#can let him get rid of the anxiety and nightmares

[gunstellations]

gentle mornings

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (11) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of past experience of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts, business/property devt, and book talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; sexual content (making out - I know, finally) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 23.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii so this was quite the wait! We have come to the climax of the story and I'm both excited and terrified to share this with you. I have nothing more to say other than see you on the other side! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

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

Whenever Jungkook creates some distance between you and him, you often understand it. It’s his default, you think, and after learning about the pain he harbors from his childhood, you’ve come to accept it. You expect it, even. 

Recently though, he hasn’t been doing much of it. He often moves closer; sometimes, he lets you do it. Tonight, it’s both - he stands near you, he holds you, and he lets you slowly close the distance until you’re just a breath away. And for a brief moment, you think that he’d eliminate it altogether. 

But you’re not in some fantasy world, so when he pulls away, you’re reminded of who you are and who he is and that sliver of hope goes up in flames. 

“I—” he mumbles. 

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

You grab your bag then rush outside, exhaling the breath you were holding in and letting the shame fill you up as fast as the elevator reaches the first floor. You want to run to rid yourself of the embarrassment, maybe be irresponsible for once and get drunk just to forget. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, you’ll find out it was all a dream - you didn’t actually want to kiss your boss, you didn’t actually think he’d kiss you back, and he didn’t actually pull away, as if it stung him to touch you, as if it hurt him to try. 

But the thought doesn’t last long.

You get on a bus and convince yourself that staying sober tonight is a better option than reporting hungover to work tomorrow. You’ll feel embarrassed either way, but might as well be more professional about it, considering that what you’d almost done - and all the things you thought about - was nothing but that. You settle for just cup noodles for dinner; you don’t deserve anything nicer than that tonight. 

Sleep doesn’t come until past one later in the evening. You spend much of your time tossing and turning, trying hard to erase the image of Jungkook so close to you. 

But nothing works. All you see are his lips. All you can hear is his breathing. All you can smell is him. 

You wake up four hours later, exhausted and incredibly anxious for the day. You want it to be over already, and you half think of calling in sick but you know that’ll be too obvious. It could set off alarm bells to Jungkook and he might call and ask how you are, and that’s something you can’t deal with either. So you power through and nap in the car, not wanting to converse with Mr. Ri because you might tell him everything should he ask the right questions.

Your plan of action is to engage with Jungkook as little as you can, in any way that’s possible. You play around with things in his kitchen and make sure you have your back turned when he exits from his gym. The energy drink and glass of water are on the counter and you sense him lingering before he finally walks to his bedroom. You let some time pass before going to his closet to prepare his accessories for the day, then head back out, cooking his omelet as slowly as you can.

The clearing of his throat lets you know he’s done, and you glance at him before placing the dishes on the table. 

This isn’t the routine. You always fix his necktie once he shows up. It’s reflex for you, and you know that’s what he’s come to expect as well. 

But you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. It’s basically like re-enacting what happened last night and you can’t promise yourself that you won’t want to kiss him again when he’s that close. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t take in his scent, you can’t hear his breathing without remembering how he felt like. You know you can’t have it again, so you won’t even torture yourself even more than you already are.

His tie is slightly off and it disturbs you. He doesn’t move but he doesn’t ask you to fix it. 

You sigh to yourself. He’ll live. 

You eat quickly and it’s a contrast to him picking on his food. You’re tempted to ask if the dish isn’t to his liking, but you told yourself not to start conversations or engage in anything outside of work matters, and you’ll stick to that for as long as possible. 

“___.”

“Mr. Jeon, I’ve prepared your notes for today’s meetings,” you state before he could say anything more. “And I’m meeting with the marketing team about the additional promotional materials you wanted. Is there anything else you wish to add to the ones we talked about?”

“None for now. They can go ahead with my initial request,” he responds, his voice too soft than what you’re used to, but you don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

You ask a few more questions and he responds accordingly. The silence is deafening and though you miss the playful banter that has become part of your mornings, you know you can’t get into that right now. Somehow, this is when you can’t act like everything’s normal. Your stupid mistake and foolish assumption is where you draw the line. You just hope the day ends quickly enough before you give in. 

Both of you head down to the car. Before going inside, you hear Jungkook ask Mr. Ri how he looks and if his tie is fixed, and you internally smack your head for being so petty about this. You didn’t think that something seemingly trivial about your daily routine with him would affect you this much, as if it somehow threw things off-balance just because you were so afraid to be close. You realize now that you would look forward to those few seconds because that was the only time you had a reason to touch him. 

But he’s everything you can’t desire and given that you almost crossed a line, you know you’re gonna have to slowly pull back. Not just with regards to your feelings but in everything, as you take a peek of your personal phone and see an email notification about an upcoming book launch from Rkive Publishing. You subscribed to their mailing list right after you met their director, and you’ve been sitting on his email address and the application letter you have yet to submit. 

Since that encounter, you’ve been occasionally looking at other job opportunities in different fields. You realize that nothing much excites you. There’s not much you think is worth slaving your way for in this corporate jungle, and that while you’re currently part of that machine, the only thing that got you going these past eight years was the debt you had to pay. 

You had your reasons to stay but being at this point when you’re ready to let that go, you’re realizing that there wasn’t much else about the job that got you truly excited. Sure, it was also the people, but they’re why you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until the planning for the Arts Center that you felt you could truly be invested in a project and have impact on it, too; it just so happens that the man behind it is the reason why you have to step away. You know it’s the only way you could finally choose yourself and pursue what you want. At 31, you owe it to yourself to do that. 

Your thoughts are disrupted when the familiar building comes into view, and you exit the car and head to your floor, trailing Jungkook this time instead of walking by his side as what you’ve come to do. You can tell that he notices the distance but you don’t want to address it. Being terrible at any form of confrontation, you don’t really want to acknowledge anything that happened. You’ll deal with him if he brings it up, and for all the times that you screwed up, you wish to the heavens that Jungkook lets this one go. 

You head to your desk while he heads to his. You make him his coffee then ask him to sign some documents. You focus on his hands as he flips through the pages, preferring to look at those instead of his face. But it’s those fingers that pressed against you last night, and you shake your head at the memory, even if all you want is to feel them again.

You retrieve the papers, your heart stopping when he doesn’t let them go right away. Your eyes widen and you still don’t look at him, even as you anticipate him to say something.

“___.”

“Mr. Min asked to meet with you after lunch,” you cut him off again before he could say more.

“I know. That email was sent to you and me.”

“Yes, sir. I was just making sure.”

He lets go of the papers now and you bow before quickly heading out. You just know he had his eyebrows scrunched at you. He’s probably trying to make sense of how jittery you seem and though he may know why, you’re not sure if he knows why.

You get through the morning in one piece. You attend your meeting while Jungkook attends his own with his father. You grab a quick lunch with Do-hyun, whose narration of her love life takes up the whole half hour, then you return to your tasks once you finish.

Hyper-focused on the file you’re reviewing, Yoongi’s usually unenthusiastic greeting catches you off guard, causing your lips to miss the hot tea that you’re about to drink. You jerk, spilling all of it on you. You subsequently hit the saucer that’s on the edge of the table; it falls on the floor and breaks.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, as you feel the drink pool on your skirt.

“Shit, is it burning?” Yoongi asks worriedly. 

He immediately rushes to your side and grabs some paper towels from the cabinet, placing them on your lap and on the floor.

“Don’t move so you don’t spread the broken pieces,” he instructs. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just uncomfortable,” you groan, with your knees awkwardly touching each other and your thighs squeezed to keep the liquid from spreading. 

You’re at least in a black skirt but you know the stain will still be visible. That’s the least of your problems though, as Jungkook arrives from his meeting and heads to you with a folder, only to find Yoongi kneeling on the floor next to you. Jungkook’s eyes widen, seemingly scandalized at what this looks like, and they flit from you to his friend, whose calm face quickly turns into one of panic. 

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi explains, raising the soiled paper towels as evidence. He tells you to move back so he can place them over the shards while Jungkook looks on intently. “Are you good? Do you have spare clothes?” Yoongi asks you.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” you manage to say, hating how frozen you seem to be. With the tea having been absorbed, you grab your bag from your cabinet, the one you’ve started to keep and bring with you during trips in case you get stranded again, then throw the towels in the trash bin. “I’ll just go get changed.”

You scurry towards the washroom and leave the men alone, knowing that Yoongi will hold the fort for both of you. 

Back inside, Jungkook eyes Yoongi as he calls for maintenance to clean up the mess.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi says again. “She couldn’t move and I just cleaned up.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jungkook states.

“Just making sure, so your mind doesn’t think of whatever it thinks about,” Yoongi shrugs. “But is she okay? She seems a bit out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook looks away. “Don’t you usually know those things?”

“Well, I assume that since you’ve gotten closer, you would know. Unless it’s about you… Were you mean to her again?”

Yoongi’s unusual scowl is one that Jungkook is secretly terrified of but he acts unaffected, merely shaking his head in response and to dismiss the assumption. He’ll admit that his friend’s statement is quite bittersweet, though. Yes, you and Jungkook have both gotten closer and there hasn’t been an incident in months where you could’ve had a reason to be down because of him. 

Unless last night counts, which is something he’s still wrapping his head around. 

He thinks back to that moment right by your desk. You were so close. And he was so close to doing something more than just holding onto your waist. He saw you eye his lips and he did the same but the realization of where you both were - in a semi-open space in the office - reminded him of his limits. Sure, it was after-hours and no one would have any reason to be on the floor at that time, but it still felt too exposed and he didn’t want either of you to be put in such a compromising position, even if every part of his body was aching to kiss you. 

He wouldn’t have known you were talking about him if it weren’t for the way you held him close and that unfamiliar look of yearning in your eyes. At that moment, he let himself hope that he’s who you wanted, even if he’s also the same man you believed wouldn’t cross his boundaries for you.

Even then, you had been so bold, so honest. He wished he was as brave and as capable to express his desires as you were. He never thought you’d feel anything for him - him, the one who made your life miserable for weeks, the one who treated you unfairly because you made him feel - and want - things he couldn’t understand and control. Your calm and warm nature made him think he wasn’t anyone special. He dismissed whatever part of him that thought otherwise because he couldn’t hope for something he couldn’t have.

But last night, the way you looked at him also made him feel like all he desired was within reach, like you were within his grasp. Your lips were everything he wanted all over him. Your soft breaths were what he wanted to take in. You were all he wanted to taste and touch and hear, and he’d been so, so close to crossing a line that he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid it would push you away and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He was overwhelmed but he was just as scared, believing that there’s no turning back if something had happened. He almost stepped over the line but pulled back just as quickly, and now it seems that that’s what’s keeping you at a distance. Because as you return to your desk, you merely bow at him then go through the folder of documents he’d given you.

“Yoongi and I will just meet for an hour,” he says. “Please be ready with the Arts Center opening event budget that I’ll go through with Hoseok later.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

Jungkook sighs in disappointment as you don’t spare him a glance. He just wants to see those eyes again, the ones that yearned for him last night, the ones that asked him - almost challenged him - to get closer. But he’d been the coward who let you go, and now he doesn’t know how to turn back from this.

He enters his room then turns around to face Yoongi.

“I feel so much and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” his friend hums, feeling relieved that Jungkook can now acknowledge something he’d known for a while now. But Yoongi also knows that it’s not that simple, and while he knows of the possibility that you feel the same, reciprocated feelings don’t always mean happy endings. “Just don’t… just don’t hurt her,” he adds.

“Why do I feel like whatever I do, it’s what I’ll end up doing anyway?”

“She’ll know when you mean it and when you don’t. And you know what helps?”

“What?”

“Letting her know that hurting her isn’t what you want to do. You’ve got a lot to say, Jungkook, I know it,” Yoongi remarks. “Just be brave enough to say them.”

Yoongi’s words linger in Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the day, especially during the times that he peeks through the window to get a glimpse of you. You seem determined not to look his way, as you don’t even attempt to look at his direction all afternoon. There is a lot he’s got to say, he just doesn’t know what they are or how to say them. It’s always been that way when it comes to you - he feels so much, but he's unable to let you know.

Despite your avoidance all day, he feels your absence even more when you leave at 6PM, on the dot, without sparing him a glance. He could run after you and ask to talk. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation though, but if it would bring you to finally look at him or say his name, then it would be enough. 

He just wants to know what last night meant for you. And if it means what he hopes it does, then maybe it isn’t about turning back but moving forward. He knows it will be complicated, but he wants to figure it out with you. He’ll choose the path where he gets to be around you, close to you. Always.

Jungkook pulls out the bottle of whiskey he keeps in his drawer to momentarily drown out these thoughts. For some, liquor gives them courage. For him, he drinks it because he’s afraid to be brave.

As he replays the way you looked at him last night, he wonders to himself what he’s more scared of - never having you close enough, or losing you completely. 

The three films you watch in the cinema that Saturday afternoon are a good distraction to all the thoughts in your head. You occasionally do this because watching other people’s lives play out in film gives you something to ponder about. Sometimes, you let it inspire you to live differently. Other times, it allows you a peek into a life much more exciting than the one you have. In some instances, it gives you a sense of relief that yours is uneventful, lacking in drama and intrigue.

At this moment, you’re not quite sure what you want out of it other than to forget. What exactly, you’re not sure. Is it the way you felt when Jungkook held you? Is it the way he seemed to want more and then nothing at all? Or is it the hope you had that you’d found someone you were willing to give a bit of yourself to, only for the glass to shatter because that’s not what you do - you don’t desire for things not meant for you; you don’t open yourself to heartbreak like that. 

Jungkook has always made you feel a lot of things. This time is no different. But this time it also means more. You could lose him completely or have something with him that could be beautiful. One would hurt right away and the other could hurt you down the road. You don’t know which one you’re willing to suffer through. 

Suddenly you wish you didn’t get to this point at all. You could’ve left when you had the chance. You could’ve let him not mean to you this much. 

You continue to wallow in the sadness. You eat dinner at a ramen place before going home and settling in bed with your best friends on video call. You tell them about the past two days and narrate your moments with Jungkook during the team building that you left out when you spoke to them about it. Looking at them through the screen, you see a mix of understanding and frustration on their faces. 

“Why are you avoiding him, hun?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and comforting.

“Because I’m so embarrassed,” you groan, burying your face on the pillow. “I was so… shameless. I don’t even know what got into me. He just looked at me and I… lost all sense. Who was I to assume that moment would end well? That he’d reciprocate that honesty?”

“And you think not talking about it will rid you of that embarrassment?” She wonders.

“No. But it’s at least better than facing it,” you frown. “I’m not good with words nor feelings. And I’m sure that neither is he. I’m just trying to be professional now because I obviously wasn’t.”

You leave out your fears about meeting his eyes and hearing what he has to say. Even if he returns whatever you feel, there’s so much burden tied to that and you don’t think you’re ready for it. You don’t think you’re ready for any of this.

“It doesn’t seem sustainable though,” Soomin points out. “You’re together all the time. You’ve created a routine and a dynamic that you’ve gotten so used to. It takes more effort to avoid the whole thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess but… we’re all busy with the Arts Center opening. And I plan on tending my resignation right after,” you explain. “There’s no time to talk about feelings. I’ll just let it die down. It’s stupid to have them in the first place.” 

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn towards her. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

“I just don’t think it’s stupid to be feeling what you’re feeling,” Soomin replies. “You spend so much time together. You’re bound to form some attachment and develop affection for him, regardless of how things started. I mean, through all the late-nights and early mornings and stresses and comfort in between, there’s something only two of you share and understand. That’s not stupid. That’s how connections are formed, hun.”

Attachment. Connection. They terrify you but they’re things that you desire as well. You don’t know how deep they are when it comes to Jungkook and you don’t know if they’re something he feels towards you, too.

“Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that it isn’t that serious,” she adds. “Maybe it’s because you know that it is, and you don’t know if it’s worth pursuing, if it’s worth finding out if he returns it and if being with him is something that can happen.”

You look away, knowing the truth in her words. You turn to Jimin, who’s been unusually quiet all evening.

“What do you think Jimin?” You ask him. “I mean, it’s one thing to feel something and another to act on it and risk everything for it, right?”

“There’s always something you risk once you acknowledge what you feel for another person,” he says after pondering about it. “For me, acting on it just depends on two things. Is it good for me, and is it good for them? In your case, it’s something to really think about. You’re you and he’s him. And you know what I mean. You’ve been wanting to walk away from this company for years, ___. You wanna be something outside of it. How does being with your boss help with that?”

Jimin’s words remind you of something else you’ve been yearning for - that search for who you are outside of your work, outside of all the years you spent working for this family that have become a core part of who you are. For people like you who have to work extra hard for the things you have, it becomes natural for your job to define you as a means of survival. It doesn’t give you power nor influence; it just gives you a means to get to the next day and to give back to the one person who sacrificed everything for you. 

As the years went by, it became more difficult to pull away. This family trusts you, and your confidence has only ever increased as an employee of this company, but not as a professional. You’ve been wanting to learn who you are without the burdens you carry, without the need to constantly prove yourself to the people who helped make you, and Jungkook ties you to all this. Whether it’s pursuing him or working for him, you’re afraid you’ll never be brave enough to do things on your own.

You weren’t supposed to be this attached. You weren’t supposed to be this invested. You weren’t supposed to want to be wanted back. 

But Jungkook made you care. He made you feel. He made you be brave. And he’s now the one you have to pull away from.

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Maybe in a way, I needed this to happen. I needed this… moment to remind me that I have to leave and I can’t let him be another reason for me to stay, not when I feel what I feel, and not when I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“What if he does, though?” Soomin asks. “And what if he asks you to stay?”

“Thinking about it now, I hope he doesn’t,” you say. “It’d be much easier for me if he just lets me go. I can finally walk away from all this. And I can get over what I feel.”

“Is that what you really want?” Soomin adds.

You nod in response. “At least I know I’ll be happy outside of working for the company. Who knows what having him in my life would bring me?”

The book cafe in Mapo district boasts of an elegant yet comfortable design. It has three levels that consist of a library and working spaces, but it’s on the first floor that you find yourself in, tucked in one of the corner tables at the back with your iced coffee and fruit tart. 

You listen in awe as the author reads excerpts from her newly released book, which she narrates with vigor and emotion. She answers questions about her purpose for writing this specific story, the inspiration for the characters, and interesting things like who she’d cast if it were to become a movie and what the playlist would sound like. It’s the first book launch you’ve ever been to, and despite not being an avid reader, you have a feeling that it won’t be your last. 

There’s something about the storytelling and the process of creating something that captivates you. There’s not much of that in your world. It’s all numbers and profits. It’s soulless, if you’re being honest. It doesn’t give you time to feel or live in the moment or actually bask in the work that you do. You’re there to support, to assist, and while that used to be something you were proud of, the past year has made you think that it’s truly time to move on from it. It’s made you desensitized to things like joy and hope and love, which prompts you to realize that those are what have been missing. Working on the Arts Center gave you a taste of it. You’ve come to the point where you want to know how those truly feel like, and the job has hindered you from fully finding it out.

All your emotions for Jungkook take a backseat the more you think about what your life could be, especially while you watch Namjoon gather what seems to be his team, as he congratulates them for a successful launch. They’re all in casual clothes, looking relaxed, relieved, and fulfilled as the event comes to a close and several people approach the author and ask her to sign their books. You can imagine the stress leading up to all this, but there’s satisfaction in putting together something this intimate and meaningful. 

“You made it,” the man with the soft smile says, the child-like innocence of his face, a contrast to his very masculine build. “I’m glad those newsletters and email invites work.”

“I think they’re the only ones I actually read,” you say, earning you a brighter smile from him. “But honestly though, it helps that a book cafe is something I wouldn’t mind being in on a Sunday morning.”

“Exactly!” Namjoon beams. “It’s easy to make it a part of your weekend. Whether it translates to immediate sales isn’t the whole point, although that’s great, don’t get me wrong. But as long as there’s foot traffic and increased interest, then it’s a success. Our launches have been gaining traction on social media. And the—shit, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he chuckles. “I doubt you came here with the intention of listening to me talk about what we do and stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you assure him. “I don’t actually go to things like this but I thought it might be a good way to have a feel of what it’s like working for your company without inconveniencing you. I mean, I haven’t applied yet but I just wanted to see if this is something I’d enjoy doing.”

“And?” He asks in anticipation.

“It kind of is,” you admit. “I don’t know. There’s just something so personal about it.”

“There really is,” Namjoon nods.

His face turns serious now, something that happens when he’s about to go on a speech about whatever it is he feels strongly about. He’s expressive and it’s quite captivating, which is refreshing in a colleague, you realize. 

Sitting across from you in your little nook in the cafe, he talks about the journey of this whole process, how he reached out to the author who turned out was trying to contact him as well. He was hoping to publish one of her manuscripts that was shared to him by a friend, but she offered this one instead, a very personal story that she trusted his company would do justice. 

“I sat the whole team down and told them what this means for her as an author and as a person, and what that in turn could mean to the readers,” he continues. “There’s so much responsibility but the return is worth more than you could imagine. Of course, it’s not always easy. We have a relatively small team for the amount of things that we have to do but it works. Communication is smooth, accountability is shared, and we build our trust and respect in each other that way. I think that makes it even more worth it in the end.”

“You’re really trying to lure me in, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles. “I just think our meetings are serendipitous. There were two people who were supposed to take on the role but they backed out last minute - on both cases, I see you the next day. The universe probably has plans.”

“It probably does,” you nod, slowly believing him. “The only reason why I haven’t applied yet is because this is all so new to me and I may not be what you’re looking for.”

“But it could be that we’re what you’re looking for,” he counters. “Even if the industry is new to you, if it’s a place you’re comfortable in and that you think will help you grow professionally, then you become what we need. It’s give and take, really. Your approach to the work impacts how you do it. Yes, it’s still a job but it also means a lot more.”

