods. “I was in denial for the most part about my feelings for you. Ever since that thing happened with Jiyeon in college, I found it hard to trust somebody again. I slept around in my last year of college because it made me feel good about myself, made me think I was desirable and that someone cheating on me doesn’t mean shit when I had all those women who willingly slept with me. I was like that during my first year in med school, too. Couldn't really get serious with somebody because – because what if they do the same thing again?” Jungkook smiles bitterly. “And then… I met you. It started out as a crush and I was so sure it wasn’t going to be more than that, but then, we were in almost the same classes and we became friends,” Jungkook looks at you fondly and you almost melt in his arms. “And then I found myself liking you, and then I fell hard – really fucking hard,” he chuckles to himself. “It was during spring break of second year when I realized I was fucked and that I was in love with my best friend.”

“S-spring break?” You whisper, not sure what he meant.

“You don’t remember it?” Jungkook asks. He looks over your face and suddenly he’s caressing your cheek with his fingers. He swipes his thumb over it, wiping a stray tear away. He smiles before he says, “I caught the flu that time. I called you, but you were over at your parents. Then the next day I woke up and you were at my place telling me to take care of my health because how can I study medicine when my immune system is shit.”

“Oh, that…” you trail off. Suddenly, the fragments of that time become clear to you. The flu wasn’t that bad, only took him three days to fully recover.

“Yeah. But then that was also the time when you told me Eunwoo asked you to be his girlfriend and that you said yes.”

You inhale a shaky breath.

“I– I tried to forget about my feelings, because I didn’t want to harbor all those feelings for you when you already had a boyfriend. I went to all those dates in the hopes that I could feel something from someone. I tried to date Sora. It was good. It was a good partnership. But then… Eunwoo proposed, and I don’t know – I guess I deluded myself so bad that I have fully moved on from you since then – but then I was faced with the reality that you were going to spend your life with somebody else and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was so bad at handling my emotions. So stupid. Sora broke up with me because she figured I love you.”

You stare at him with your mouth agape. You would've never guessed why they broke up. You always thought they were so perfect for each other…

“And yeah, the break-up with Eunwoo happened and it took you two years to heal. I didn’t want to make a move because I simply didn’t want to be that kind of guy who takes advantage of a woman’s vulnerability after a break-up, you know? And we moved in together two years ago and…” You wait as he trails off. “I guess I just got comfortable with our set-up.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was like, everything I imagined us to be. Living together, sharing everything together. I thought no one could take that away from me, even if I didn’t ask you out. I’m not telling you to believe it, but I wasn’t with a lot of women for the past two years… yeah, sure, I dated them very briefly, but it was out of genuine attempt to find somebody for myself because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by confessing. Being your best friend was and still is more important to me than being your boyfriend. I couldn’t care less how I can have you; I want you in any way – and if that meant being your platonic friend the rest of our time, then I was that. I am that. Even now.”

You can’t find your words. You’ve imagined your talk countless times in your head, but they all fell short to give you a taste of what the real thing would be like.

“So… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for keeping my feelings for nearly eight years. I’m sorry I kept something important to you about Mingyu. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. Just… I apologize. I feel like I broke your trust.”

It’s quiet for a while before you break the silence.

“Jungkook,” You call him. He meets your gaze. It’s soft and it’s sweet and you realize he’s always looked at you like that. How could you have not noticed? “You’re very important to me.”

“I’m glad.” He smiles. A small one that makes him look all boyish. The urge to keep him in your pocket even though he’s much bigger than you becomes huge.

“And I want you in any way, too.” You say, staring intently at him.

You watch as Jungkook stares back at you. There’s an agonizing stretch of seconds when you see his eyes darting down from your eyes to your lips, and you don’t mean to bite the bottom one, suddenly feeling the thick tension rising in the air.

“Can I hug you?” You swallow the lump in your throat.

“I would really love that.”

You don’t know how it happens, but the last thing you see is Jungkook’s wall clock pointing to 3:15 am before you let your eyes rest.

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this chapter is not over yet! tumblr has a 1k paragraph/block limit in a single post and so i can't put the whole thing in this. please look thru the reblogs to read the last scene of the chapter and the EPILOGUE or click on this [ link ]

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #fic: tlp #awrkive

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