“You’re very good at this,” you say, feeling more at ease as you speak with him, a stranger who has no idea what you’re going through but is somehow saying the exact things you need to hear. “I just have a timeline I’m working around. My company has an important thing coming up in several weeks and I don’t want to leave before then. It’s also why I’ve been delaying applying.”

“Hey, if we see that we’re a good fit for each other, then we can work around your timeline,” he says. “To help with that, maybe we can chat more casually to relieve you of the pressure. I have some things to return to the office not far from here and you can tell me a bit about the work that you do. What do you think?”

It’s a suggestion you take up, so you both start walking a few streets down to a mid-rise building, a structure that sits amidst cozy cafes and small parks. 

The Rkive Publishing office is spacious. Instead of solo desks, there are large tables so there are more opportunities for collaborations, but there are small meeting rooms and private spaces as well. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves that are lined with hundreds of books, and quirky art pieces that give the place a unique yet personal touch. It’s leagues different from what you’re used to, and as you appreciate the way the sunlight makes the whole place glow, you start to think that Namjoon may be right - this might just be what you’re looking for. 

You disclose who you work for then tell him your functions, narrate how a usual day looks like, and mention the types of people you usually engage with. But you share how you’ve felt lost in the chaos of everything and that you’ve been trying to find purpose in it but have been unable to. 

Namjoon purses his lips, attempting to hide a smile, but you call him out on it.

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” he reasons, giving in and chuckling now. “We need organization, a sense of urgency, a kind of professionalism that someone of your caliber could bring. I don’t want to get my hopes up and yes, there’s a process, but I hope you give us a chance.”

It’s easy to think that this man has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s been talking about going with his gut feeling all morning - he’s said as much that following his heart and doing what feels right for him allowed him to turn the company into what it is right now. Maybe meeting the first time was just a coincidence, but the pull of the universe - of you to this environment and him to you - is just too strong that you can’t help but think that maybe this is the next step for you. For all the challenges you went through all these years, maybe you deserve something a little more smooth sailing this time. 

You don’t make any promises but you do assure him that you’ll send him an email. There are obviously other pressing matters that you have to deal with but this has been a good distraction, one that you allow to preoccupy you for the rest of the day. 

After saying goodbye, you walk around the neighborhood and spend the afternoon by the river where you wonder about the people surrounding you. 

What dilemmas are they facing? What heartbreaks are they trying to move on from? What new adventure are they preparing for? Or maybe, who are they trying to forget? Who’s waiting at home for them? Are they watching the sunset because they know it’s beautiful or because they’ve forgotten that it is? 

You let out a breath once the sun has dipped and the sky has turned a dark shade of blue. You feel a mix of awe at its beauty and disappointment because the day has come to an end. You once more have to face the person you’ve been trying not to think about all weekend.

Giving yourself a pep talk, you go to bed that night with the plan of continuing what you did last Friday, which is avoiding any moments and any chances of talking about what happened. If Jungkook brings it up, then you’ll just have to face it and ask him to forget about that night and then deal with the consequences after. But there’s no way that you’ll say anything first; you’ll ride this out for as long as you can.

Avoiding talking to Jungkook about non-work matters - which is really what you only intended to do - is much more difficult when you have to pretend you don’t care about him. 

That Monday morning, you stop yourself from asking how he’s doing after spotting the empty whiskey bottle and beer cans in his kitchen bin. While you give him the usual hangover remedy, you stop short of suggesting that he get some rest or buying him his favorite lunch dish. 

During the meeting that you accompany him to in the afternoon, you watch him helplessly as his father hounds him with questions about the other projects, adding even more pressure than what he’s currently under, and you look away when he tries to meet your eyes. You used to send him encouragement through your gentle nods and soft smiles but you’re scared you’ll fall into your feelings once again if you do them, knowing that any sign of him needing you is all it would take for you to give in and talk to him, maybe comfort him. 

You’ve become so weak for him, you realize that now. His detachment used to put you off and frustrate you, but knowing him the way you do, it’s what makes you want to be there for him; it’s what makes you want to assure him that you’re just there. 

But you aren’t, because you’re pushing him away. You’re making him go through his confusion and stress and exhaustion all on his own because you’re a coward, too. You’re scared of your own feelings. You’re scared of them being rejected and you’re scared of them being returned. You didn’t realize just how much you are because you never actually felt something this deeply for anyone, and that terrifies you even more. 

Watching him from your desk as he pores through documents on his laptop is hard, too. You’re done for the day but he’s said earlier that he’ll be staying late to finish a few things because there are many distractions at his place. You want to tell him they can wait, that he’ll need to rest and regain his energy for the week ahead, or that some fresh air could help clear his mind. 

But you don’t. Instead, you pack your things and head out, knowing that much as it’s your decision to force this distance between both of you, it’s still something you wish you didn’t have to do. You don’t know how long you can sustain it, but somehow you know that once he gives in, so will you, and so all this might as well just be useless or even worse for you. 

Mr. Ri picks up on the change the next morning, as he asks if you and Jungkook had an argument on the way to his penthouse. 

“There was no argument, ” you answer. “There’s just a lot on my mind and he’s a big part of that. I just… I just don't know how to deal with things, you know?”

“Things like what?” Mr. Ri asks. 

“Feelings,” you sigh. “I mean, you said they can’t be helped. And you’re right, I can’t. That’s my big problem right now.”

“Oh, ___,” he says, softly smiling through the rear view mirror. 

You can tell he’s trying to comfort you, something he’s told you before he’s unsure how to do. You brush him off, saying you’ll figure it out, and he assures you that you could talk to him and that maybe, you need to just let it out to someone who knows what you’re battling against. You express your appreciation then inhale deeply once you arrive at Jungkook’s building. 

The clanking sound of plates surprises you when you enter the penthouse. You walk cautiously towards the kitchen and find Jungkook already dressed in his work attire, placing the basket of toasted bread in the middle of the dining table where you spot the two plates with eggs in each. You wonder if you’re late, given that he’d gone ahead and made breakfast for both of you already. 

“You’re on time,” he says after seeing you check your watch. “I was just up early. I couldn’t really sleep. I think I have too much on my mind.”

“I still could have made this for you,” you say so softly, Jungkook almost misses it.

“I didn’t mind,” he answers, wanting to say more, like that he thought it would be nice to make something for you for a change, or that he hopes you could see the effort.

But he keeps them to himself, just like the many other things that he doesn’t feel ready to verbalize. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since Thursday night, and he thinks that the distance you’re creating has made his desire even stronger, but so has the fear. 

He spent the weekend downing alcohol and then boxing for hours to get rid of the hangover. The lemon ginger tea he made didn’t really work. He placed the bandage on his beat-up knuckles incorrectly, not like how perfectly you’d done it once. And the chicken noodle soup he ordered when he wasn’t feeling well last night didn’t taste as good as yours. 

His mornings aren’t the same without the briefest touch from you from fixing his tie, or from the casual conversations during breakfast or in the car. There’s not much of your voice or your laughter that he hears, and definitely none of your smile that always encouraged him, that always assured him. This continues for the rest of the day, as he barely feels your presence unless he asks for it. And even then, it almost feels like you’re not there at all. 

He feels so lost without you, unable to focus and function properly without your guidance and your care. He doesn’t know how or when he’s allowed himself to need you this much but it all feels so new yet familiar. All he wants is to be near you again but he admits that seeing you consistently pull away hurts him more than anything. 

It’s why that Wednesday, he settles for only minimal glances at you in the car, why he conducts his morning meeting in a cafe instead, why he has the blinds on in his room all afternoon, and why he stays to work late and informs you that he’ll go straight to the Arts Center the next day so he’ll just meet you in the office.

He does all those so he’s forced to be around you less, so he doesn’t look up from his desk to find out that you don’t look his way anymore, so that it’s less difficult when you don’t do your usual routine with him. He at least won’t feel as bad when you don’t ask how he’s feeling if you don’t see him look terrible in the morning after not being able to sleep, or when you don’t fix his necktie for the fifth time this past week if he’s not around you in the first place. 

You’ve been going out of your way to avoid him and if he had a bit more courage, he’d probably be able to ask what Thursday night was about and if you’d really wanted to kiss him like he did. 

But he’s afraid of two things - that you’d ask him to forget all of it, or that you’d both have to figure out how to move forward if the feelings are indeed mutual. There are so many things that could go wrong but just as many that could go right - he’s scared to hurt you either way. And like he’s always said, he doesn’t know how to handle all of this; he doesn’t know how to talk about what he feels.

Thursday morning comes and while you’re relieved that you don’t have to tiptoe around Jungkook again in his own apartment and feel suffocated by the tension, you won’t lie and say that you deeply felt his absence. You also won’t deny that seeing him walk towards his office without sparing you a glance hurt you a little. You know him enough that he’s probably giving you the space that you’ve insisted on, but still, a part of you wonders if he’s just accepted it, too. 

And when you hand him his notes for his late afternoon meeting then when he leaves for the CEO’s office without a look of acknowledgment, you worry that he’s become impatient, that he’ll keep pulling away for as long as you are, and that you’ll be so far apart that you’ll start to wonder if you’d come close to him at all. 

But you did this, you remind yourself. You’d been the one to get close, to expect, and then to detach because you were so afraid of what would happen next, and what that would mean for you. He’s probably the last thread you’re holding onto, connecting you to this world that you’ve been planning on leaving for so long. Maybe you’re also scared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and the last thing you want is for him to be the reason why you can’t let go, and then resent him for it. 

You sigh in your seat as the various thoughts plague your mind. You decide to go to the pantry for a cup of tea, knowing you have some time before Jungkook’s meeting with his father is scheduled to end. 

The support team’s office is unnervingly quiet at 7PM with only Mr. Ri around, shaking his leg against the chair while browsing on his desktop. He greets you when you enter and then joins you to make his cup of coffee - his fourth for the day, he says - before you both head out the pantry and sit by the meeting table. 

There aren’t any words said as you both blow away the steam from your respective hot drinks, merely letting the tranquility of the evening envelop the two of you. A few minutes pass and Mr. Ri finally looks up and asks why you’re still here, to which you reply that you wanted to be around when Jungkook’s meeting finishes in case he needs you to do something.

“There’s no need to drop me home,” you tell him. “I can manage on my own.”

“You know Jungkook won’t like that,” Mr. Ri responds. “He has strict instructions to drive for you whenever you stay out late. I can’t and won’t disobey those orders.”

You know this, which is why you sit in silence with your hands on your lap as if you’re being scolded, and you nod. 

“Okay,” you say softly.  

“He’s worried, you know?” Mr. Ri says after a while. “He’s been asking me how you’re doing, as if you’re not at the point in your relationship where he can directly talk to you. But I’ve actually been worried about him this past week. He stays up late to work, then goes home to work out. He’s not himself lately, always out of it and just… sad.”

“Did he… did he say anything else? About us, specifically?”

“He didn’t tell me if anything happened but I’m guessing something did, something serious enough that you’d avoid him for days and personal enough that he won’t confront you about it.”

Your face falls, guilt painting it, something Mr. Ri picks up.

“It’s about your feelings, isn’t it?” He asks. “You like him and you can no longer deny it.”

You nod in confirmation, unable to verbalize the words that your heart has been screaming for weeks. 

“Is it so hard to admit? Is it so hard to talk about?” The older man asks. “I mean, he doesn’t tell me anything but I’ve known that man his whole life, ___. I’ll bet a lot and say that he feels the same way about you. Why are you both putting all your effort into avoiding each other instead of talking it out?”

“Because you know us, Mr. Ri. We’re the worst at these things,” you shake your head, choosing to disregard his statement that Jungkook may be reciprocating the feelings, knowing you’re not ready to think about it. “And you know this, too. It’s not just about what I feel. It’s about who he is and who I am and what those imply. It’s this complicated situation that I wouldn’t even be in if I just… if I was just strong enough to leave the first time. Or the second time.”

“Hey, you know it wasn’t about that,” he says. “You were always strong. You held on even when things were difficult—”

“Yeah, I just held on and now I’m here, caught in between liking my boss and wanting to stay away from him, from his family,” you groan in frustration. 

But you utter the thoughts that you only rarely entertain, only because they’re what held you back all those years ago.

“Am I being selfish, for wanting to leave after everything?” You ask. “They’ve been so good to me. And now that I crossed the line and fell for their son, I want to let everything go.”

“Is that really why you want to resign? Because you like Jungkook?”

“No… it isn’t just about that,” you sigh. “Or it is. A big part of it, but also not. I… you know I’ve been thinking about this since the whole thing with Mrs. Byun happened, and that was six years ago. But then CEO Jeon asked me to help Hoseok and I stayed. And it was even more important for him that I be there for Jungkook. And I am but now what? How can I continue knowing that I like him? And how can I find myself and learn who I am outside of this when I’m here, when this is all I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever given myself to? They’ll always be good to me. I feel selfish by staying, but I also feel that way if I leave.”

“None of that makes you selfish, ___. You always had a reason to leave and you could have, but there was also always gonna be a reason for you to stay,” he says. “But they were their reasons, not yours. Whether you stay despite what you feel for Jungkook or leave to find yourself and seek the happiness you deserve, you’re not being selfish.”

You look at the man whom you’ve known for years and he sees in your eyes a woman who’s just asking for any kind of comfort, of any kind of assurance because no else is around to do that.

“We do what we can at every moment, and we can live with our choices if we know they’re the best one we can make at that time,” he continues. “Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you do it for you. You’re the only person you have to look out for.”

Right outside the door, Jungkook remains unmoving as he processes everything he’d heard, while you continue to talk inside, completely oblivious to how you’ve rendered him paralyzed. 

Jungkook’s meeting with his father ended much sooner than he expected. They merely discussed some happenings with the Board and the lunch that they’ll be hosting on Saturday to welcome some of their family’s long-time friends who are flying in from Europe. 

He headed to the support office immediately to tell Mr. Ri that he plans to go home soon but hadn’t known you were there as well. But then again, you and their trusted aide - who’s been his father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and personal assistant for decades - spend a lot of time together, so it didn’t feel off to Jungkook that you’d both be talking. He’s asked the older man to look out for you, too, especially with regards to things that he feels isn’t really his place. 

Jungkook didn’t hear much at first, initially deciding to just walk back to his office and call, but once he heard Mr. Ri asking you about resigning, he stopped in his tracks. He felt foolish to be listening in on a conversation he’s not a part of, especially since it’s also because of him.

It should’ve delighted him to hear you say that you like him. Jungkook could’ve only dreamt up that reality and it still feels surreal. You didn’t have a reason to lie and the fact that he isn’t the only one seemingly overwhelmed by his own feelings should be a good thing. 

But that also seems to be your reason for wanting to leave, and the thought breaks his heart in ways he can’t explain. You’ve apparently been planning on leaving for years but never got around to do so. If you stayed when his father asked you to, would you do the same if he asked? And he believes that up until last week, your relationship had become the most comfortable it’s ever been. You seem happy here, but why did it also seem like you just wanted to get away? 

The thoughts make his head hurt, and while a part of him wishes he hadn’t heard anything, he at least knows you plan on leaving. And that’s something he absolutely cannot bear.

The sounds of the chairs being fixed disrupt his thoughts. When he hears Mr. Ri suggest that you should start packing up, Jungkook quietly walks back to his office and nonchalantly calls the older man to inform him that he plans on staying up late and that he should drop you home already. If Mr. Ri notices the odd tone of his voice, he doesn’t say anything. He merely expresses his confirmation and not long after, Jungkook hears some shuffling outside his closed door.

“Is there anything you need from me before I leave, Mr. Jeon?” You call out, the walls in between both of you feeling higher and thicker than ever before.

He knows that you know that he no longer asks you to do anything at this hour, and he comforts himself by thinking that it’s your way of letting him know that you’re still there. But the thought is short-lived, as he once again plays the conversation he’d overheard in his mind.

“There’s none,” he says pointedly. “You may leave.”

It takes a while but he eventually hears you walk out. Jungkook feels himself breathe for the first time in the last 15 minutes, before he feels suffocated once again. 

Maybe pulling away last week when he’d been so close gave you the idea that he didn’t want you at all, and maybe that had affected you more than he expected. Maybe him, creating more distance that you’d initiated, made you think that that’s what he wanted after all that. Perhaps his being a coward in facing his own feelings had pushed you away, too, and if you’re scared of what you feel for him, maybe letting you know that he feels the same way is what will make you stay. He could be the happiness you’re searching for, Jungkook convinces himself. He could be what you want and need.

And he already knows that you’re all that for him. Whatever rules he created for himself and the limits he imposed are all pointless if he doesn’t have you around at the end of it. If his life after all this doesn’t have you in it, there’s no happiness for him. A new job for you could take you anywhere, maybe far away from where he is; it could lead you to someone, someone who isn’t him.

He hates that an overheard conversation about you resigning is what will take for him to finally be honest about what he feels for you. And that potentially losing you by his side is the push he needs to let you know that he wants you, that he wants everything with you, and that he hopes you want the same. 

It’s 9:30 PM by the time he enters the car, his head hazy from the two glasses of whiskey he had. Mr. Ri calls him out on another night of him drinking in the office and orders him to get straight to bed like he’d done a few times before when Jungkook had been too stressed and too stubborn to rest. He merely nods though but he follows through, skipping dinner then mindlessly taking a shower before falling asleep in bed after finishing a bottle of beer.

The ringing of the alarm causes Jungkook to grunt and turn off his phone for the peace and quiet that he needs, given the throbbing of his head. But in the silence, he hears the soft knocks on his door, so consistent that he decides to just open it and ask the person on the other side to stop.

But of course, it’s you, and the way you quickly turn your head away reminds him that he’s got nothing but his sweatpants on and he’s too sleepy for anything else to register.

“It’s 7AM, Mr. Jeon. You have an executive meeting at 8,” you tell him, voice so soft and so far away. 

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his temples to massage the pain away. “I’ll just take a shower. Don’t make breakfast anymore. We leave in 20 minutes.”

“Noted, sir,” you say, then walk back towards the kitchen.

It’s 15 minutes later when his bedroom door opens and he nervously walks over to you. Unable to still remove the image of his half-naked form in your mind, you focus your gaze elsewhere, but he forces it on him when he asks you to fix his necktie, the first time he’d ever done so.

“I was rushing,” he explains. 

You nod and head to him, hating how your hands slightly shake at feeling so close to him again. You can feel his breath as you watch the rise and fall of his chest. He probably feels as anxious as you, perhaps no longer used to this routine after you stopped it days ago. But you manage without sparing him a glance, keeping your distance and your eyes focused on anything else but him from the walk down to the car and throughout the ride to work. 

It’s difficult for you to look at him, not only because you’re ashamed but because you’re afraid of what you’ll see. Maybe his eyes will tell of his acceptance of this new dynamic. Maybe they’ll reflect anger and frustration at how you’ve disrupted his routine. Or maybe they’ll show sadness - which is what you’re most terrified of - because that’s your weakness. Any time he looks like he needs comfort or he needs you, you know you’d give in, you know you’d want to be there even if you’ve spent the past week staying as far away as possible. 

You know you don’t have much time left here. The Arts Center opens over a month from now and you’ve decided to tender your resignation soon after. You know you should be savoring whatever moments you have with him and perhaps that’s what saddens you the most because you don’t know what will come after. 

Your happiness isn’t here, and staying to find out if it’s with him isn’t worth it, not when there’s baggage you carry; not when your own past and insecurities weigh you down.

Arriving in the office, you rush to your desk then walk to his room to give him the notes he needs for the meeting. You turn towards him slowly when he calls you, your name in his voice suddenly sounding foreign.

“Can you prepare me lemon ginger tea? Please?” 

His voice is soft, as if he feels burdensome for making such a request. You want to give in so badly and ask how he’s feeling. But you stop yourself. It’s not the place nor time.

You accompany his tea with pastries, your own request for him to have breakfast, and you get your own, in response to him instructing you to do so. You see from your periphery that he’s trying to catch your attention as the meeting starts, but with this, you hold back. You don’t want to see what you now know would be sadness in his eyes.

Jungkook has entered the deepest nook of your heart, you realize. You don’t know how you let him get there, and you don’t know how to push him out. 

“Another night of drinking, huh?” Hoseok’s unusually somber voice disrupts Jungkook’s thoughts as he zones out during lunch. “The Arts Center getting you that stressed and anxious?”

Jungkook looks at his cousin questioningly.

“I know how you look when you’re tired and this isn’t it,” Hoseok responds. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs, not wanting to get into this with a man who would know when he’s lying.

“You should be, Kook. There’s a lot going on these next few weeks and we need you at your best. Your team has worked so hard for the Arts Center,” Hoseok reminds him. “So trust them. And don’t let them down.”

As always, his words hit Jungkook where they should. Whatever’s going on in his personal life - even if it involves you, his assistant - he has to be professional first, and that means making sure that everything is ready for the launch in six weeks. There’s a lot he has to meet and prepare for, and he doesn’t know how you’re able to do it. You may be distancing yourself from him but you’re still able to focus and carry out your tasks accordingly. You’ll be fine without him, he thinks. But if you’ll go on thinking that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, he knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll regret it even more if he doesn’t ask you to stay. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jungkook assures his cousin. “I’ve been out of it but I’ll get my shit together.”

“Good. I don’t have to remind you that there’s a lot riding on this. But ___ is there to help. I’m here, too. You’ve got people who believe in you, okay?” Hoseok smiles, a slice of comfort that Jungkook didn’t know he needed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jungkook nods and heads back to his office after a full morning has passed, tricking himself into thinking that things will indeed be okay. He just needs to find the courage to face you, finally talk to you, ask you about that night, and tell you what he feels.

But even getting you alone proves to be difficult, as you have your own lunch plans that he didn’t want to interfere with, and your own deadlines that he set that he knows you’ll make sure to meet.

Jungkook gets caught up in the afternoon in another meeting with some of the Board members who came to visit. Biting his lip in frustration, he manages to not lose his mind as he sits through it, merely hoping to the heavens that you haven’t left yet despite the late hour. 

He speed walks down the hallway once he gets to his floor and almost panics when he sees your work space empty. But he spots your unfinished cup of coffee and he knows you won’t leave without cleaning up. He briefly sighs in relief when he hears shuffling from inside his room, walking closer to find you standing by his desk, with your back facing the door. You place a folder on his tray for signatures and a bound manual for review, then turn around and jerk in surprise when you see him standing there.

“I didn’t know your meeting had ended, sir,” you say, the formality grating his ears. All he wants is to hear you speak to him casually again, for you to call him by his name once more.

“It just did,” he hums. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I wanted to see you before you could leave.”

His words catch you off-guard but you try to look unaffected. 

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” You ask, knowing that he’s past giving you work at this hour on a Friday, but you’re too nervous to think of what else he needs you for.

“No. I…” he stutters. “You, uh, you’ve been avoiding me,” he manages to say, his eyes pleading for you to look at him. 

But still, you don’t.

“I’m with you everyday, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your tone cold. “I can’t possibly be avoiding you.”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

As if in reflex, you glance at him, then shift your eyes on the couch to your left.

“That doesn’t count,” he says, his voice oozing in desperation for you to just spare him some time, something you’ve never heard before.

So you give in, as you slowly meet his eyes, and you’re reminded why you didn’t want to do it in the first place. They’re so sullen. Tired, it seems, but just lacking in light. They were always so expressive, even when they’re angry, and even more when they’re sad. 

“I just…” you start, knowing that with all that’s happened and with all the stress and pressure he has to endure, you can’t be another one in his list to have to try to figure out. You at least owe it to him to be honest.

You look at the door, suddenly conscious of who might wander in your area, and Jungkook takes your cue, closing it once you nod. 

“So, why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again, his voice gaining a bit of life now that you’ve given him a chance to talk.

“I was just ashamed,” you admit, looking away as the scene from last week plays in your mind again. “I said things I shouldn’t have and they made you uncomfortable and—”

“How do you know that?” He interjects.

“Because you pulled away!” You say too loudly, lowering your head in embarrassment at the clear frustration you’re expressing. “I thought you wanted to… uh…”

“Kiss you,” he finishes, earning him the slightest of nods from you. 

“But you didn’t and I just felt so embarrassed,” you say, your lips quivering now at how much you’re saying, at how much you’re baring yourself to him, unsure if he’ll do the same. “That was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” he almost whispers as he slowly walks towards you. “About what I wanted to do. You seemed to want that, too, but we were out there and I… I was scared that if I’d done anything you weren’t ready for, then I’d push you away. I still did anyway. Because you’ve spent the entire week avoiding me, talking to me formally, not fixing my tie…”

You stop the giggle that you almost let out, but you can’t help your tiny smile as he whines about what you’ve been purposely doing. 

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you after that,” you explain, knowing there’s so much more to say but that you’ll start with this. “But you avoided me, too,” you suddenly pout. 

“What did you expect me to do?” He exclaims. “You did it first! You know I’m not good with these things.”

“Neither am I.”

Jungkook controls himself from kissing the frown off your face and instead, he walks closer. He gets to appreciate you now as he shamelessly eyes your form, the pastel-colored long sleeved blouse tucked inside your white skirt making his heart race. 

He spots your shy smile as you try to turn away, and he steps closer, wanting to see more. 

“You still aren’t gonna look at me?” He asks, the soft desperation in his voice prompting you to be bold again.

“I can’t. I might lose my mind,” you admit, groaning right after at your own honesty. 

“I’d quite like that,” he hums. “I… I was actually losing my mind all week. It didn’t feel right to have you feel so far away. I wanted to fix things but I didn’t know how.”

“That makes both of us,” you sigh, allowing yourself to finally gaze at him in his black suit, the classic look taking your breath away every time. “But I guess it’s the same with me. I didn’t know how badly I wanted you close until you weren’t anymore.”

You hesitatingly reach out your hand, an attempt to let him know that close is what you want him to be, but also to see for yourself if this is real, if he really is just breaths away from you, and if he could be even closer.

“I’m not pulling away this time,” he assures you, his boyish smile sending your mind in a frenzy.

Your fingers graze his chest, the way it quickly rises and falls telling you that his heart is probably racing as fast as yours. You fiddle with the neck of his tie before pulling it to bring him closer. He follows your lead, stepping forward and meeting your eyes, seeming like he doesn’t want his off of you. 

“So uh, are you losing your mind now?” He whispers teasingly. 

The way he utters the words with such yearning is a contrast to the shy look on his face. It’s a side of him you’re not ready for, but it’s one you’re thoroughly enjoying. It’s also pushing you to be even more shameless, as you nod and take his hand this time, placing it on your waist so you could feel his touch again. He’s gentle, trailing his fingers up and down your sides. 

“I am,” you manage to say, and you wish he could tell by the way you’re panting that his effect on you is way beyond your control now, and that it’s something you want to embrace. You mirror his smile, soft and warm yet full of desire.

He makes his move, placing his hand on your cheek as he eliminates whatever distance is left. And he stands there, just one breath away. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about that night, wishing I’d done things differently,” he heaves, his eyes flitting to your lips constantly, “wishing I had been brave enough to do what I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

You lick your lips in tandem with his, and once you feel him thumb your cheek, it’s all over for you. With a whisper of his name, you hold your breath, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours. 

He kisses you deeply, expressing just how much he’s been wanting to do this. You smile as you return his desire, suddenly feeling like you’re floating, as if he’s some dream that you’re able to reach, like he’s that beautiful thing that’s tangible, that you can touch, that you can taste.

You moan once his tongue gains entrance, entangling with yours and dominating you immediately until he’s all you can breathe in. He cups your face, directing it where he wants, while his one hand trails down your back to knead your ass, as if to keep himself steady as he loses himself in you. Your breathing quickens even more as the pleasure rises, and with your fingers palming his chest and gripping his collar, he pushes you against his table. 

He cages you and keeps you in place while he devours your lips, and you feel him all over you just as you wanted. You’re hypnotized by his scent, by his warm breath, and by the large hands that now grip your waist and lift you to sit on the edge of his desk. 

Your mind is hazy, high on the drug that is his kiss, lust-filled and passionate and relentless. You yearn for him even more the longer you taste him, feel him, and there’s no part of you that wants this to end. Your moans push him to kiss you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess and with a mind that's truly unable to think a single thought outside of this trance-like feeling. His arms now wrap around you, and his hands, seemingly desperate to touch every part of you that he can, trail up and down your back, as if to caress you, as if to say that he won’t stop, that he won’t let you go.

Finally needing air, he removes his lips from yours only to travel to the most sensitive parts of you - on the shell of your ear that his tongue grazes repeatedly, and on your neck that he licks and sucks vigorously. You feel the chills all over your body, and you grind against him to try to satiate that growing need of yours, as you start to feel the dampness in your underwear. His hardening length makes you want everything he can give you, rules and boundaries be damned. 

This isn’t like you but you’ve never felt this much pleasure and desire in all your life. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ecstasy that kissing and feeling him would give. You feel his desperation and desire for you, as he grunts and moans your name, aching to feel more, to do more. You want to live in this moment, and then live it everyday, just take him in and take everything and give him everything. 

But you should’ve known that some things are too good to be true. And much as you hope and imagine for things to turn out a certain way in belief that you deserve good things in this world, they don’t. Those don’t happen to people like you. There’s always something underneath it all, as the fantasy shatters like a glass ceiling breaking at his words.

“Stay, ___. Don’t leave,” he hums against you, the tip of his nose gliding against your neck as he takes in your scent. “Please don’t resign. I can’t… I—”

You feel frozen as you process what he’s said. “Wha-what?” You manage to ask, your mind slowly waking up now. 

His lips take a pause at devouring your skin and he faces you, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy and pleading as he repeats his words.

“Don’t leave, ___. Don’t resign. Stay with me. I need you next to me.” 

“Where is this coming from?” You demand, your heart racing now for a different reason, your anxiety building at how he could’ve known of your plans. You pull away to get a better look at him, with guilt now painting his eyes.

“I… I overheard you and Mr. Ri talking last night,” he admits shamefully. “I didn’t mean to. I was going to just walk away but you talked about leaving and what you feel about me and I just… I froze. I don’t want you to go anywhere, ___. I need you here.”

The silence drags on as you let his words settle, words you thought you wanted to hear. But not like this, you realize. This isn’t how you imagined he’d tell you he wants to be with you. 

He attempts to cup your cheek again but you pull yourself back, the rejection breaking him this time.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you last week,” you start, your voice shaking as the pieces fit together. “You knew yet you pulled away. You let a whole week pass with this distance, with no attempt from you to talk to me about it, or to even tell me what you feel but then you learn last night, after listening to a conversation you had no part in, that I like you. And tonight, you kiss me because suddenly you need me? Because you want me to stay next to you?”

“I—” Jungkook starts, unable to say anything as you put it the way you do. 

He’s wanted you for so long and always had reasons to keep his distance. He tried to gain the courage to talk to you this week, even as you avoided him, but he didn’t. There was just so much fear, so much worry about what he should do, about you asking him to forget about it, about possibly pushing you away even more. He didn’t intend for things to happen this way but for you to think that he’s only doing this in an attempt to keep you from resigning is all kinds of wrong, even if in hindsight, that’s exactly what it looks like. He could’ve said something earlier, he could’ve told you what he felt, and he would’ve been brave enough if he really wanted to. 

“You knew how I felt and you kissed me so I’d stay,” you repeat. “You hate change and me leaving will change everything for you and this… this is how you make sure I don’t.”

Stepping down from the desk, you realize how much you’d lost yourself in him, with your skirt bunched up and your blouse all creased. You fix yourself, suddenly ashamed, and suddenly unsure where you stand. It took so much of you to admit what you felt for him and now it seems that he hadn’t been into you the way that you thought. 

You want him with you, but he wants you here, that’s the difference. 

“I… want you,” Jungkook says, the words suddenly hard for him to say, as he gets choked up at the distance you’re creating. “I guess I always have. I just couldn’t do anything because I had to be professional and there were boundaries I couldn’t cross. But I couldn’t help it. Those don’t matter to me anymore. Only you do.” 

His pleading eyes ask you to believe him, to understand him this time. But your silence and the way you look at him in disappointment tell him it’s not something you’re able to do. 

“I never thought you’d feel the same way,” he continues. “And now I know that you do and that just means we can figure it out, right? Staying means we get to be together everyday. We… we get to have this everyday. Don’t you… don’t you want that?”

This is when you realize that much as you want to believe in his sincerity, it’s hard when he thinks of you as a necessity. You make his life easier. You’re his assistant, after all. And that makes you unsure if he only wants you because he needs you, or if they’re just the same thing to him. 

He didn’t even ask you why you wanted to leave. Maybe that should tell you enough.

“___, please. I just want to be with you.”

It’s also at this moment when you realize just how much you’ve fallen for him. You’d feared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and that means putting another person’s needs ahead of yours again, just like what you’ve done all these years. Staying would mean that you’d be unable to find yourself outside of all this, and you’ve given up too much not to choose your own happiness this time, even if it means saying goodbye to the person who also makes you happy.

Finding what little strength you have in you, you turn to him. “I don’t want to stay, Jungkook,” you say, your heart breaking as you utter the words, even more when you ask him to forget about everything that happened tonight. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Not like this. I’m so sorry.”

With your smashed heart in your hands, you do the hard thing and walk out the door, leaving in your wake a man whose broken pieces that you’ve put together all shattered once again. 

Walking down the block to get to the bus stop feels like a marathon, as the street feels so long with the heavy burden you’re carrying weighing you down too much. But you manage to get there, only to decide that you’d much rather spend the ride home on your own. You turn to a street to hail a cab then realize once you get in one that it was the spot where Jungkook had seen you, drenched under the rain with a sprained ankle. 

He healed parts of you that night, with his quiet assurance that you didn’t have to go through your struggles on your own. You’d hold on to that thought months later, though you’re unsure about now - much as things hurt at this moment, all you want is to be alone.

You get off two stops early and mindlessly walk towards the convenience store, thinking that some snacks for dinner would do. You don’t really feel like eating but your body’s needs are greater than your own desire to eat. Walking down the aisles, you decide you’re only good for some cup noodles tonight. You don’t even deserve boiled eggs that you suddenly craved, nor honey chips, and you definitely don’t deserve dessert after what you allowed to happen earlier. 

You stop your movements once you realize you’re sitting on the same spot where you and Jungkook had eaten when he drove you home that night he took you to the park. It had been a terrible evening after that incident with your ex, but Jungkook was the protective one who helped shoulder all the anger that you were too exhausted to feel. He was a reliable and comforting presence, familiar yet new with his warmth. During the occasional moments in the weekend after when your mind would go to that night, you’d think of Jungkook and how he made you feel safe.

It feels too much, so you take your noodles and finish them on the bench outside. You walk home after, letting the crisp evening air envelop you as your mind replays what happened. 

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to feel someone the way you wanted to feel him, but you suppose that’s why it hurts as much as it does. You wanted him to want you as much as you did, and you were perhaps foolish to think he’d have the same reasons as you. Maybe you were really just stupid for feeling anything in the first place, knowing your place in his world. You’re everything convenient and easy and familiar and despite the week of walking on eggshells around him, you gave in so quickly. He knew what to do when it came to you. 

And maybe that’s on you. You allowed yourself to feel so much for a man whose life is so intertwined with yours that it’s hard to know what’s real. Yet you know that despite all that, your desire for him is still too strong. It’s why you had to leave right away. 

Another moment of him pleading for you to not resign and you might’ve given in again. Another second of hearing him ask you to be with him and you would’ve believed him - that there was sincerity in all that, that he’d be with you regardless if you stayed in the company or not. Now you’re left with the thought that the convenience was what he wanted, that as he crossed the line, it was all or nothing for him. And that you’d be the weak one, willing to give up what else you could be outside of all this just for him. 

Perhaps you’re also asking for too much. He’s used to a life without much consequences to his actions. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, especially what you had to endure and give up to be here and what you want out of life now that you’re old enough to take control of it. Maybe for him, asking you to stay was that declaration and proof of his feelings; doing so took so much out of him already that thinking of what life would be like without being with you everyday was too hard of a reality to accept or work around. 

You’re too out of it that you don’t realize that you’ve been standing outside your door. You’re thankful for the weekend at least. You’ll spend half of it in bed, and the other half preparing yourself for how you’ll face him again, and how you’ll finally say goodbye. 

You enter and sigh at the warmth inside. Dropping your bag on the floor, you stand by your tiny dining table and take a bite off the apple you find in your fridge. You gaze at your shelf, the one filled with photos of your family and friends and a few more of different sceneries that you took using the disposable camera that Jungkook had gifted you for your birthday. It’s another reminder of how much a part of your life he’s become, how, of all the people in the world, he’d been the one to show you that capturing moments is a gift you shouldn’t take for granted. 

You often wondered what moments he liked to capture. He doesn’t have photos in his penthouse other than those of structures and buildings that are artistically taken. There are framed old blueprints and historical pieces but nothing of him and the people in his life. 

Maybe he doesn’t have good enough memories he wants to keep. For a short moment, you wished that the times he shared with you are ones he’d like to hold onto. But maybe the idea would hurt more - you’ll just be a memory like he would be to you. 

You always wanted to keep only good ones of him, but the sight of him rooted in his spot and in shock as you turned him down is far from something you want to remember. He’s something you didn’t know you wanted, but he stands between you and the life you’ve always wished for yourself - one where you get to decide, to be free, to be happy. 

He’ll let you go and forget all this, you think to yourself. You’ll be the one who walked away. And he’ll be the one who didn’t run after you.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches your retreating form. The sounds of your heels against the marble floor disappear as he remains unmoving from his spot in his room where he’d kissed you just moments earlier. You felt and tasted just like he imagined, and the moment his lips touched yours, he knew he’d want to keep kissing you over and over again. 

It was the first time in a long time that he allowed himself to be honest about how he felt, giddy emotions included. It felt freeing to be able to admit all of that to you after all these months of denying it and walking around eggshells when it came to you. He’d been sure, after last night, that you felt the same way, even more when he felt how your body reacted and how your heart raced, aching for him as much as his heart was yearning for you. 

You sounded hypnotizing, too. The way you’d moaned his name ignited something in him that none of the women he’d slept with had ever done before, and he knows it’s because he’d never felt anything genuine for them. They were good for the moment but he knew, especially the instance that he felt you close, that he wanted you for more than that. He wanted the soft touches and the gentle whispers, the longing looks and the intertwined hands. He wanted more than he thought he would, but during his most vulnerable state, he uttered the words he’d been dying to say since last night when he learned of your plans.

He asked you to stay. He told you he needs you, that he wants to be with you.

They sounded like pleas and maybe that’s what they were. From the deepest and coldest nooks of his heart, he was pleading for you to not leave. He’d finally admitted what he’d been so scared to accept, but all his words did were hurt you. 

You insisted that all he cared about was the convenience of being together everyday, that you staying meant he’d get to keep all that was familiar. And he doesn’t know what would be taken away from you if you did. 

You wanted him, too, didn’t you? Wasn’t that enough? And wasn’t being with him all that mattered? 

Sure, there’d be complications, but those are things he knows you’d both be able to face, they’re things you can navigate around and figure out together because this isn't just a one-time, spur-of-the-moment type of thing. He wants all of you, everything with you, whatever it takes. 

He hadn’t realized it until that second he held you in his arms. And then again when you pulled away, looked at him with glassy eyes, and told him you couldn’t stay. 

He’d been too hurt to run after you. He didn’t know what to say then. How would he, when you’re the one who couldn’t commit to what you felt by staying around? He felt that betrayal, of that feeling of inadequacy, of his feelings for you not being enough. He bared his emotions to you after being so scared of doing so, and then you crushed his heart just like that, with his broken pieces that you’d just put together, scattered on the floor. 

This isn’t like him. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to feel so much for another person, to care for them, to want them in a way that scares him. But you showed him a life where it was possible to open himself up again, to find out what happiness could feel like this time, and in that same breath, you took it all away.

He’s not sure where to go from here. But he decides he’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to forget. Tonight, he just wants to wallow in his sadness, erase the memory of your touch and the feel of your mouth against his, and let it all go. 

Jungkook instructs Mr. Ri to go home. He’ll drive himself, he insists. There’s just no one right now he wants to be around. 

He drinks a glass of whiskey for the road and manages to get home in one piece. He settles on the couch as he finishes another half bottle, then chugs down a few cans of beer after. The image of you gets blurry. His mouth numbs and he starts forgetting your taste on his lips, too. 

His head falls on the pillow and his hand mindlessly reaches out. There’s no heartbeat that he feels; he’s forgotten how fast yours was already. The sound of your laughter and then of your moans is replaced with a buzzing in his ear as his mind starts to fall away. 

The warmth of your body is gone but somehow he feels hot, so hot but he can’t get his clothes off. He struggles a little, his fingers aren’t doing their job so he gives up instead, curls into the corner of the couch, and for the briefest moment, he sees your smile so clearly. And then his mind drifts away completely, taking his confusion and yearning for you along with it. 

At least for now, there’s not much of you he remembers. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that’ll all change when he wakes up in the morning and searches for you, knowing you won’t be around to tell him that everything is gonna be okay.

Hoseok massages his temple as his sixth call to his cousin in the last half hour remains unanswered. 

“He’s still not picking up,” he groans, the unusual feeling of annoyance bubbling inside him at Jungkook’s irresponsibility.

It’s Saturday morning and some friends of their family flew from Europe last night for lunch at the Jeons’ estate. This gathering was scheduled in time for their grandfather’s death anniversary today, and it’s an event that Mr. Jeon was adamant that Jungkook and Hoseok attend as their respective families’ representatives and as heirs of the company. Those friends had been there when their grandfather built Jeon Corporation from the ground up, and welcoming them is a sign of respect for that friendship and for the memory of the man they’re celebrating today. 

Jungkook had informed Mr. Ri that he’ll be driving himself to the estate and promised to be there before 11 AM, as what his father had requested. It’s half past that and he’s still nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been picking up his phone and his friends claim they don’t know where he is. Knowing how important today is, Hoseok wanted to accompany Mr. Ri in going to the younger man’s apartment to pick him up and find out why he’s late. When the elder Jeon asks, which he will, Hoseok would at least have a reason to give. It just better be a good one.

They both arrive at the building and are informed that Jungkook’s cars are still in their respective slots. He’s not in any of the amenities and the guards report that they haven’t seen him since he arrived on his own last night. He may not be a fan of these types of events but Jungkook always shows up. He knows what today means for their family; if not for his father, then at least for his grandfather, a man he respected and looked up to. If, for some reason, he failed to wake up, then he must be in a bad condition, and Hoseok either has to scold his cousin, or cover for him.

With no one answering the door, Mr. Ri uses his access and enters. It’s dark and quiet inside, with the blinds all closed. When he and Hoseok find Jungkook passed out on the couch with an empty whiskey bottle and beer cans on the floor, it’s the same moment that Mr. Ri’s phone rings, and it’s your name that lights up the screen.

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you groggily say. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I had a late night and just woke up. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, as he watches Hoseok pull Jungkook from his cowering form in an attempt to get him to wake up.

“What do you mean?” You ask, standing from your bed now, suddenly awake. 

“I was calling to ask if you knew where Jungkook was. Their family gathering is today and he was supposed to be at his parents’ house 30 minutes ago but he wasn’t. He wasn’t picking up our calls either.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know where he is,” you say softly, the mention of his name reminding you of what transpired last night, the image of Jungkook’s dejected look appearing in your mind. You worry about him though, wondering what time he got home. “Have you found him? Is he okay?” 

“Hoseok and I are at his apartment and he’s passed out drunk,” Mr. Ri states, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes and mumbles some words that the older man has to walk closer to hear. “What happened last night, ___? Why is he calling your name? And why is he asking for you to come back?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Jungkook had spent last night drinking his feelings away. You know enough from your time with him that it’s what he does when he’s stressed or mad or frustrated, and then he wakes up the next morning and hits the gym to deal with his hangover. There’s none of that today, apparently, and you stop yourself from instructing Mr. Ri to prepare him some lemon ginger tea. 

“What happened last night, ___?” He repeats. “Did you fight?”

“We…” you start, knowing that if there’s anyone who has to know about last night, it’s the man on the other end of the phone. “We, uh… we kissed. And then he asked me not to resign then I pulled away.”

Walking towards the kitchen to hand Hoseok a glass of water, Mr. Ri asks if you’d told Jungkook of your plans, stating that he hadn’t told him about it.

“He overheard us talking last Thursday,” you respond. “He knew what I felt about him, kissed me, then asked me to stay. He said he didn’t want me to go, that he wanted to be with me, and that we could be together everyday. It didn’t feel right,” you continue, your voice shaking now as you recall the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to talk about it. He wasn’t supposed to use my feelings against me like that.”

“Did you tell him why you’re planning on leaving?”

“No… He just went on about needing me to be with him and I… I couldn’t bear it,” you say, feeling the tears dance around your eyes. “You told me that I could always leave but even then, I’d always have a reason to stay but it would be their reason, not mine. I finally built the courage to decide on this because you know I need this. I don’t want him to be my reason this time. Or else I’ll never be able to let all of it go.”

“I know,” Mr. Ri sighs, knowing more than anyone what you mean. 

He’ll never be brave like you, but he understands that burden, that desire to just be free; he knows what it’s like to be held back even if it’s your own decision. Because at the end of the day, you’ll always think you have a debt to be paid. He knows he does, but he’ll always believe that you don’t. Surviving was always enough.

“But I think he has to know, ___,” he continues. “He wouldn’t let himself go through this kind of suffering if you don’t mean that much to him. You have to tell him the truth. And I mean everything. You owe it to yourself, too. I know he means a lot to you but you can’t move forward in any way, with or without him, if you’ll just keep him in the dark.”

You let Mr. Ri’s words settle. You told yourself the moment you entered the company that you won’t let your past define you, including your relationship with this family. You’ll work hard and everyone else will know you for that, and not for any other reason. You also knew that you’d spend every second of being here trying to prove to yourself that you’re capable, despite the irony that you were the one defining your time here based on your past that you just somehow couldn’t run away from. 

You weren’t supposed to feel anything for Jungkook. You could’ve gone on with your plan of resigning without feeling bad that you were leaving him behind. And even in that alternative reality where he’d ask you to stay, it would’ve been easy to say no. What makes this difficult is that you started to care. You got scared that if he asked you, you would stay. And now that he did, you have to be stronger than your desire to be with him.

Leaving would be hard, but staying would be much harder. 

You wish it was easy to make him understand. But you suppose without him knowing the truth, he wouldn’t be able to. 

So you give Mr. Ri permission. 

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say. “You would. Make him understand. Maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll still come after me. And maybe he’ll forgive me, too.”

Mr. Ri hums and drops the call. He returns to the living room where Jungkook is now seated upright on the couch, downing his second glass of water and taking medicine to deal with the hangover. The blinds are now up, causing him to squint his eyes. At least he looks alive now. 

“That was ___,” Mr. Ri says. “She was wondering how you were.”

“Did you tell her I look terrible?”Jungkook asks bitterly.

“I did. She also told me what happened.”

“What… happened?” Hoseok wonders. “Did you have a big fight?”

Knowing he has no way out of this, Jungkook tells the truth. “We, uh, we kissed,” he answers, earning him a gasp from his cousin, who clarifies that while he’s not that surprised, he’s curious as to why both of you aren’t together right now.

“___ plans on resigning. He asked her not to,” Mr. Ri answers. “But you… you have to let her go, Jungkook. She needs to learn who she is and what she can do without anything holding her back.”

“If that’s her reason, then she has to know that she can keep learning who she is and what she can do here, with me,” Jungkook insists, slowly gaining clarity, as all the words he couldn’t say last night suddenly come out so easily. “There’s so much she can do. If what we feel for each other is the issue and that means she can’t directly work for me, then there are other departments where she’d fit well in. This isn’t just about convenience for me. I want to see her everyday but having her around means I get to make sure she’s taken care of, that she’s treated well.”

“And then what? She’ll feel indebted to you because of that?” Mr. Ri counters. “This is more than just developing her skills or building her career, Jungkook. This is about being someone outside of this company. It’s about doing something without feeling like she constantly has to prove that she deserves what she has.”

“And she does. Who does she have to prove anything to? We’re beyond that. Everyone knows she’s capable.”

“She has to prove it to herself. It may be hard for you to understand but she… she won’t get to accept all that she is until she’s ridden herself of the burden she carries. For as long as she works for your family, she’ll always feel it.”

The words feel a little too personal, Jungkook thinks, as Mr. Ri talks about your insecurities as if he’d seen you live them, and perhaps he has. The older man witnessed those first few turbulent weeks, and having known you since you started working here through the CEO, perhaps Mr. Ri had seen how your spirit broke a little because of Jungkook.

But still, something about the way Mr. Ri looks sullenly at him says that there’s more to what the older man had seen, as if he himself is pleading for Jungkook to let you go this way, as if the care runs deep and the words carry so much more emotion.

“She needs this, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri continues. “She’s planned on leaving a few times before but her gratitude towards your family always pulled her back. If you really care about her, you won’t let that happen this time. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to do it without her being here. Regardless of what she feels for you, she needs this more. You can let her go without really letting her go, you have to know that.”

It all feels too much and Jungkook’s mind is filled with so many questions. What do you owe his family? How does proving yourself have anything to do with leaving the company? How does he fit into all this? What do you need time away for? And how can he be with you at the end of it? Would you still want that, given that he didn’t even ask you why?

“How are you sure that’s what she needs?” Jungkook asks, curiosity getting the best of him.  

“I’ve known her for 20 years, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I know it’s what she believes.”

Jungkook may still be dealing with a hangover, but he knows his ears didn’t betray him. Twenty years, that’s how long you’ve known the man he trusts with his life, the man his father trusts with his family’s life. 

The tale is an open secret. Ri Byung-hun was a kid who grew up in the streets. He tried to steal from Jungkook’s grandfather, whose construction business then was slowly taking off. The elder man took pity on the young teen and sent him to school, and Byung-hun showed his gratitude by working for the family, eventually becoming Jungkook’s father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and closest confidant all in one. The loyalty goes both ways, and it’s stood the test of time. 

Jungkook doesn’t know all the details but he knows enough. What he doesn’t know is who you are in Mr. Ri’s life, and why Jungkook hadn’t heard of you before. 

“How do you know ___?” Jungkook finally manages to ask. “Who is she to you?”

“I know ___ because of her mother. And over 20 years ago, Cho Hye-soo was your father’s assistant.”

“She— what?” 

Jungkook can’t hide his shock, and neither can Hoseok, who looks just as surprised about the truth as he is. His cousin would’ve been in his early teens at that time, and as it was when it came to their family’s children, training to become company heirs starts early, but they don’t get immersed until during their late teenage years. 

“I… I know Mrs. Cho,” Hoseok says. “I’ve met her several times but I… I never knew. They never said anything.”

“It wasn’t something they wanted people to know,” Mr. Ri explains. “Other than both of your parents, I’m the only other person who does. Too much time has passed for people to make the connection. It was just better that no one knew.” 

“What else did they not want people to know?” Jungkook asks. “What did ___ and her mom do? What… what do they owe our family?”

The elder man knew that at some point, Jungkook was going to have to learn the truth. He just didn’t think it would have to be under these conditions, and that he’d be the one telling the young man about how your lives are intertwined, that whatever pain you both carried growing up, those would always lead you back to each other. 

“Your father and Hye-soo were no different to how you and ___ are,” Mr. Ri starts. “He’d just been appointed President and he was under a lot of pressure - from your grandfather, the Board, the rest of your family… He was always stressed and it didn’t help that he was a perfectionist, just like you. That obviously affected your family, but it also affected those who worked for him, especially Hye-soo, who felt that she had a lot to prove.”

She didn’t have a Seoul education but she was smart and resourceful, incredibly hardworking and devoted, something you inherited from her, the elder man shares. The similarities are striking, and Jungkook braces himself, hoping that they end there. 

“She always had to work overtime, including weekends, and that took a lot of time away from being with ___. Hye-soo would leave her daughter in the library where her friend worked, and that seemed to be enough. But of course, it wasn’t easy, especially with a partner who lost his job and started drinking to cope.”

As Mr. Ri continues, Jungkook starts to fear something else, and so he asks. 

“Did… did he hurt them?”

“He yelled a lot,” Mr. Ri answers. “I’d hear it sometimes during breaks when she’s on the phone with him and it crushed me every time. Hye-soo wouldn’t say much, just that he was a good guy who just didn’t know how to deal with hardships. She never justified his actions until of course, that piece of shit started hitting her.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words, unable to imagine growing up in a household like that - feeling afraid, unsafe, and unfree. 

“Hye-soo assured me that Kang-ho never hurt ___. She was good at that, at protecting her child. One time, she was called to work on a Saturday and that didn’t go well with him, but she… she always puts her daughter first, and that meant work would always be her priority because it’s what pays the bills and what sends her to school,” Mr. Ri narrates, his eyes growing more dejected by the second as he recalls those times. 

“She was rushing and couldn’t properly conceal the bruise on her face. She was worried that’s why she took ___ with her. Hye-soo kept crying as your father asked her what happened. She apologized for being late and for bringing her daughter to work, and she asked to stay in the office for the night until she figured out where they could go. I had never seen her break down like that,” he says, his voice shaking now. “And I won’t forget how scared ___ looked. She was just 10 years old then, clinging to her mother and not wanting to let her go. We were all strangers to her but somehow, she knew that we were there to protect them.”

The silence goes on, as both men take in Mr. Ri’s words, but it’s Hoseok who asks what happened after, and eventually, what got you here. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon didn’t hesitate to help,” the older man shares. “They had Hye-soo and ___ stay at the staff house in their estate for a few nights until they got a new place to stay. I helped them get their stuff after Kang-ho figured out what was happening and ran.  The police had a warrant for his arrest but they couldn’t find him for days.” 

Turning to Jungkook, he adds, “your parents paid for all the legal and medical fees. Because Kang-ho knew they were helping, you all had to go away until he was found. Hye-soo and ___ went to Busan where he couldn’t trace them; your parents stayed in one of their houses in Gwangju while you and your brother were in Gwacheon.” Mr. Ri sighs at the memory as he recalls those days. “The reason why you were in that cabin was so they could protect you. I know you held a grudge against them for years because you thought they just left you there but they couldn’t stay with you, Jungkook. You were all in danger and they had to keep you and Jeong-sik safe.”

Jungkook looks back at that night when everything changed for him. Things already weren’t going well with his brother; the three-year gap and the way they were always compared kept them from getting along. His parents knew that, yet they still left him with Jeong-sik, who abandoned him in the woods when they played hide-and-seek. That’s where Jungkook was left alone, lost and scared under the rain, the thunder roaring as he yelled for someone to come. He’s always lived with that fear, always carried that memory of anger and blame within him that transformed into a habit of just pushing people away, of keeping them out because that was better to accept than the knowledge that people he trusted left him on his own. 

But there’s a reason, he learns now, one that his parents kept from him to protect you and your mother, too. It’s all too much, but he thinks now that maybe there’s a reason why you were so patient with him, why you didn’t judge him that night at the guest house, why you somehow understood what he was so scared of. He doesn’t know if you know that the night at the cabin had anything to do with what you and your mother went through, but regardless, maybe that’s why he always felt so strongly about you. The connection he was yearning for was always there, it’s tied to something, and he realizes it’s tied to your shared past.

“Did the police find the man?” Jungkook asks now, his headache somehow worsening from all the things he’s learning. But he just wants to know that you weren’t even more hurt, that there was a way that his parents kept you safe. 

“I did,” Mr. Ri responds. “I still had contact with people in the streets, and I left Gwacheon once I got a call that they knew where he was staying. I hunted him down and I handed him over… with a bloodied face and a few broken bones. They charged him for domestic violence and a few other crimes, including drug possession that would keep him in prison for years, long enough for Hye-soo and ___ to recover.”

“And what about you? Were you charged?” Jungkook wonders.

“No, I claimed self-defense and I—”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Jungkook counters, knowing there’s more to what Mr. Ri is saying. 

“It wasn’t,” the old man admits, turning away as he says the words. “I could’ve done more but I… I couldn’t lose myself to the anger even if it was all I felt. I knew Hye-soo wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Jungkook says, dawning on him now that everything Mr. Ri had done was so he could protect your mother and you. He realizes that all the times that the elder man looked out for you was because he was looking out for someone he truly cared about, someone who mattered the most to the person who mattered the most to him.

“I did,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I still do.”

Jungkook recalls the night during the team building and the elder man’s words, about the woman he’d loved for so long, and that moving on from her meant expending all that love to those he cares about, and now Jungkook knows that he was referring to you. 

“Did she know? And did she love you back?”

“She… she asked me to move to Busan with her and ___,” Mr. Ri answers, his eyes faraway as memories of that conversation come rushing back, how he’d wanted to just run away and build a life he never thought he could have with the woman he’d fallen so hard for, but how he had to make the hardest decision then, knowing it was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Why didn’t you?” Jungkook wonders. 

“I owe everything I have to your family, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri explains. “They gave me a second chance. Your grandfather got me off the streets, your father taught me everything I know, they… they had my records cleaned. They did it when I was a kid and they did it again when I was an adult. The only way I could ever pay them back was through my loyalty. I couldn’t leave, not after everything they’ve done for me.”

“But you loved her. She was your second chance,” Jungkook argues.

“And that love caused me to commit a crime I shouldn’t have. I was going to pay for it one way or another,” Mr. Ri responds. “That’s how I chose to do it, by letting her go, knowing that I’d be able to look after her and ___ better that way. Your father would protect me, and I would protect them. That’s… that’s how things go.”

It’s a tragic love story, Jungkook thinks. Two people who feel so much having to let each other go, their own pasts pushing them towards opposite directions. Decisions were made and that pulled them apart. He supposes that reciprocated feelings aren’t always enough.

“What happened after that?” Hoseok asks now, wanting to know as well how you and your mother managed, and if there’s any more danger that you face.

“They stayed in Busan for a few years. They only returned to Daegu after they learned that Kang-ho died in prison after acquiring some respiratory disease,” Mr. Ri replies. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon helped with the move, too. They had me check on Hye-soo and ___ almost every month, just to make sure they were doing well. It was hard, of course. Hye-soo wasn’t earning the same as she was so she took another job just to keep ___ in a good school. Mr. Jeon knew that, so he kept offering to pay for her education but Hye-soo always turned him down. That continued until she got to college, and knowing that her mom won’t accept help again, ___ was the one who decided to take the offer. They paid for her tuition, and she eventually got an internship in the company. She took the job offer, too, and she’s just been working hard ever since, thinking that she has everything to prove.”

“Why does my father think he can buy people’s loyalty just like that?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “It traps people… it gives them no option.”

“I know it may seem that way but your father knows how important loyalty is, and it’s something that he gives, too. He trusts me just as much I trust him,” Mr. Ri defends. “But when it comes to Hye-soo and ___, it isn’t about loyalty but guilt. He blames himself for what happened to them. Even if it was all Kang-ho’s fault, your father always believed that if he hadn’t been so demanding, things wouldn’t have escalated. It was all the overtime, all the unfair requests that took Hye-soo’s time from her partner, from her daughter. He carries that guilt with him and how he treated her. In a way, I think that was his wake-up call. Work stopped consuming him after. He became considerate of his staff, asking about their families and how they’re doing. He tried to make it up to you and your brother but that seemed to be the hardest thing for him; he didn’t know how to get your trust back.”

“But wasnt ___ choosing to work here about loyalty? She stayed every time he asked her to. She wouldn’t have if she felt indebted to our family,” Jungkook remarks, not wanting to delve into his own relationship with his father. 

“She wanted to repay them just so her mom would stop carrying that burden,” Mr. Ri says. “They were able to get away and build a new life where they were safe because of your parents and for ___, that always meant everything. She planned to work for them, but even a part of her felt that all the opportunities she was given was out of kindness. She always felt she didn’t deserve it but your parents also think they can’t ever make it up to her and her mother enough.”

At the silence, he continues. “People are complicated that way, I guess. We all have our own burdens to carry, our own past to deal with, our own actions to make peace with and accept. We make decisions based on what we think is best and just hope we don’t regret them in the future. But we also make them as a way to take control of our own lives. Even if I regret letting Hye-soo go, I at least did it knowing that I’ll either have another chance at being with her, or that someone else will. And someone did, and I know for a fact that he loves her and ___ with all of him.”

“In that sense, maybe resigning is ___’s way of taking control of her life this time, don’t you think?” Hoseok turns to Jungkook, understanding where you’re coming from now, as he knows the feeling of not having to constantly prove yourself to others. “She finally wants to let that burden go, to live as she wishes without feeling like she doesn’t deserve what she has, even if it means not being next to you the way she wants to. If you make her stay, how do you think she can move on from all this? How can you be sure she’s happy?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, knowing it’s not enough to process everything he’s learned this morning. There’s that past he didn’t know he shared with you, there’s his relationship with his father that he doesn’t know how to mend, there’s his feelings for you, one that’s still so strong and inescapable. 

And then there’s the thought that you’d known everything all along. You’ve been patient with him, you've been kind and understanding. Was that all because you felt like you had to? Because he’s the son of the people you feel that you owe a lot to?

It’s not that Jungkook doubts your feelings for him, but he wonders if you do. Now that you’re able to make that decision to leave, what if walking away from his family also means you realize that your feelings are tied to that indebtedness, too? How real was it for you? And after you find yourself outside of all this, would you still want him?

The thoughts make his heart break, and this tells him that after knowing everything, he still can’t deny what he feels about you. He still wants you just as much. Maybe the familiarity he always felt was because you are familiar. Maybe the connection was because of a painful past you both share, of a kind of pain you both understand. Maybe the intensity of feelings is a remnant from his childhood, one that’s tied to yours in a serendipitous way. 

He’d like to think that even without knowing, you held out for him. You could’ve chosen to leave anytime before he came but you didn’t, and your paths crossed this way and he convinces himself that you were always meant to meet each other, that you were always meant to make up for how intertwined and unfortunate your lives are. You never met then but this time, when you did, it meant so much more. He could only hope that it’s something you hold onto as well, and that when you decide to finally walk away, it doesn’t mean you walk away from him completely, too. 

“Kook, I know there’s a lot to think about but you have to get going,” Hoseok disrupts his thoughts. “Your father still wants us at that lunch. I know grandfather would, too.”

“You should go ahead, Hoseok,” Mr. Ri says. “Just make an excuse to your uncle and say I’m helping Jungkook fix up. We’ll head there right away.”

“No, tell him that I know,” Jungkook insists. “If… if he’s always wanted to mend our relationship, he and I have to start being honest with each other.”

“I will,” Hoseok says as he stands up to leave. “Get your head together, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Jungkook massages his temples, knowing that he doesn’t have time to get a workout in and rid himself of this terrible hangover. But he tries, as he takes a warm shower and asks Mr. Ri to prepare him a cup of lemon ginger tea and get some ginseng jelly for the ride. 

The trip to his parents’ estate starts off quiet, but the thoughts in his head are so loud that the older man asks what else is bothering him. 

“How was her time in Busan?” Jungkook asks.

“It was good. She was a shy kid but she found good people she trusted and that meant everything,” Mr. Ri answers. “I visited them often, even when they returned to Daegu. But I stopped once ___ moved back to Seoul after college. I’d ask her about her mother every now and then. It was nice to hear how well they’re doing, and how happy they are with their new family. Min-woo’s a good man and his daughters love Hye-soo and ___ so much. It turned out well for them. When I think about that, it’s really hard not to justify the decisions I made.”

“Will you make them again? If given the chance?”

“If I still think it’s what’s best then, then I would. Sometimes we make decisions because of the other person, not exactly for ourselves. Sometimes that’s how we realize just how much we love them, you know? When their happiness trumps our own.”

Jungkook merely hums. While he doesn’t think he’s at that point with you, he cares enough to want you to have that chance to find your happiness, in whatever form that may be. And if leaving the company is what it takes, then he knows you deserve that and more. It doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you can search for it while being with him, but perhaps it’s better if you find your way back to him instead. He’ll at least know you chose him, and not because you felt like you owed it to him to stay.

They make it to his parents’ estate over an hour late. The guests have arrived and Jungkook greets them before finding his father. When their eyes meet, there’s a look of sadness in the elder man’s eyes. Perhaps it’s understanding; maybe it’s an apology.

His mother gives him a long and tight hug, one that he savors for the first time in a long while. He remained distant from his parents after he decided to pursue further studies and then work in their office abroad. It’s a relationship he’s still navigating. While his mother has always been present and affectionate, Jungkook is the one who stopped reciprocating. It just seemed easier that way, but he realizes that he’s missed her warmth after taking it for granted all these years. 

The lunch gathering lasts for a few hours. Jungkook tries to pay attention to the conversations since engaging requires too much from him, especially after the morning he’s had. But his father doesn’t reprimand him this time, and for that, he’s thankful. Hoseok keeps him on his toes though, but Jungkook’s mind constantly wanders towards you. He wonders how you got home last night, if you managed to get some rest, and if you’re spending your time being angry at him or if, by any chance, you’re missing him like he’s missing you.

It’s 5 PM by the time the last guest leaves, and with Hoseok and A-yeong needing to attend a dinner party, Jungkook is left to speak with his parents alone. 

“I heard you know the truth now,” his father says as he sits across from Jungkook in the garden. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Did you intend for me not to know and find out from someone else?” Jungkook asks. 

“___ applied to the company with the intention of contributing in a small way,” his father says. “She made it without any say from me and that’s a testament to her skills and capabilities. When we met after her first day, she asked that she not be treated any differently, and I agreed. I stayed true to my word and I kept my distance, but when I heard about how Mrs. Byun treated her, I knew I couldn’t just stand back. I encouraged her to apply for the EA position, knowing that she would be treated well. And with that, she asked me not to say who she is - not to Hoseok, and especially not to you. That’s not how she wants to be known. And I always respected her request.”

“Does it make any difference, son?” His mother asks. “Does knowing who she is to our family change the way you see her?”

“No, but it makes me wonder how she’d seen me all this time,” Jungkook says. “She put up with me despite how I treated her. She was kind even if I was distant. She… she let me open myself up and that’s… that’s why I like her. That's why I asked her to be with me.”

The surprise on his parents’ faces is immediate, but they stay calm, and it’s what prompts him to continue.

“I just hate to think that she suffered all that time because she still felt like she owed us. If you asked her to stay and help me, she wouldn’t have been able to turn you down. And what if… she’s confused her feelings for me for just… gratitude towards you?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his mother sighs, taking his hand as a form of comfort. “We are so sorry that all this has caused you to doubt her sincerity but if there’s one thing we know about ___ is that she’s genuine, and if you felt cared for by her, then she meant all that.”

“Yes, I did ask her to help you, because I knew that if there was someone who could get through to you, it would be her,” his father says this time.

“So you took advantage of her? Because you knew she’d do what you’d ask,” Jungkook huffs.

“I did that because I knew that she would care, that she would understand. Thinking about it now, perhaps I asked for too much,” the elder man shakes his head. “She’s a lot like her mother, and I’ve come to realize that you’re a lot like me. I needed someone like Hye-soo and somehow I just knew that you needed someone like ___. Both of you opening up and finding comfort in each other just happened, I suppose, and that’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I don’t know. Because now, she doubts what I feel and I’m not sure about what she feels, too,” Jungkook admits, letting his own insecurities get the better of him. He hates that he’s started to doubt you as well. 

“If it matters, I’ve seen how she is with you. She cares about you, she worries about you. And the way you respond to her just means that your heart feels her sincerity, too,” his father responds. “Don’t let anger or fear taint that for you.”

“Aren’t you mad about what happened?” Jungkook wonders. “She’s my assistant and I ended up crossing a line. I kissed her. In my office.”

“Perhaps I should be,” his father hums. “But with her planning on resigning, I suppose you’re already feeling a lot of emotions about that. I don’t want to add anymore. You’re an adult and you know that your actions have consequences. You just have to deal with them now. And don’t ever do that again.”

There’s no anger in his father’s words. In fact, there’s comfort that Jungkook has never heard before. It suspends his worries only for a short moment, as he’s reminded that you indeed plan on leaving. When that is, he doesn’t know. But he’s gonna have to start dealing with your loss just as he needs to deal with his feelings for you. It’s all too complicated; getting together despite what you both feel isn’t that simple. Your happiness comes first. He knows he cares so much that it’s what he wants you to focus on. 

“Letting her go now doesn’t mean you have to let her go for good,” his mother tells him. “She’ll choose you if that’s what her heart says. And at least then, you’ll know for sure that she still wants you after everything.”

Jungkook’s parents’ words echo in his mind for the rest of Saturday that he spends in his living room, choosing wine as his companion for the evening. There’s no intention of getting hammered unlike the night before though. The drink calms him down and allows him to have proper sleep this time. He spends the most of his Sunday in bed, thinking about you, then attempting to remove you from his mind. 

Not wanting to deal with any more tension, he instructs Mr. Ri that Monday to just drive you straight to the office. Jungkook arrives and sees you stand up to greet him as he walks through the hallway, and he responds with a nod as his own greeting before heading straight to his room.

There’s that feeling again - of missing you, of hoping he could fix things but not knowing how, of wanting to ask you to stay but knowing he has to let you go, and of wishing that when he does, you’ll find your way back to him again. He shakes off the thoughts during that short walk to his desk, feeling himself weaken with every moment that he spends far away from you.

Jungkook takes his seat and sighs as another day starts without his usual routine. Knowing he has no other choice, he pushes on. From his periphery, he sees you glancing at him through the window, and a part of him wishes it’s your attempt at seeing if you could speak with him, maybe ask if you could talk about what happened later on or about what he now knows about you. Or anything, really. He just wants to hear your voice again. Hopefully see your smile. Despite all his doubts about you, the emptiness he feels tells him that nothing’s changed - what he feels for you is real, and he might not know what’ll happen next, but he at least knows that what he wants is to be with you; he hopes he’ll figure out how to do that with you.

He sees you glance at him again and it sparks a bit of hope. That is, until he spots the envelope on his desk, and inside it, your resignation letter.

He tries to act unaffected as he reads what you’ve written. It’s straight to the point, as you narrate your journey in the company, having started as an intern and then working in logistics before finding your footing as the Vice President’s assistant. You list the skills you’ve developed and other things you’ve learned but that you think it’s time to venture into something new and different, noting how you’ll take all your experiences with you in this new stage of your life. 

You thank him for his guidance, and he almost breaks towards the end when you mention the Arts Center. You apologize for leaving before its completion, but you’re thankful because it allowed you to appreciate the beauty of things, that it made you understand the value of meaning and connection, and that his passion for it pushed you to find something that you want to be passionate about, too. You’ve given him something, and now he knows that in his own way, he’s given something to you, too. 

You type away on your desktop while not-so-discreetly peeking into Jungkook’s office to see his reaction to your letter. Your plan was to resign after the Arts Center was launched, knowing how big of a project it is that needs all of Jungkook’s attention. He can’t be distracted, and a part of you scolds yourself for being selfish about deciding to do this now. 

But you also knew that you couldn’t delay it any longer. After what happened last Friday, you didn’t know how you could face him again, especially now that he knows everything. It didn’t feel right to continue on, not just because of your feelings but because you crossed a line - you kissed and did all that in his office. That itself is unacceptable; it almost feels like a betrayal to his family, whom you’ll have to painfully say goodbye to as well. 

Mr. Ri visited you yesterday to give you comfort, knowing that you’d choose to go through this on your own again. Jungkook was devastated but was worried about you more than anything, you were told, and somehow that made the decision less difficult but still painful to make. You don’t know if he’ll ever truly understand, especially if finding yourself means letting him go despite the happiness he gives you. 

It’s not everyday you find someone you feel so much for, but then again, human beings are complicated - they can want something and be scared of it at the same time; they can have the chance to have it but doubt it all the same. What you feel for him should be enough to dispel your worries about his sincerity but there’s too much going on in your mind at this point. Right now, you just want to get away. With him learning the truth, you suppose he needs time to process all that as well. 

You’ll miss him though. You’ll miss everything about this place. But you’ll miss him the most. 

Your phone ringing disrupts your thoughts, and your heart races when you hear Jungkook’s voice on the other end.

“Ms. Cho, please come to my office.”

You calm your nerves and find the strength to get off your seat and walk towards him. He’d been expressionless the whole time, and you wonder if he’ll hold off your resignation because it’s terrible timing. Either way, you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come. 

But clearly, you didn’t do so enough, as you’re still left speechless when he holds out an envelope for you to take, the sight of his hands that once held you close breaking your heart again.

“I accept your resignation,” he says, his voice low and firm, his eyes not fully meeting yours. “You have a month until your last day but you have two weeks worth of vacation and I urge you to take them before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” you manage to say, your voice soft and shaking compared to his. “I… I will.”

“And this is your recommendation letter,” he says, handing you another envelope. “You’ve shown exceptional skills throughout your tenure here, Ms. Cho. Everyone you’ve worked with says so, and I’ve seen that firsthand. I’m sure that wherever you decide to work after this, you’ll be another great asset. And my family wishes you good luck in your future endeavors. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

The words are too formal, too professional for your liking, and this breaks your heart even more. But you suppose there’s no other way to do it. You’re the one leaving; you’re the one who pulled away. After everything that’s happened, you’re the one who walked out to find your happiness when Jungkook needed you the most, and you could only hope that one day, he’ll forgive you for it. That he’ll forgive you for all of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in thanks. “I’ve said it all in my letter but once again, I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

You bravely look him in the eyes as he seems to have found the courage to look at you, and the longer you do, the harder it all becomes. 

“Shall I commence the process of finding my replacement, sir?” You ask.

“There is no need,” he replies. “I’ve received approval from my father to have Lucas come in as my assistant effective immediately. He’s scheduled to arrive this week, so you can spend the remaining time you have here turning over everything to him. I will announce your resignation to the team before then. You can also begin the offboarding process with HR so that there are no delays.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon,” you say, the light in your eyes dimming as each second passes by.

“Is there anything else I could do to help you, Ms. Cho?” 

There’s a prolonged moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, his eyes tinged with a kind of sadness that you perhaps mirror, with words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d say that he’s okay, that he forgives you, and that he hopes it didn’t have to be this way. 

He wishes you’d say that you’re sorry for leaving him, that you’ll be thinking about him, and that you hope you’ll find your way back to him again.

You want to tell him that he’s all you could think about, that you’ll miss him everyday, that you’ll search for  beautiful things that are tangible like you said you would, and hope they would lead you back to him. 

He wants to say that he’ll look for you everywhere, that he’ll hold onto every good memory you have together, that he hopes you find whatever makes you happy, and that he’ll wait for you until you realize that it could be him.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and head out the door.

You take your seat and will yourself not to cry. You can’t help it though, even as you press your palms against your ears to drown out the sounds of your own sadness, of your heart’s call of his name even if you’re the one walking away. 

You let the tears fall, a reminder that you’d done this, and that for the first time in your life, you’re crying over losing someone, even if he was someone you didn’t have in the first place. 

Maybe you weren’t meant to have him at all. 

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[frehyun]

Thirsty

vampire!hyunjin x gn!reader

warnings: vampire typical biting stuff

genre: fluff, a bit suggestive (??)

word count: 1,4k

author's note: i enjoy writing about supernatural beings and monsters a little too much and halloween's right around the corner so here we are. i'm too obsessed with jjam hyunjin and the MV as a whole so these pics are gonna get used a lot, I'm sure 😇 oh and, do NOT pick up random bats.

masterlist

divider by @saradika

You never expected bats to be so docile and cooperative until you found an injured one on your way home from work. The little critter was looking awfully smug in the blanket mountain you arranged for him so he could have somewhere soft to rest after you took care of him.

You had expected him to start thrashing about, maybe even bite you but after you had thoroughly proved to him that you were not a threat by softly cooing at him on the side of the street, the little guy had simply let you pick him up in your gloved hands to carry him to your home without much fuss.

You sighed, carding your fingers through your hair as you observed the bat for any signs of lingering discomfort, but you only found him fighting to stay awake, his eyes droopy and slowly closing every now and then.

It must have been one hell of a day for the little guy, getting injured by who knows what and then getting essentially kidnapped (batnapped?) by a strange person.

“It’s okay. You can sleep. I’m not gonna move you around, nothing’s gonna hurt you” – you whispered to him in his blanket cove, and it almost seemed like he let out a sigh of relief before hesitatingly closing his eyes to get some much-needed rest.

You had placed him near the windowsill, so he could overlook your entire room and not feel claustrophobic or trapped while also being able to observe whatever you were doing in your room.

What you didn’t know was that Hyunjin was observing you for entirely different reasons. You assumed the bat would feel threatened by you, while he was anything but. His little bat heart thumped faster at the prospect of you fussing over him and taking care of his injuries. While he really wanted to fully enjoy having someone watch over him like this, his brain kept reminding him of the fact that he wasn’t just a random bat, he was a vampire that needed to feed on someone sooner or later. He would rather it be sooner, knowing how weak, cranky and irritated he gets if he doesn’t get his blood fix.

That could wait, however, because for now he sank into the many blankets you provided him with and drifted off into very vivid dreams of you.

Your dreams weren’t nearly as nice to you as they were to him, an uncomfortable weight was pressing into your body. Your chest felt heavy, leaving you breathless and giving way for the rising anxiety in you to increase tenfold. Before the nightmare could take you further into its cold embrace, you jolted awake, your head hitting something solid that was hovering above you.

You and the unidentified object both let out a groan at the same time, your eyes snapping open at the unfamiliar voice right in front of you.

A gorgeous man was kneeling on the side of your bed, pouting while rubbing the spot on his forehead where the two of you collided. While he was distracted, you let your eyes involuntarily wander, taking note of how the flowy silk shirt he was wearing revealed far too much of his chest and long neck. His skin was pale but perfect and looked soft to the touch.

You blinked to rid yourself of these thoughts.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to” – he was already standing again at the side of your bed, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves, biting into his plush lower lip nervously.

“It’s just… You helped me, and I am really thirsty. My mind just kinda thought that…”

“I helped you? How? Who even are you?”

At that, something in his face lit up and a small sheepish smile appeared. He continued fiddling with his sleeves but nodded towards the small mountain of blankets that was still by your windowsill and now entirely empty.

“I’m Hyunjin. The bat. Vampire?” – he sounded unsure himself.

“Were you trying to drink from me? While I was asleep?” – your hand instinctively reached up to touch the side of your neck that he had been eyeing for a while now. In your half-asleep state you thought that maybe you would have let him if he did.

“I-…uhm, I think so? Drink from you, yes but I’d much rather you consented to it than me… descending upon you while you’re unconscious or-“

“Do it, then.”

“Huh?”

“You said you were thirsty, right? So drink.”

Hyunjin’s mouth was slightly agape as he stood there gawking at you like you just told him to perform an entire circus act, so you patted your neck for good measure. His Adam’s apple moved as he gulped and moved his lithe body back onto your bed and as he came closer, you suddenly got increasingly more unsure about your own decision. Your hands uselessly grabbed the bedsheets as your pet bat turned vampire peered down at you from his kneeling position on the side of your bed.

“Are you really sure?” – he questioned in a silent voice as his eyes flitted between your face and your clenching hands.

“You can say no, you know. I know how to take care of myself”, his hand came to rest above yours, slightly massaging it as he spoke, “you taking care of me just did something to me. Something I haven’t felt in a couple of years. I don’t really want to leave but I’d hate to hurt you even more.”

The moonlight shining through your blinds made his gentle eyes seem all the more sweet and inviting, casting a soft glow around his head.

Lost for words, you nodded at him, signaling for him to continue but he wouldn’t have it, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout.

“You have to say it, darling” – he began to reposition his body to lay beside you, stretching out his long legs and propping up his head with his hand. His free hand reached out to caress your cheek and you wondered how you were supposed to say anything comprehensible if someone so beautiful and irresistible was touching you, albeit innocently.

“You can bite me, drink from me, whatever you want” – you answered him finally even if it was a bit shaky and a smile broke through his features.

“Let’s stop at drinking, hm?”

And then he was on you, the hand on your cheek now angling your head the other way so he could reach your neck the way that he wanted. The sensation of his plush lips coming into contact with your clammy skin in a gentle kiss made you gasp. Hyunjin let out a deep chuckle before his fangs punctured your neck.

The contrast between the harshness of his fangs and the loving hold he had on you made you even more dizzy than just the general bloodloss. You found that your hands had wandered from the bedsheets to the front of his shirt, tangling themselves into the silky fabric, unsure if they wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

It felt like an eternity had passed when he finally removed himself from you slowly but not before giving a tender kiss to the wound almost as if it was an apology.

“Thank you” – he licked his lips contently before moving to get up entirely. You didn’t want him to leave, your hands stayed twisted in his shirt. He giggled and you countered with a whine.

“Don’t go, Hyunjin… please.”

The vampire hadn’t expected you to be this needy after a simple bite but who was he to refuse?

“I’m not gonna leave, sweetheart. I drank from you, so it’s only right I make sure you don’t feel like shit in the morning, don’t you think? Let me take care of you.”

Well, when he put it like that. His words soothed the gnawing anxiety at the back of your head and your grip on him loosened, your eyes droopy and your body tired.

As you slowly drifted off to sleep, Hyunjin made sure to grab everything he needed to take care of you in the morning.

He grabbed the blankets from the windowsill and curled up beside your sleeping form, already giddy at the thought that you were fonder of him than he had originally assumed and that he could spend the morning with you.

And as he watched you sleep with fondness in his eyes and his heart calling out to you, he thought that maybe it was worth it to get into a fight with a random stray cat.

[princessbrunette]

after a long and traumatic week, seeing and experiencing dreadful things — puppy!reader gets into the habit of needing john b to rock her to sleep. every night.

if he doesn’t, there’s tears — and bless your heart he understands. before these few weeks, he’d managed to protect you from it all. being shot at, stumbling on skeletons and dead bodies all for the sake of finding the next clue for the treasure that seemed so far away. at the time, and for your safety he had to bring you along — but as he watches your lip curl over, clinging to his chest back at the chateau — he regrets not finding a way around it.

“well sleep is important, bubba. you need rest.” he stresses, trying to ease you into relaxing as you argue against him. “c’mon. i know you’re tired. i can tell.”

“but i know i’m going to have a nightmare again! ugh.” in a moment of stress, you softly bury yourself into his arm, sinking teeth gently into his tanned bicep.

“noooo you won’t.” he croons in that comforting deep voice of his, slotting his hand between your face and his arm so that he can stroke your cheek with his thumb until you ease up on your bite. you huff, flopping back into his arms dramatically like you’d died mid conversation and he smiles, softly manhandling you until you’re lying directly on his chest. “i’ll tell you why you’re not gonna have any nightmares, pup. it’s because i’m gonna be riiight here. all night. you’re gonna get all hot and bothered and wish that you had your own bed, seriously.” he keeps his tone lighthearted as you get comfortable, but his face falls when he hears you sniffle. “hey, i know.” he acknowledges solemnly, kissing the top of your head.

“jus’ nervous.” you slur, muffled into the fabric of his shirt and he nods in understanding. without thinking much of it, john b starts to sway your body left to right, gently rocking you to attempt to halt your tears. after a moment, you seem to quieten down. “keep doing that.” you rasp after a few minutes, barely awake.

“mhm.” he hums, trying not to disturb you as much as possible with his response, continuing to rock you in his arms. for the first time in a while, you sleep soundly — with no bad dreams.

because of the success in john b’s new technique — you started to require it every night. as soon as you feel the tiredness creep up on you, you’re crawling into his lap, making a rocking motion with your body to communicate what you want. doing this every night might become tiresome to some, but your boyfriend was filled with guilt — accidentally putting you in such dangerous scenarios lately that your body was now riddled with anxiety, needing the gentle motion in order to have a stress free sleep. whatever he could do to help you, to rid himself of the guilt — he would comply.

occasionally, you had required this treatment during a nap in the middle of the day too — straddling him on the couch with the shy request.

“get on in here.” he opens his arms to wrap around you, letting you burrow down into him. as soon as he begins to rock you side to side, your brain starts to power down, even able to partially ignore jj when he loudly strolls in, aware of your habits.

“damn, it’s rockin’ time already? a little early.” the blonde converses casually making the brunette frown and wave one arm at him.

“shh, but yes. yes it is.”

unable to control his behaviour, maybank begins to dance, moonwalking across the wooden panels of the chateau floor. “i wanna rock with you, alllll night.” he sings, making you groggily lift your head to blink an eye at him.

“are you done?” john b deadpans.

“oh hey there sleepy-pooch. my bad, go ‘head and take that nap.” jj busies himself with a beer bottle, grabbing it to settle down with on the couch, eyes latching onto the tv.

you’re fast asleep in a matter of minutes, the gentle humming of the tv mixing with the sounds of your soft snores. “damn, she’s out like that already? guess they found the cure to insomnia. hey, can i try next?” jj teases, lifting the bottle to his lips making the brunette shake his head, not even bothering to glance away from the tv.

“would you shut-up? maybe?” he mumbles in careless retaliation, just happy his sweet pup was getting the rest she deserves.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away (No More)

Part 2 of A Room Away

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!roommate!reader

Summary: Your abusive ex reaches out, and you hide it from Tim until it's almost too late.

Warnings: angst, domestic violence, abuse, assault, anxiety/panic attacks, fluff and a happy ending guaranteed!!

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

A/N: A Room Away is one of the first Tim fics I wrote and it took me a few months, but I loved writing this continuation! I hope you enjoy!🤍

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim’s thumb brushes back and forth over a nearly invisible scar on your arm as you wait for your dinner guests. Remembering that it has been days since your last nightmare and nearly a week without a migraine makes you smile, and Tim glances at you but doesn’t ask any questions. The doorbell rings and he grumbles under his breath as he leaves your side. As he opens the door to invite Angela and Wesley in, your phone vibrates beside you. Tim is giving Angela a hard time, as usual, and you take the moment when her attention isn’t on you to read the new text.

Unknown There is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.

The sentence is familiar, too familiar. You read the message again, and before you finish another comes through.

Unknown Los Angeles isn’t big enough to hide you from me.

“Are you okay?” Angela asks.

You lock your phone quickly and clear your throat before you look up at her and nod. The message repeats over and over in your head. Your phone may not know who sent the text, but you do, and knowing that your ex is in the same city as you terrifies you. Deep down, you know you should tell Tim, but you can’t.

“How’s Timothy treating you?” Angela adds.

She sits beside you, and you try to forget about the text for now. “He still won’t reduce my rent,” you complain jokingly.

Tim watches you from his spot in the kitchen. The last few weeks have been good. Your nightmares are becoming less frequent, you let Tim touch you without flinching or panicking, but the look on your face right now isn’t right.

“How are things?” Wesley asks. “Need a prenup, yet?”

“Funny, Wesley,” Tim replies without looking away from you. “I hope Angela cleans you out in the divorce.”

“He can keep the kids,” Angela adds from beside you.

“Good luck getting rid of me,” Wesley says. He lowers his voice and turns away from Angela to ask, “Seriously, Tim, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Things are good, great even. I just don’t want to do anything that makes us go backward.”

“Abusive relationships are hard to get over, but you’re helping her with that, Tim.”

“I hope so.”

“Wasn’t a question, Sergeant.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he puts your favorite food on a plate. It isn’t often that Angela and Wesley come over, but right now, Tim wishes he was alone with you so he could check on you. You don’t seem to hide things from him on purpose, and he understands the time it takes to trust people after having your trust betrayed and being abused. He’ll never push, but the moment you pull, he’s there. Never more than a phone call or a room away.

“Here you go,” Tim murmurs as he passes you a plate.

Your shoulders tense as he nears you but drop just as quickly. The jumpiness is something that was completely gone just yesterday, and Tim furrows his brows as he watches you accept the plate and look out the window. He runs a finger over your jawline to bring your attention back to him, and you smile at him.

“You alright?” he asks.

It seems to be everyone’s question tonight, and you once again lie, “Yeah.”

Tim nods and you thank him for the food before moving to sit by Angela. With his eyes on you throughout dinner, Tim decides that something is wrong, and he needs to get to the bottom of it. You open up as the night continues, yet when Angela and Wesley leave, you fall silent as you clear the table.

“Hey,” Tim calls softly.

He wraps a kind hand around your wrist to stop you, and you flinch away from him involuntarily. Tim raises his hands, and you drop your chin toward your chest and fight the tears threatening to spill. You’re scared because of the text, but that is no reason to move away from Tim. As you struggle not to panic, Tim whispers that everything is okay.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out.

Tim shakes his head to remind you that you never have to apologize. You step closer and pinch his shirt between your fingers before wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Strong arms settle over your back, and you push your cheek over Tim’s heart.

“I’m just feeling off, or something,” you say. “Please don’t worry about me.”

Tim hums and moves a hand to brush your hair away from your face. He won’t agree not to worry about you, and it’s too late to pretend like he’s not already doing just that.

The next few days pass slowly, and as you continue to spend more time at home, Tim’s concerns grow. You’re up and moving around, so it’s not a migraine, but you haven’t worked more than eight hours in three days. Every time Tim sees you at home, he hugs you, kisses you, and silently reminds you that he’s right beside you, but you keep up your act that nothing is wrong. It’s a failing façade, though, and you’re just waiting to break.

When you wake just after 1 in the morning, you can’t stop the scream that escapes. Your ex was in your room, in Tim’s home, and when he was done with you he was going to cross the hall and do the same to Tim. Of all the nightmares you’ve had, seeing Tim moments away from being hurt was the scariest of them all. You pull your knees up to your chest and drop your head as you sob, your panicked scream making way for the fear you’ve been burying since you got the text.

Tim comes in without question or knocking, and when your door hits the wall, you lift your head and flinch to the other side of your bed. At the sight of Tim, however, you launch yourself toward him and let him pull you close. You cry against his chest as he whispers comforting promises, but the only thing that helps you is the tangible reminder that he is safe. You tell yourself over and over, clutch his shirt, and listen to his heartbeat. He’s safe, and he won’t let anything happen to either one of us.

As he holds you, Tim keeps you as close as possible. He knows that you shouldn’t ask questions now. Not that you’d give him an honest answer anyway, he thinks. Whatever you’ve been hiding is making you scared, and it breaks Tim’s heart to see you affected this way. Waking up to your scream scared him, so he can only imagine what must be going through your mind.

Unknown I saw the planetarium today. Can you see it from your new home?

Unknown Met a girl in the supermarket who looked like you. But I won’t settle for second best.

Unknown Clues, clues, clues. Am I getting closer, baby?

With each new text you receive, you have to talk yourself out of running from Tim. You don’t want to pull away from him, but you constantly worry that if you’re found, Tim will be in danger, too. A knock on your door draws your attention away from the newest message, and Tim smiles when you meet his eyes.

“Want to go to lunch? Just us?” he offers.

You should say no, but you nod before standing. Nothing bad can happen in public, and being beside Tim is the safest place to be, you think. Even as you try to convince yourself that going to lunch will be fine, you can feel the fear and anxiety building in your chest. It weighs down on you and makes it hard to breathe, so you measure each breath and focus on Tim instead of the adrenal responses flooding your body.

Tim turns into a random subdivision and slows down. You raise your brows and look at him, but he only offers a hand extended over the console. When you lay your hand over his, he intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls your hand closer to him. He makes another turn, and you realize that he’s not taking a shortcut to the restaurant.

“What are you doing?” you inquire quietly.

“I don’t want to push you too hard or too soon,” he says. “But something is bothering you, and I can’t help if you stop talking to me.”

“Tim, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been feeling off.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll pass.”

“What will pass? Pushing me away and blocking me out won’t fix whatever is happening!”

“And telling you will?” you ask. You’re getting defensive because you’re scared, and you try to pull your hand away so you can stop talking to him.

“Why did you ever let me in if it was just going to end like this? I’m with you, but why can’t you trust me enough to tell you what’s making you scream in the middle of the night and jump when I walk up behind you?”

“Because he can threaten me all he wants, but I don’t want Brent to find you too!” you snap.

“Brent?” Tim asks lowly. He pulls his hand away and sets his jaw to ask, “Brent who?”

You shrink in the passenger seat and whisper his last name. Tim’s brakes squeal as he presses the pedal to the floor and parks on the side of the road. You can tell without looking at him that he’s angry, and you slipping up and saying your ex’s name certainly didn’t help.

“Get out,” Tim orders.

“Are you serious?” you whisper brokenly.

“Out of my truck. Now.”

You slide out of the passenger seat and close the door behind you. Tears have been building in your eyes for a week, and you let them fall freely now. You’re scared and hurting, but Tim refuses to look at you as you stand on the curb.

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead through the rolled-down window.

Tim doesn’t answer, and when he shifts the truck back into drive, you know he’s serious about leaving you here.

“Tim, please!” you beg through your tears.

“Go home,” he says over the engine.

The truck pulls away from the curb where you stand, and you harshly wipe your tears away to clear your vision. As you dig for your phone, you know it’s time to take Angela up on her offer. She said to call if Tim was ever mean to you, and you think leaving you on the side of the road counts.

Tim turns around in a nearby cul-de-sac and parks behind a tree where you can’t see him, but he can keep an eye on you. He’s angry and needed a second to calm down, but he never intended to leave you. He sighs as he types the name of your ex into his phone. He’ll ask Angela to run it later. When Tim looks back up at you, you have your back to him, and your phone raised to your ear. Your shoulders shake as you cry, and Tim taps his knuckles against his steering wheel. He made you cry this time, and though he’s glad to have a few answers, he wishes this wasn’t how he got them.

After moving in, you confided in Tim that Angela told you to call her if he was ever mean to you. When her car pulls up and you climb into the passenger seat, Tim shakes his head fondly. You’re mad at him, but you’re still perfect in his eyes. Now that he knows you’re safe, Tim decides to stop by the station and do some digging on your ex.

“I think I’m going to text Tim,” you say.

“What? No! He abandoned you. Just eat your ice cream and wait for him to come and beg on his knees,” Angela replies. She points her spoon at you and adds, “You’re too good for him, anyway.”

“I think that’s the other way around.”

“Fine,” she groans. “Text him. But I’m still mad at him.”

Your text to Tim is short, a simple apology, just: I’m sorry. His response is nearly immediate, and you smile when his name pops up in the notification.

Tim I’m not mad at you. I know you’re with Angela. Want me to pick you up?

Tim You don’t have to come home if you’re not ready. Whatever you want.

Your response is a promise that what you want is to be with Tim. Angela rolls her eyes at your smile, but she’s happy for you and Tim. After all, it’s because of her that you found a place a live and met Tim. She begins to ask a question, but your ringing phone cuts her off.

“Tim?” you ask as you answer.

“When did the texts start?” he inquires.

“Uh, about a week ago, I guess.”

“Change of plans, then. Let me talk to Angela.”

You pass the phone to Angela, and she listens for a moment before she stands and walks into her bedroom. Whatever they’re talking about, they don’t want you to know about. Tim said there was a change of plans, which sounds suspiciously like he won’t be taking you home tonight. The panic from earlier returns slowly as you wonder if he’ll ever let you go home again.

“Your boyfriend wants to talk,” Angela says, cutting through your doubt as she returns your phone.

“Sorry,” Tim begins. “I looked into your ex. He flew into LAX about a week ago, so the texts weren’t just threats. He’s here. And a week is a long time when you’re trying to find someone. I want you to stay at Angela’s tonight, okay?”

“Are you- are you working tonight?” you ask softly.

“I am now. Brent’s got an arrest warrant, and the threats he sent you make him a higher priority. We’re gonna look for him. We will find him,” Tim promises.

“Be careful, Tim.”

“I will. I have to get home to you, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you later and check in. Let Angela know if you get more texts, please.”

“I will. Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“I promise I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” you murmur. “See you later, Tim.”

Tim’s decision to drive by his house before he starts looking for your abusive ex was both a precaution and about Kojo. The house looks exactly as it had when he left with you for lunch, and Tim puts Kojo in the front seat of his shop before driving toward Angela and Wesley’s house. If Brent goes to his house to find you, both you and Kojo will be safe and sound with Angela Lopez prepared to defend you. There aren’t many people Tim trusts, but when you called Angela, he knew you made the right choice. It’s the one he would have made, too.

Kojo pushes past Angela to meet you when she opens the door. You happily invite him into your lap and hug him tightly. He soothes your nerves without trying, and you loosen your grip on him only to look up at Tim.

“Nothing yet,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m a call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you reply.

He lays a hand on your shoulder and smiles as he promises, “I’ve got you.”

“Where’s your car?” Angela asks you.

“I just moved it. Public parking off Sepulveda,” Tim answers for you. “He doesn’t seem like the smartest guy in the world, but, just in case.”

“He’s not,” you agree.

Tim slowly pulls his hand away before he leaves again, and you lean closer to Kojo for his comfort. Angela disappears into her bedroom again a few minutes later and returns in a rush.

“I have to go. There’s been a homicide,” she explains. “I called Tim and he’ll be here in less than thirty minutes. Don’t answer the door for anyone; he and Wesley have keys.” She slows to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go solve a homicide.”

She rushes out the front door and locks it behind her, but you stand and double-check it anyway. Your phone is empty of notifications, and you can only wait until Tim arrives. After you settle beside Kojo again, you give him your attention. You and he freeze simultaneously when your phone chimes on the coffee table.

Unknown Walk outside or you will cost them everything.

You read it twice before you realize what he’s asking you to do. The moment you step out in the open, he can do anything and everything he wants. But you look around and see the life Tim and Angela have built for themselves and know that you can’t do anything to jeopardize that or their safety. So, you quickly shepherd Kojo into a bedroom and lock the door before slowly flipping the locks on the front door and stepping out into the Los Angeles night. The sun recently set, but there’s enough light you can see someone standing at the corner of the yard. Tim can’t be more than a few minutes away, but his thirty-minute estimation feels like an eternity.

“Los Angeles,” Brent says before laughing. “I knew you’d run somewhere you could hide but the city of angels? You, baby, were never going to fit in here.”

“What do you want?” you ask, willing your voice to be strong.

Brent smiles and you take a step back as he moves closer. You stumble against the sidewalk behind you, and Brent surges forward to wrap a cruel hand around your arm. He twists your skin with his grip, and everything about his touch is the opposite of Tim’s. For the first time since you met Brent, you fight back. Your free hand makes contact with his jaw, but he recovers quickly and shoves you to the ground.

Pulling your knees up, you try to create momentum to knock Brent off of you, but he pushes your legs down and shoves the heel of his hand between your ribs. The air is driven from your lungs, but you know you can’t stop fighting. When Brent moves his hands, so one is holding your face and the other is reaching for something in his waistband, you panic. You need Tim, but he’s a call away, and you left your phone inside.

“Domestic dispute and assault in progress at…”

Tim doesn’t hear anything past Angela’s address, and he hits the lights as he makes the final turn onto her street. Several neighbors are gathered on the opposite side of the street and watching an altercation in Angela’s front yard when he reaches the curb. A woman screams, and Tim slams the shop into park when he sees the glint of a gun being pulled. He opens the shop door and immediately ducks as a shot is fired. “L.A.P.D. Put down the weapon!” he yells from behind his open door.

He calls your name, but there’s no sound. No reply, no calls or screams from the neighbors, and Tim peeks around the door. Slowly, the gun is tossed to the side and the man, your ex, slowly clambers onto his hands and knees. When he sits back and puts his hands up, Tim has a clear view of you lying on the ground. There’s blood on your face, and you’re not moving, so Tim rushes forward. Two more police cars join Tim’s shop, but his complete focus is on you. He kneels beside you and pushes two fingers against your pulse point.

“I’m okay,” you whisper when you feel Tim’s skin on yours.

Tim sighs and drops his head before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling your torso off the ground and into a hug. You return his tight grip as he sits on the sidewalk and holds you close. Two other officers handcuff Brent and put him in the back of a cruiser, and you’re surprised but pleased with the lack of threats directed toward you.

“Sergeant Bradford, the weapon was discharged, but the bullet was fired into a tree. CSU will gather data for ballistics,” an officer tells Tim quickly.

His grip tightens on you at the mention of the gunshot, and you sigh against his shoulder. As you lean up, he gets a better look at the bruise under your jaw and the fresh blood pooling against the older, dried blood under your nose. He moves you gently so he can stand and calls for a paramedic.

“Tim, I’m fine,” you say with a painful chuckle.

“Respectfully, I want a second opinion,” he replies. “And then we’re going home.”

“Don’t forget Kojo.”

“I’ll get him.”

“Oh, you may need a key.”

Tim furrows his brows at you but doesn’t ask what you’re talking about as he lowers beside you again. His hand in yours distracts you from the pokes and prods of the paramedics, and your mind is no longer anxious and scared, but excited to go home and remind Tim how much you appreciate his protectiveness.

Tim doesn’t let you out of his sight or his hold from the moment you enter his house. He pulls you against him and sits on the couch, inviting Kojo to join you. You’re finally okay, and it makes it easier for both you and Tim to show the affection you’ve been avoiding.

“I don’t want to be a call away anymore,” Tim confesses softly. “Not a room away… I need to be right beside you.”

“Tim, I only asked for the separation because I had to have it. Thinking that he would come after me was concerning, but the closer I got to you, the more worried I was he’d hurt you, too.”

“I understand that, but it’s over now. So, it’s your choice again.”

You nod and tilt your bruised face up from Tim’s chest to look into his eyes. “I don’t want to be a room away either,” you whisper.

Tim smiles and brushes a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before withdrawing his touch from your face. He kisses you gently, a series of pecks more than a real kiss, before allowing you to move closer.

As you fall asleep in Tim’s arms, you’ve never felt more at home. His touch, his presence, his protectiveness, and his care make him special, and he’s the best roommate-turned-more you could have asked for.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and you wake up faster than ever.

[flippinpancakes64]

Would you pls write about reader having a nightmare and how the Cullens would react?

The Cullens when their S/O is having a nightmare

Thank you for requesting and I hope you like this!

This post wont be up for about two days as of the time I'm writing this, but I am turning off my requests! After this one here, I'll still have 15 left to do :'(

I'm so appreciative of everyone who chose to request because it means that I'm at least doing something right lol I just need a sec to catch up

Edward:

He can hear your nightmares as they play out

But Carlisle once told him that you're not supposed to wake people up during nightmares

So he doesn't

It's killing him tho

The moment you wake up he is right there

Shushing you, drying your tears, and letting you explain

If you want to talk about it, that's fine

If not, that's fine too

If you don't want to go back to sleep, he's a little upset but he'll help you stay awake

You need sleep

But he understands

Whatever it was about, he will try his best to soothe you and reassure you that it won't actually happen

Especially if it's something about him leaving you

Like you couldn't get rid of this man even if you wanted to

Alice:

I don't think her gift would work for predicting that someone's going to have a nightmare

So the only way she would be tipped off is if she heard you

But as soon as she does she's rushing to your side

Mostly because it sounds like there's danger

But after she sees you're having a nightmare, she wakes you up

She lightly caresses your face and whispers until you finally open your eyes

And then she's there for you

Again, she'll let you talk about whatever you need or want to

And every time you bring up that you think this thing might happen, she stares off into space for a second and then says it won't

Whether she's actually looking into the future or just trying to trick you, you don't know

Jasper:

I have a feeling he wouldn't leave your side while you sleep

So the moment you start kicking around or when he senses your anxiety, he's ready

He sends soothing emotions your way, trying to get you to calm down and go back to sleep

But if that doesn't work, then he wakes you up

Again, he uses his gift to soothe you

He lets you talk out whatever you need to

He is at your disposal, just put him wherever you need him

And if you need him to stand guard at the door for the whole night to make sure that no monsters get in, he'll do it no questions asked

And once more, he will use his gift to help you go back to sleep

Rosalie:

You told her about how you have such bad nightmares at night

So instead of leaving the room to let you sleep, she decided to stick around

When she notices you start to kick and stir, she tries to soothe you back to sleep

Whispering things like how you're safe, she's there, it's not real, and stuff like that

And if that doesn't work, then she wakes you up

She lets you talk it out, but doesn't fight you if you say you don't want to go back to sleep

She'll let you hang out with her in the garage while she works on one of her cars until she notices you nodding off

Emmett:

If you don't mind the TV being on while you sleep, then he has it on and is watching something while you sleep

And if you do mind then he's still never too far away, just in the living room

Either way, he has the TV low enough to not bother you

That means he can hear when you start to shift

He grew up with little sisters though

And he knows that you're supposed to wait out nightmares

So he waits it out until you either stop or wake up on your own

He doesn't press for details if you don't want to give them

He just turns the TV to a channel you like and lets you sleep on his shoulder

Esme:

I feel like she'd enjoy reading in bed while you sleep

So she's quick to notice when something's wrong

She doesn't hesitate to wake you up

Asks what's wrong and what you were dreaming about

She's very reassuring no matter what it is

She tells her own stories after you to make you feel better and to get your mind off of it

"When I was younger, I used to have nightmares about this guy who was made of butterflies coming to town and stealing all of the butterflies! It always made me so upset."

Carlisle:

He tends to be working most of the time

But luckily his office is connected to your bedroom

So he can hear when something happens

If you have a nightmare he lets it take its course

If you go back to sleep, then he goes back to work

But if you wake up, he takes you to his office with him and lets you sit next to him or on his lap while he works

;)

Not actually in a suggestive way

I just really wanna sit in his lap

Anyways

He doesn't pressure you into talking about it if you don't want to

But he has an explanation for everything if you do

Vampire! Bella:

Wasn't it a whole plotline in the movies where Bella had really bad nightmares?

And the books too

So she understands

She wakes you up whenever she hears you

She always asks what it's about

But she doesn't linger on it either

And she won't force you to go back to bed if you don't want to

"Okay enough talk about nightmares, you wanna go get ice cream?"

[silaslich]

May I make a request for a sequel to "In A Grave so we feel safe"? Something about it scratches an itch in my brain just right. Idk why, I think I just like it when you make 'im mean. 🫣🫣

Our skin starts to rot

Simon “Ghost” Riley x afab!reader

Summary - following from this. Simon hangs around despite the way he treats you like he can’t stand you. The feeling is mutual- to a point.

Wc - 3.8k

Cw - 18+, MDNI, GHOST IS NOT NICE, reader also is not nice, vomiting/purging, referenced/implied drug+alcohol abuse, coercive behaviour, mention of past trauma, smut, fingering, oral (r!receiving), kinda better dynamic toward the end but not really

Your fingernails scrape harshly over the roof of your mouth, and when you look into the bowl of the toilet- you see red.

You gather what’s left of the bile and blood in your mouth with your tongue and spit. Wanting rid of it. Needing to be rid of every last bit of it. All the shame and the guilt and the anxiety, it’s all churned up in your stomach, bought back up with whatever you’d managed to eat last night. Tears sting your eyes from the force and effort of purging, your spine bowed as you grip the white porcelain. Everything hurts. Your body aches. There’s a headache that is pounding like a drum behind your eyes.

The weight of his stare falls over you and so does the shame. You hear him sneer.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” He doesn’t sound as concerned as he should be considering the subject of his question.

There’s a broken laugh that’s hiccuped from your lungs as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand.

“Would it matter to you if I was?” There isn’t anything he can say to make this okay, you’d be happier if he didn’t answer at all. It doesn’t even take him a second to think.

“No” it’s clipped. There’s no emotion there.

You nod to yourself but you don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. There never is. Holding a conversation with him is futile. It’s a waste of fucking breath.

He moves away, you can tell by the sound of his feet scuffing across the floor. Finally- you’re left alone. Allowed out of his sight. Not because he’s concerned, or because he cares. It’s because he wants the control. He knows that you like your own space. He knows that you don’t appreciate it when he lurks over you like a shadow. That’s exactly why he does it. It’s a tactic, like everything else he does, it’s calculated. He’s smarter than he looks- you’ll give him that.

He’s smart enough to know that, no, you aren’t pregnant. And there’s a very low chance of you being able to fall pregnant. You’ve had an IUD placed for as long as you’ve known him. He’s questioned you enough times about it before. Pinching the device under your skin, smirking when you wince at the pain. He’s asking to embarrass you, begging you to ask the question of what would happen between the two of you if you were in-fact pregnant with his child. He wants you to know that he wouldn’t change. That it wouldn’t make him step up or start to think about his actions.

He’s exhausting to be around, frankly, it’s a living nightmare. You thought you’d miss him. After Price had sent you packing there was a tiny part of you that really thought that you’d miss having Simon near. He’s different here than he used to be back on base or out of country. Maybe that’s because he had the others there, perhaps he didn’t want to let his true colours show for all to see. He clearly thinks very little of you, that and your opinion of him. He couldn’t care less about how you see him, how you perceive him. That does sting, just a little bit.

The water cools your skin as you wash your face, scrubbing the sleep from your eyes and brushing your teeth until your gums feel sore. This is the routine now. When he’s here at least, walking on eggshells in your own home, pretending that he doesn’t bother you as much as he does. You’re lying to yourself, and doesn’t he know it.

You emerge from your bathroom and tread back to your room to get ready for work. In the few months since he’d come crashing back into your life you’d managed to get somewhat of a hold on it again. It’s rubbish money and the hours are even worse but it helps in its own ways. You’re back to some sort of normalcy, outside of Simon and his whole existence within your life. It’s good, you hate to admit, your colleagues are nice enough and the job itself isn’t hard at all. It’s stable. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Stacking tins and organising pasta on shelves hadn’t been a career aspiration of yours- but you’re alive.

The need for relief is better managed, if you can say that. It’s not always pretty. Some nights are better than others. Your drinking is controllable and the painkillers no longer have a death-like grip on your mind and needs. Sometimes it’s hard to stay afloat, to resist the urge to drink yourself to the point you can’t stand upright or crush tablets between your teeth and rub them into your gums with your tongue. It’s a slippery slope. You can only climb so high before a strong enough wind blows you back down, but growth is growth in your eyes. There’s a noticeable pattern too, it’s always worse when he’s around. He hardly helps the issue. He raids your cupboards and empties your work bag onto the floor every night to make sure you don’t have anything he deems as contraband. As if you’re a child.

The ironic thing is, that he wouldn’t care if it killed you, not really. Not deep down. It might inconvenience him, sure, but it wouldn’t affect him in his daily life. He’d move on to the next unfortunate soul. Hell, you’re probably not the only one he’s seeing, he’s probably already got someone else on the back burner for when you do eventually fuck your liver to the point of no return. It wouldn’t surprise you at all. Not from him.

You get ready and dress for work and head to the hallway that leads to the front door to grab your bag, you’ll sort lunch out at work, because you can hear him in the kitchen. It’s as your key slides into the lock that you hear him still in whatever he’s doing, you bite your tongue.

“I’m off to work” your voice sounds so foreign in your own ears.

There’s a few seconds of drawn out silence and you take that as your cue to leave. Then his voice cuts in again-

“Come ‘ere” it’s rough from his throat. Not yet warmed up since he’d awoken.

You grip the door handle, you could walk out so easily, pretend you haven’t heard him, but it’s hardly worth the aggravation. You leave your key abandoned in the lock and turn to make your way through the living room and toward the kitchen. It’s there that you find him leaning his hip against the counter, a mug of coffee steaming away in his hand, he’s looking right at you as you enter the space.

“Everything okay?” You ask, a brow raised. You’ll be late if he isn’t quick with whatever he wants. He raises a brow back at you.

“I said come ‘ere” he tilts his chin, eyeing up the space directly in front of him.

You blink long and hard to hide the way your eyes want to roll in your skull. You’ll definitely be late at this rate. You do as he wants, nevertheless, stepping right up to him and stopping when you feel the steam from his coffee under your nose. Practically black, as he always has it, barely a drop of milk and no sugar. He’s looking at you in that way that always manages to make you feel so small. Not physically, because that’s already a given. But small in the way that he sees you as inferior to him in every single way. You likely are, but he doesn’t have to make it so obvious to you.

“What is it?” Your temper shortens, just slightly.

His eyes narrow, he notices the shift. His free hand lifts to the side of your face, running a rough thumb over the apple of your cheek, it’s a tender gesture. On the surface level.

“Come and see Price” his voice has softened, just that little bit, the way it does when he wants you to do something he knows you won’t want to.

He wants you to believe he’s on your side. It’s immediate the way you shake your head, he hadn’t even finished speaking.

“Simon- we’ve already talked about this” your patience is thinned to almost nothing. He could have said something earlier, long before you’re walking out the door to catch the next bus.

“Yeah, and you’re not seeing it from my perspective” he eyes you from over his nose, again, making you feel small. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“When do you ever try to see things from my perspective?” You raise your chin, if he wants an argument over this, you worry he’ll get what he’s after.

He brings his mug to his lips, staring at you from over the lip of it.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever stooped low enough to see things from your point of view, sweetheart” you can’t see his lips but you’re convinced you’d see a smirk there if you could. Your fists clench at your sides.

“I find that very hard to believe” you know little of Simon’s past, but you know enough to know that he is indeed lying. It’s another tactic, another way to get under your skin and piss you off. For his own pure enjoyment.

“Yeah? Try me” he lowers his mug and places it on the counter. His full attention on you. He folds his arms over his bare chest, his tattoos right in your line of sight.

There’s only so low that you’re willing to go, but whatever you say- you know that Simon will have something worse to say about you. That’s just a given with him.

“No no you’re right” you wave him off, stepping out of his space and turning to face the windows across the living room.

A beat of silence.

“Tommy was the druggie, right? Not you”

It’s audible, the way his jaw clicks. You don’t move.

“That’s right” his voice is flat, but you know him well enough to know that he’s annoyed, pissed beyond belief. Maybe not at what you’ve said, but that you’ve dared to say anything at all.

“Means I know a lost cause when I see one” you hear his body shift, the way his right shoulder clicks. Adjusting his stance.

You nod, silently. That’s his perception of you. It hardly rings true, a few months ago? Maybe. Now? You give yourself enough credit to know that you’re doing the right thing. Keeping this job. Not crawling back to Price. It settles the nagging feeling in your chest. You’re trying, at least. Making an effort.

“Why are you still here?” Still- you don’t turn to face him.

You keep your eyes glued to the way the world ticks by outside the window, there’s satisfaction in knowing he can’t see just how unbothered you are at his words. Before, you would have given him what he wanted and cried. Would have screamed and shouted in his face. An accusing finger pressed into his chest. You’d spat at him, once. Then he’d grab you and pull you close, pressing your snotty tear-stained face into the flesh of his chest and make a spectacle of soothing you. Telling you how he forgives you, how he knows it’s the booze and drugs talking- not you. He’d say that you’ll feel better in the morning and tug you into bed or towards the nearest waist-level surface and fuck you raw and slow and everlasting until you’re a puddle of nothing. Dumb and boneless- everything he already believes you to be.

He makes a noise. One that if it were translated into English, it would sound like ‘what the fuck are you on about?’

“I asked you why you’re here”

“Yeah, I heard you” his tone stiffens, it’s clear he doesn’t have an answer for you, therefore- he won’t answer.

There’s a few moments where the silence tells. There’s the sound of a car horn blaring outside and the birds that live in the gutter above your window chirp and sing, it’s the way life just keeps humming away- despite everything. Despite it all.

Simon moves and you stay stood still. You turn your head, watching out the corner of your eye as he walks toward you, he doesn’t look you in the eye. Instead looking out of the window as you had been. You follow his line of sight, watching the same cyclist ride past as he does.

“You treat me like shit y’know” you don’t know why you’ve said it. The thought had just been there, at the front of your mind and the tip of your tongue.

He turns his head, just slightly, to look at you. You feel his eyes- they burn.

“I treat everyone like shit” he returns his gaze to the glass, hands slid into the pockets of his trackie bottoms.

You laugh. It breezes past your lips so easily, so freely. You turn your gaze to him, noticing the way his jaw hardens when you do.

“No you don’t” you don’t take your eyes away from his face. You can’t.

For a moment you remember who he is- what he is. And in that moment you find yourself feeling sorry for him. Maybe he deserves more credit, because he could treat you a lot worse, realistically. It’s the one thing you tell yourself when he’s around, that he could be so much worse. It’s not a defence, no, it’s a lifeline. He’s suffered as you have and maybe that’s why you let him treat you the way he does, because that’s what you think you’re worth. Rough hands and sharp words and glaring eyes. It rolls off your back better these days, it’s easier to shrug off.

Simon hums, he’s caught out and he knows it.

“No- no I don’t” he rolls his shoulders until the right one cracks- again.

You bite the tip of your tongue. There’s so much you need to say to him and it’s never the right time or circumstance. You walk on eggshells around him because you can’t deal with the consequences of his temper and his irrationality. For someone who commands a platoon and leads so naturally, he’s the most pig-headed man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t want to hear your opinion or listen to you explain your point, even if he knows you’re right and he’s wrong.

“Why are you really here?” You’re still looking at him and your chest squeezes when he casts his eyes to the side, barely eyeing you. You’ve always loved his eyes.

They soften, if only slightly, it shows he’s considering the question. That he might not shrug it off like he does everything else.

“I don’t know” Simon’s voice carries that lilt to it, the one that reminds you of the man you’d first welcomed into your home- into your bed. Soft voice and attentive hands. Like he could actually stand being near you.

For a few seconds, it’s as if the world outside stops. The birds aren’t chirping and the traffic has cleared. Even the breeze stills, there’s nothing but the sounds of the both of you breathing. Out of sync. Always.

There’s a weight that dislodges from your chest. You didn’t realise you’d been carrying it for so long. Ultimately burdened by it. You haven’t got any answers, none that would clear away the ache in your heart when he looks at you in that knowing way. But somehow, there’s a satisfaction to knowing that he’s as lost as you are, the same way that you don’t understand why you let him stay- he doesn’t know why he stays either.

He stiffens slightly when he feels you at his side. Head and left shoulder pressed into his ribs and arm respectively. He quickly slackens his muscles, leaning into you slightly.

“We’re as bad as each other” the words are a little incoherent, your cheek smushed against his arm.

You’re not bothered if he hears it or not at this point. It wouldn’t matter. You only know he’s heard you by the way he sighs, craning his neck to lean the side of his head against the top of yours.

“I’m afraid I’m worse” he says it matter-of-factly. It’s the truth, to him.

“Much worse” his voice dies away, slightly. Not as though he’s embarrassed by the words, but perhaps because he knows you’re acutely aware.

You’re fully aware that he’s worse than you, in every sense of the fucking word. You’ve been sugar coating things, telling him what he wants to hear instead of what he needs to hear. He can appreciate that to a point. But he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need the softness. That sentiment had been beaten out of him long ago, long before the Army sank its claws into him too. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong, it’s as if he doesn’t have the ability to physically stop himself from doing and saying things he doesn’t mean. In a military setting he can be loud and brash and rude; it’s his job. He spends his days as someone else’s superior, telling them when they can and can’t piss, telling them where and when they will die- essentially.

It’s hard for him to kick that habit when he’s out of that setting. When lives aren’t on the line. Yet, you’re right; he doesn’t treat Price or Gaz or Johnny that way. He can’t explain why, and that’s worse than if he could. He’s just a bad person, that’s what it ultimately boils down to at the end of the day.

It’s all he can think of as he takes you by the hand, watching your wide eyes watch him; pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the sofa. Somehow, it’s different, for reasons he can’t think of. Simon Riley has never been a religious man-

Is this what repenting feels like?

He handles you differently, in his own way. The way he thinks he knows how. When he removes your clothes he’s no longer chasing something, that deep-dark spot in his vision that blurs his rationality is gone.

It’s too late for redemption- to prove that he can be something he’s not; because he can’t. He’d be lying and you know that, so you won’t ask that of him, you wouldn’t expect it either.

He holds your gaze as he presses his lips to the mound of your pussy. He watches how your chest heaves, sucking in air through your mouth, like a deer in headlights. This is so foreign from him, the tenderness, the gentleness of his hands and his mouth. No gnashing teeth or bruising fingers. There’s only featherlight touches- to begin with.

Simon warms you up the way he should. Sliding his tongue through the lips of your pussy, gathering the wetness he finds already there- he hasn’t even started with you yet, not really. There’s a slight smile that creeps up the side of his mouth at that. You tell him how much you hate him, but he has this effect on you; that in itself calls your bluff.

He listens to the way your breath stutters, feeling the way your hips cant into the wait of his mouth when he slows down or stops completely. Your juices are smeared across his lips and down his chin, he rubs his face into your pussy, slathering himself in your wetness. He wants to smell you on his skin tomorrow when he leaves, because he will leave, if you really want him to.

“Oh- oh fuck” he plucks these sounds out of you so easily.

He curls two thick fingers into the tightness of your cunt, reeling at how easy your pussy sucks him in. So needy. So eager for anything he’ll give. He watches his digits disappear, barely wanting to take his eyes off of yours but needing to visualise the feeling of your tight hole sucking him in, clamping like a vice around his fingers as he fucks them deeper inside of you.

“There?” He asks, curling his fingers, watching you nod your head wildly.

“So wet f’me” his voice drags, drunk on your pussy.

It’s like electricity hits his bones when he presses his mouth to you again, lapping at your clit while he continues to pump his fingers into you. Matching rhythm. Swirling his tongue, beckoning you with the wet muscle in his mouth, luring you to the edge. When you curl your fingers into the length of hair at the top of his head, that’s when he’s really spurred on. Letting you rub your pussy all over his face, burying his nose in the mound of flesh there, nipping teeth when you get too bold for his liking- because he’s still in charge here.

“Soo desperate” he tries to be cruel with his tone but it goes right over your head.

He feels the way your walls clamp around his fingers. The way your breathing grows ragged, sloppy thrusts of your hips against his mouth and tongue, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge as Simon fights to pull you there.

“Oh- a-a fuck Si” you’re a stuttering mess. “M’close-”

You’re practically gushing when you cum. He laps at you like he hasn’t before, listening to cries of his own name that bounce off the walls. The sounds of your pussy oozing against his mouth make his cock leak in his boxers. Hard and untouched. He stutters his hips, seeking any kind of friction.

There isn’t any; but watching and feeling you squirm under him like this is a new found thing. He’s had you on your back more times than he can think to count. Yet, none have felt like this- not even in the early days when things were right between the two of you.

Maybe it’s because things have indeed shifted, that maybe you’ve solidified your belief that you deserve better - that this might be it for him.

Even when you almost pull his hair from the roots, riding his nose as he rides you through your orgasm. Your spine arching off the sofa cushion, needing more despite the fact that he’s given you everything.

“Oh -Simon” it’s hissed through your teeth. He’s doing too much now, clamping his fingers into your thighs, not wanting to let go.

It’s the greediness in him. He wants too much of everything, he has no control. There isn’t that little voice in his head that tells him he’s had enough, that he’s done enough. Not that he would listen to it.

He finally lets up, leaning back on his heels, still knelt between your thighs. Eyes watching yours, you’re staring up at the ceiling. Eyes hooded, lips agape, breath ragged- he can’t help but think you look beautiful.

So why has he never said it before?

He leans his cheek against your thigh, eyes still watching your face, then you feel them- feel his gaze. Your eyes snap to his and for a moment, you look remorseful. Then you open your mouth to speak-

“We’re still not friends”

[personapeters]

𝐣𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

— a peter maximoff one shot

✰ peter was never a fan of scary movies, and with halloween around the corner, y/n decides it’s time he embraces the genre

rating: sfw — contents: mostly fluff, some heavy kissing

“and you… like that?” he questioned bewildered, both eyebrows raised above his dark brown eyes. “uh, yeah! it’s an adrenaline rush and you don’t even have to do anything,” she encouraged, smiling brightly before shaking out the soft folded throw blanket and draping it across the cushions of the couch. peter shook his head to himself, genuinely not understanding the appeal — if you want an adrenaline rush, go ride a roller coaster or jog a lap around the block - why voluntarily subject yourself to nightmares? it didn’t make sense.

“riiight,” he responds warily, watching as she tossed a couple of pillows into place before dropping herself onto the couch, pulling her legs underneath her. she grabs a corner of the blanket and pulls it over her lap, leaning back into the cushion before realizing peter was still standing awkwardly in his place by the coffee table. he was nervous, and for a couple of reasons; the first being the anticipation of the movie, resulting in the premeditated knot tightening in his stomach, and the second being he was only on his fourth date with y/n, and somehow it panned out to be them sitting in her living room on a thursday night with him preparing himself to inevitably scream like a little girl in front of her.

she stares at his still standing frame, her eyes trailing down from his shaggy, silver hair to his black graphic t-shirt that fit around his toned arms perfectly, furthering his dark jeans and back up again. “you can sit,” she spoke softly in reference to the gap of space between her and the armrest of the sofa. she thought it was implied that he would accompany her in her placement, seeing as the plan was to watch the movie together, but evidently it wasn’t. he felt his palms moisten slightly, the idea of sitting so close only further contributing to the anxiety he was beginning to feel.

“okay- yeah, thanks,” he nods, forcing out a nervous laugh before making taking two long strides over and sitting down as lightly as his weight would allow. he wiped his hands on his jean as discretely as possible to rid them of the sweat, but she notices. letting her eyes scan over his features, she began to feel a little guilty for even convincing him to this point; his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he chewed gently at the inside of his pink lips.

“we don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to,” she offers sweetly, watching as he turned to meet his dark eyes with hers, his sterling hair sparkling gently from the glow of the television. he was close enough to smell the spearmint gum on her breath, the air cold and tingly, the scent alone sending a chill down his spine.

“tuh, what? no, i want to,” he scoffs, slightly tilting his head back, his face exaggeratedly animated, “i’m just worried about you, y’know - getting scared or… something.” she smiled amusedly at his blatant theatrics, shaking her head. “i’ve seen it like a hundred times, i’ll be fine,” she laughs, humorously going along with his obvious deflection.

peter glanced at the dimply lit screen, the ‘it’ she referred to being ‘the conjuring 2’. she had offered for him to pick what film they watched, as long as it was horror, hoping that would make him feel better about watching one at all. he had ran his slender fingers along the spines of the dvd covers on the rack, stopping when he noticed two with similar names; ‘the conjuring’ and ‘the conjuring 2’. he had asked y/n which of the pair was scariest, to which she said, in her opinion, the first was much better. with that, the movie in reference was placed right back where he found it and the second was slid into the player.

“cool, cool,” he nodded, his eyes darting around the mostly pitch black room, tapping his long fingers on his thighs. “ooo!” y/n exclaimed suddenly, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. she gasped with wide eyes, covering her mouth with a hand - partially in shock and partially to keep from laughing, placing the other on his bicep.

“i’m sorry,” a smile inevitably broke across her face and peter dramatically exhaled, a small smile twitching at the ends of his lips, “my bad, i just- i remembered i have some popcorn in the pantry, i didn’t mean to- i’m sorry.” even through his moment of shock, peter found it adorable how excited she could be over things as small as a bag of popcorn; it was admirable.

her giggles provoked a laugh of his own to escape from his throat as he ran a hand over his face. “seriously,” y/n insisted again as her laughs began to die down, “we can watch something else.” she could tell just how on edge he was already, and they hadn’t even pressed ‘play’ yet. peter shook his head once more, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. he knew how much she had looked forward to watching a movie with him - a scary movie, as she had poked fun at him about it all day and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin that.

“no, it’s fine, i’m like, a super big strong man… i lift weights and… stuff - this is nothing,” he humors, pulling an exaggerated faux look of ‘macho’ just to make her laugh, which she does. he smiles. “okay, ‘big strong man’, why don’t i-,” she starts, but he quickly cuts her off. “uh-uh, super big strong man. that part is, like, very important,” he corrects, watching as her eyes darted between his eyes and down to his lips once or twice as she smiled in adoration.

“very important, huh?” she challenges and he agrees quickly with a small smirk, “yes, very important.” she playfully rolls her eyes before continuing, “my apologies, ‘super big strong man who lifts weighs and stuff’ - why don’t we turn on a lamp or something?” she finishes, laughing her way through the words, and he nods slightly, the idea of some form of light in the darkness of the room bringing comfort.

“yeah… yeah, ‘cause you’re, like, totally horrified of the dark, right?” he mumbles jokingly, and she seemlessly follows along. sighing emphatically, she pulls a face of mock seriousness and leans in slightly, placing an elbow on the top of the couch and resting her chin on her hand before whispering, “you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

peter lets out a genuine, wholehearted laugh, his smile fully displaying the dimple in his cheek - he appreciated her humor and quick-witted nature, it paired perfectly with his. she reciprocates the show of emotion, laughing softly before standing to her feet and shuffling her way into the kitchen. she flicks on the small light above the stove before rummaging through the pantry.

she finds the lone pack of uncooked popcorn nestled between boxes of pasta, swiftly snatching it out of it’s slot. she sheds the plastic and pops it into the microwave, timing it for two minutes. she then tosses her gum into the garbage before leaning against the counter. she began thinking for a moment on how to ease the gloom of the living room, for peter’s sake, as the sound of popping fills the space.

“oh!” she exclaims again enthusiastically, pushing herself off the granite surface and pulling open a drawer, rummaging through the contents. “what?!” peter yells from the living room, her sudden outburst spooking him again. she’s grabs a readily sealed four-pack of tealights, far too focused on the task at hand to process him calling out to her. he appears instantly in the doorway, his breathing slightly heavy and a look of concerned fear etched into his features. “what happened?” he asks, watching intently from the doorway with furrowed eyebrows, glancing behind him once or twice - just to be safe.

she glimpsed over her shoulder, stifling a laugh and sending him a sympathetic smile. “nothing - sorry, i just thought of something,” she turns back to the counter and rips the lights out of the plastic and cardboard, using the tip of her nail to flick each individual switch on. peter stalks up behind her, the front of his sculpted right shoulder lightly pressing against the back of her left one. “you’ve gotta stop doing that - especially when i’m in the dark,” he mumbled warmly, playfully pushing against her with a closed-lipped smile on his face. she laughs softly, “i thought you weren’t scared of the dark?”

she turns to face him, the collection of tealights grasped in her hands, the radiance seeping between her fingers glowing softly on her face. peter takes in the sight, his heart squeezing slightly at how just beautiful and full of life she was, the light only further highlighting the fact. “i’m not,” he charms, a small smirk pulling at his lips, “i’m scared of girls screaming while i’m in the dark - big difference.” she nods dramatically, a stand of her hair falling over her forehead as she does, “mmm, okay, that checks out.”

“what’s that?” he quips, nodding his head in a downwards motion to point at the bright hue emitting from her palms. “these,” she raises her hands slightly to meet between the tip of her nose and the bottom of his lip, “are tealights - bought ‘em when we did the pumpkins, remember?” he hums, smiling softly at the not-so-distant memory, “i do.” y/n appreciated the luminescence of the plastic candles casting a warm sheet over peter’s face, the mistakably black hue of his eyes now an obvious, deep chocolate brown - his glacial toned hair capturing the luster.

“i thought they’d make a better light than a lamp - figured it would be too bright,” she explains, “plus, they’re kinda spooky,” she noted, playfully wiggling her eyebrows. peter gazes down into her sparkling orbs, the illumination from her palms enhancing colors and hues he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. “sooo spooky,” he adds monotonously, as his focus on the contents of the conversation was bleak, almost in a trance at the sight before him. his eyes followed the curve of her jawline down to the pout of her softly rounded lips, sliding up the slope of her nose and locking back onto her eyes.

he watched as her eyes were already reciprocating the action, flickering from his own, down to his lips, and back again. he doesn’t want to rush anything - to force it, but the urge to plant his mouth on hers is stronger than anything he’s felt in a while. maybe, he’s misreading the unspoken words between the two, but with y/n’s face slowly finding it’s way closer to his, he’s confident that maybe he wasn’t.

a loud series of beeps sound from the microwave, reality forcing it’s way back in and breaking the rope of tension wrapped tightly around their chests. y/n blinked a couple times while leaning away and stepping back from peter, a small close-lipped smile on her face as she internally mourned the loss of proximity. she spins on her heels, moving the lights into a single hand, and using the other to retrieve the movie snack from the appliance.

“could you grab the big bowl from the cabinet down there?” she requests quietly, motioning her head in it’s direction. peter silently obliges, his head still slightly reeling from the close encounter - should he have taken the initiative and kissed her? did she even want to kiss him? if he did, would it have been a good one? would he have met her standards? maybe, she’d hate it and never want to kiss him, or see him, again - he doesn’t like the idea of that.

“i got it,” peter offers, grabbing the bag from between her fingers with a small, amused smile after watching her attempt to open it with her already full hands. she smiles sheepishly and observes as he rips open the paper bag, pouring the steaming yellow and white buttered popcorn into the bowl and tossing the empty pouch in the trash can.

“let’s go,” she chirps happily, making her way to the doorway before stopping abruptly at the light switch, turning to see peter waiting expectantly behind her. “what?” he asked, eyes slightly widened in question, quirking his head to the side. “i gotta shut the light off, so…” she trails away, a glint of amusement in her eyes. peter’s lips form an ‘o’ as he nods, his naturally sarcastic demeanor surfacing when he says, “riiight, i’ll go first ‘nd y’know, scope out the scenery - make sure it’s safe.”

y/n watches humorously as he made his way into the living room, flicking off the switch before following behind him. “okay, okay, look,” she rushes excitedly, placing the tealights in a row on the coffee table and stepping back to take in the view. peter smiles at her authentic enthusiasm; he finds it incredibly sweet and pure. “whatcha think?” she ask eagerly, turning to see him already sitting back in his place on the couch with the bowl beside him, slightly slouched with his knees spread wide.

his eyes trail down her illuminating figure, drinking in the shadows of her curves and softness of her edges. “perfect,” he answers, more-so to himself, before snapping his dark eyes back to her face. “it’s perfect,” he corrects himself, hoping she didn’t catch his subliminal admission upon absentmindedly analyzing her body. she doesn’t… maybe.

“awesome,” she cheered, making her way over to the couch and plopping down in her previous spot, tucking her legs underneath herself again and pulling the plush blanket up to her waist. she grabs the bowl from between them and elevates it a foot or so, draping the additional half of the blanket over peter’s lap, before setting the bowl back down, casually tossing a few of the popped kernels in to her mouth. he glances down at himself, then over to her, watching as she clutched the tv’s remote and navigated her way through the opening menu.

the gesture of blanketing him was small, possibly irrelevant, but it made his heart pound a little harder in his chest. he found it oddly intimate and personal, savoring the small act of affection. she knew if she had asked if he’d like to share it, he would undoubtedly say no; not because he didn’t want to, but because he would feel as though he’s intruding into her space, which she knew.

“need anything before we start?” she quips, peering over at him to find he was already staring at her, his metallic tresses falling pristinely over his forehead and behind his ears. “don’t think so,” he responded, his demeanor surprisingly calm as the moment he’s been anticipating all week was here. she nods, leaning back and making herself comfortable before pressing ‘play’.

within the first three minutes, peter was already flinching and releasing strings of curse words, the sound of a loud gunshot sounding during a fairly quiet scene causing it. “wha- what the hell?! it hasn’t even been a minute!” he gripes exasperatedly and y/n does anything but hold in her laughter. “peter,” she starts, staring at him as his bewildered eyes were locked on the television, “if that was enough to scare you… you’re not making it through the movie.” she giggles as he slightly turns his head towards here before tearing his eyes away from the screen and meeting hers, “i-i wasn’t scared, it… it was just loud. it was a natural reaction,” he reasons, almost whining at the end, a small smile tugging at his lips.

for the next two hours, y/n enjoyed spending her time munching on their snack and peering out of the corner of her eyes to watch peter’s reactions when she knew a jump-scare was coming. watching as his eyebrows grew closer together and his lips would slightly part, eyes wide when he could just sense something was about to happen, was undoubtably the most enjoyable part.

“why… why would you do that, don’t- don’t go in there, wha-,” he questioned aloud to the film before turning to her briefly, “do they just want to die?” he turns back to the screen, before mumbling, “could never be me…” the genuinely confused expression on his face and seriousness in his voice was absolutely comical yet, relatable. y/n learned early on as a young child, when she first started indulging in horror, as peter soon would too, that it’s part of the nature; people in horror movies don’t make smart choices.

at one point, within the midst of an intense scene as tension built up eerily in the atmosphere, y/n observed silently as peter looked the most terrified he’d been since the moment the movie started. his hand was over his mouth, the tips of his fingers resting just underneath his eye as he held his breath. he watched as crosses mounted on walls twisted upside down gradually, feeling the now familiar burn in his stomach as the as the camera panned. he knew what was coming - he knew someone, or something, was likely going to jump out of the darkness lurking in the corner, so he braced himself.

yet, somehow, even with the mental preparation, he yelps - yelps, when a sullen man emerges suddenly from the void, lunging for the little girl in red. y/n admittedly jumps as well at the unexpected sound, quickly placing a hand comfortingly on his bare bicep and rubbing it along his goosebumps. “peter,” she laughs out teasingly, sympathy laced in her tone as she did so. he turns to her with his pink lips opened wide, moving them like a fish out of water as he tried to conjure up the words to excuse away his outburst, coming up with nothing. frankly, he was embarrassed, a pink hue creeping up his cheeks and warming his face. with the combination of her soft hands resting on his arm and sheer humiliation, he was stunned. the skin beneath her fingers was burning in the best way possible, and he felt his chest tighten at the contact.

even in the dim light of the screen still playing and the warm light emitting from the direction of the table, she noticed the rosy color adorning his pale skin. “it’s okay,” she pressed, still laughing slightly as she did, sliding her fingers down the length of his long arm and resting them on the back of his hand that was flat on top of his thigh, “even ‘super big strong men’ get scared sometimes,” she jokes quietly, looking up at him kindly. he smiles, grateful for her willingness to ease the moment with her humor. “i wouldn’t say i was scared,” he adds, smirking lightly when she rolled her head to the side dramatically, a look of faux disbelief on her face. “no?” she challenges, almost flirtatiously, and sits up slightly, her hand never leaving the top of his.

“tuh, no, i just- i was a little…surprised, that’s all,” he nods, continuing to fein nonchalance, a smile creeping it’s way onto his face. “mmm, yeah- no, understandable,” she nods along, her lips mirroring his as she lightly rubbed her thumb over the bone of his wrist. she kept it there casually, averting her attention back to the movie while absentmindedly feathering her digits over his skin. the motion sends small jolts of electricity up his arm, each pulsing directly into his chest.

his attention was no longer on the movie, but on the girl who was now laid back on the couch beside him, scanning over her dimly lit features. he then stared down at his hand, watching as her slender fingers continued to slowly swirl over his knuckles. he felt his own almost twitch, the desire to turn his hand over and engulf her’s becoming overwhelmingly strong. he wanted to, truly, but the fear of being rejected was far too strong. the last thing he’d ever want to do was scare her away from him and ruin such a good thing.

meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, she felt exactly the same. she wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of his palm encasing hers - to drag herself closer to him and lean against his warm, defined shoulder, feeling the vibrations as they flowed through his body when he spoke or laughed. she didn’t want to move too fast or make him uncomfortable, but she was more than ready to simply just be closer; nothing too crazy or explicit, although she’s almost convinced she wouldn’t protest. they hadn’t been dating long, only knowing of each for a mere three weeks before he’d asked her out, to which she promptly agreed. their cohesion was instant, and they both felt themselves bonding and developing a connection at a scarily rapid pace. that’s what made them both so wary - each thinking the other would find it incredibly strange if they knew just how deep into things they already were.

peter was always confident, his casual and straight-forward persona making it easy to clarify what he wanted and how he felt, in every and all contexts. but this was different - he felt like he had to be calculated and cautious with every word and movement for both of their sake’s, not wanting to unintentionally turn things sour with his growing desire for the girl as a whole, and now, it was showing.

‘just do it,’ he thought to himself, feeling his nerves rise over something so simple, ‘she’s already touching you.’ he knows his logic is seemingly sound - if the idea of his contact was as repulsive as he feared, she wouldn’t be where she is, doing what she was. he thinks back to nearly an hour ago to the two of them in the kitchen, remembering the way she looked at him with soft eyes while gradually closing the distance between them; she seemed willing - wanting. his eyes flicker between her face and hand nervously, unsure if he would regret his decision and, before he could convince himself to do otherwise, he flips his hand over underneath hers and gently laces his fingers in between her smaller ones. he watches her face carefully as he does so, her head turning away from the screen and towards him.

she glanced at their intertwined fingers, a warmth tingling up her arm and dispersing throughout her entire body at the sight. his palm was slightly rough yet, somehow, perfectly soft, and despite the difference in sizes, they fit together seamlessly. a subtle, closed lip smile spread across her face and she squeezed him lightly - this being enough to begin settling the ache in his stomach - confirming that his choice was the right one.

they continued to watch their movie in a comfortable silence - or as silent as it could be with peter letting out small gasps here and there. y/n would just laugh to herself, tracing different shapes and swirls on his skin with her thumb to comfort him. he found that the movie didn’t feel as scary anymore, the feeling of her skin on his leaving him almost disassociated from what he was seeing, his head feeling as though it was floating above his body. inevitably, the movie comes to an end, the credits rolling endlessly down the television before returning to the dvd’s main menu. he felt a subtle sadness tugging at him at the idea of releasing her from his grasp, wanting nothing more than to hold her as long as he could. hell, he’d watch her entire shelf worth of horror movies that same night if it meant they could stay that exact way for just a little longer.

she sighs contently before using her free hand to grab the remote from beside her and powering the screen off. the room grows noticeably darker, the bleak radiance of the tealights no longer as useful as before. she shifts in her place, fully facing peter as her eyes slightly strain to make-out his features. “do you have to go?” she speaks softly, acknowledging it was late. he glances at his watch, mentally notating that it was nearing midnight before resting his head back on the cushion behind him, rolling his head to the side, meeting eyes with y/n. typically, he’d say ‘yes’, never wanting to overstay his welcome, and y/n knew that around this time was when they would part ways. but this time, he tells the truth. he slowly shakes his head for a second, taking a shallow breath, before simply answering, “no.”

there was something - an indescribable something about that moment that y/n couldn’t put her finger on, but it was there. maybe it was the yearning glint in his eyes as he stared down at her through the darkness, or maybe it was the way the inflection of his ‘no’ almost said ‘not if you don’t want me to’ but a painfully overwhelming urge to kiss his bubblegum lips until they were sore came over her. she found herself releasing his hand and sitting up straight, inching her body closer to his, a rush of confidence and certainty coursing through her veins. the loss of contact prompted him to quickly glance down at his now cold, empty hand but before he had the time to process it, her fingers softly encased his chin, directing it towards towards herself, before leaning in and pressing her mouth against his.

he’s taken aback slightly, his eyes widening in surprise, but it takes him no time at all to recalibrate and press his lips back onto hers firmly. her lips were warm and soft, like pillows incasing his own, and he savored the taste of popcorn still lingering on her mouth. his hand instinctively slides onto her waist, his fingers tips slightly slipping under her top - conscious not to be too rough or invasive. their heart rates were simultaneously increasing, the fresh scent of her conditioner flooding his nose causing his head to spin as some of her locks fell messily beside her temples.

she snakes her fingers up his jawline and into his silver hair, resting them at his darker roots before deepening the kiss. her mouth opens slightly, allowing peter’s tongue to swiftly slip inside, evidently eager and desperate, as his nose brushed against hers. as the intensity increases, their breathing grows heavier, pulling away from each other every so often to pant for air, before avidly meeting again in the middle. minutes feel like mere seconds, and peter swears he could do this for hours.

their breathing was labored, the amount of breaks to gasp for air decreasing, and their entire bodies felt like they were on fire. y/n finally breaks away from his wet lips, his mouth left agape as his hand slipped from her waist. his eyes flickered between hers and down to her huffing mouth before lightly grabbing her chin and pulling her back in, wanting just a little more before it ended. he feels her smiling into the kiss, and he smiles too, making it hard to keep their mouths flush together. he pulls away, his hand still holding her in place, before placing a final kiss to the corner of her mouth and softly brushing his thumb over her lips. she watches as his small smile grows into a bright one, adoring just how cute he was with his dimple nestled in his cheek.

“so… how was the movie?” she asked quietly, laughing breathily at the blatant contrast of their nature between then and now, watching him intently. he laughs along, his metallic hair messy from her previous rummaging with some haphazardly draped over his face. he glanced at the television before his eyes met hers again, with slightly swollen lips, asking, “can we watch another?”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[aayakashii]

Part three to the story! You can read part 1 here, and part 2 here.

Warnings: SFW, gender neutral reader, angst and depiction of a panic attack. If you feel triggered by that, please avoid it and take care of yourself first!!!

Author's note: this derailed into Alan going through it so I'm not sure how I feel about it,,,, I feel like the story took a sharp turn into another direction that is detached from chapter 1. anyway, I would really appreciate your comments if you liked it!

touch starved – ch. 3

MC

Are you available to go through that mission right now?

Alan watched as a typing bubble suddenly appeared on his chat with them, mildly pleased at how fast they visualized his message.

It almost made him feel stupid after stalling to send them a message for so long. Although he would never admit it, because admitting it would be acknowledging his anxiety to talk to them.

Right now?

Hm...

Yes.

I had to go finish some errands for Jin...

He didn't have the right to feel jealous over them, much less over something innocuous like that. It was just their job. And even if it wasn't, he still has no right to feel anything for them at all.

Alan narrowed his eyes at the message, his fist clenching unconsciously around his phone. He stopped himself before could actually crush it into bits. It wouldn't be the first time, actually.

I believe missions are a priority.

Darkwick policy.

Jin has Tohma.

He'll live.

He pursed his lips, mouth forming a thin line as he tried to get rid of that green feeling forming inside his chest, while he thought about typing all the other reasons why they should ditch Jin.

He needed to get rid of it.

I know he will live, it's about MY survival though hahaha

Alan managed to suck in a deep breath. Okay. So they were hesitating just because it was their job, and not because they favored Jin.

Don't wanna lose my head, you know?

Good, good.

Don't worry

I'll keep you safe

Alan cringed at his own corny message, but it was too late. He had no clue on how to delete something after it was sent, so he sat with his embarrassment, nibbling on his own bottom lip as he looked at the "Seen" under his texts that appeared as soon as his messages were successfully sent. A typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

...

10 seconds feel more like 10 hours.

You there?

He allowed a little bit of his anxiety flow through the message, his right leg bouncing up and down, restlessly, as the heel of his shoe made a loud tap tap tap sound in his room.

Soeey

Sorry*

I got a bit distracted

But okay

I'll see you in a few minutes

I'll let Tohma know I can't see Jin rn and go straight to Vagastrom

Okay.

Alan pursed his lips again, that time to suppress the smile that threatened to creep into his face.

His right leg rested, finally.

No big deal. He knew you were coming just because missions are, indeed, a priority. He knew that.

Deep inside his chest, however, he felt a bubbling pride come to the surface of his feelings.

You chose him over Jin.

He breathed in deeply and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm himself down befored you arrived. He had no right to act giddy like that, not him, not ever. He had to wipe that small smile from his face.

A soft knock sounded on his door as Alan finished organizing all the paperwork for the mission. Two cans of iced coffee and a few bags of chips also rested right beside the documents – it was the best he could get with the little time he had.

“Hey, I'm here” your head peeked inside his room, and Alan had to keep himself from flinching. It wasn't characteristic of him to feel jumpy since he was constantly aware of his surroundings, but he had found this new side of himself after the mission regarding Takeru's ghost.

Ever since he saw your body being dragged down by that anomaly, his nightmares seemed to be filled with images of you almost succumbing to that monster. Reminding himself that you were safe, at least for now, was a conscious effort he had to do most days.

He wondered if you had nightmares about him being bloodied from head to toe after he lost control.

“Thanks for coming after such a short notice. You can come in.” he opened the door, ushering you inside.

“It's no problem. Did you take a look at it already?” you walked towards his coffee table, where all papers seemed to be organized and sat on his floor, eyes scanning the pile of documents.

“Mhm, I did.” Alan joined you and slid one of the cans towards your direction “I'm pretty sure they only categorized this as a mission because of the amount of documents with omitted information. It's a lot of work.”

You took a sharp breath through your teeth.

“Yeah, I can see that…”

Alan stared at the troubled expression on your face and suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over his body.

Working with him must be a chore. Now that he was thinking things through, you didn't need to go through this after all. At least, not again, not when he could handle things on his own this time, even if it was a lot of work. He could just let you leave–

“Actually, you don't really need to worry about this. You are free to go if you have other businesses.” he blurted out, without much thought, his uncertainty getting the best of him.

Alan was everything except a man who was tuned into his emotions. And sometimes, they caught him by surprise when they took over his body and acted on their own.

It was the reason why he was so afraid of his own anger. He didn't know when or if it could take control over him. 

You stared at Alan, who sat across from you on the table, and lifted an eyebrow.

“But you called me here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking apologetic.

Truthfully, he felt conflicted.

A big, loud part of his mind wanted you there, with him. He wanted the comfort of your company, the normalcy and gentleness of being with you; someone so different from the Vagastrom House's students, and from the surroundings that were familiar to him – because he hadn’t known tranquility for most of his life.

Another part of him, however, wanted to push you away because he didn’t feel like he deserved said tranquility. 

“Yeah, however–” he was interrupted by the loud sound of a can's lid being snapped open.

“Of course I'm not leaving, Alan. It's my job as an inspector and I want to help you.”

Alan's gaze towards you softened and he took a deep breath, nodding.

Of course you wouldn't up and leave, no matter how much he tried to push you away.

It was one of the things that shook him to his core while he was working with you – not once did you express feeling uncomfortable, but most importantly, you never seemed to be afraid of him, which was unprecedented for Alan.

He knew what the other students said about his past, and he was sure that you were aware of every rumor, of every story people passed on regarding his life. Yet, never once did their fear seem to rub off on you. Each time, you chose to stay beside him, trusting him instead.

He knew that pushing you away was never going to be that simple.

You worked diligently through the first few documents on your pile, laser focused on the task at hand. Your hands moved fast, peppering the paper in red ink as you circled the information that needed to change and the numbers that needed to be input.

Meanwhile, Alan was lost in his thoughts as he looked at you, his hand loosely holding a red pen against the paper, the pen's tip making a small stain on it.

His own lack of movement made you slowly lift your gaze towards him and he flinched again, putting his finger against the red puddle of ink to dry it out faster, and quickly moving the papers to pretend he was just as focused as you.

Your very presence, however, seemed to make it impossible for Alan to concentrate.

He frowned, trying to understand what was printed on that paper right in front of him, but his eyes wandered again from his papers to rest on you, so, so near him.

Looking at your hands, he still felt the faint ghost of your touch on his head. Despite digging his nails into his scalp that whole afternoon, he still couldn't remove the memory of your skin against his hair and it haunted him. He kept on banishing time and time again every greedy thought that merely implied he wanted more of that.

He scribbled random numbers down onto his paper, mind totally focused on the fact that you were right in front of him. He would definitely need to review each and every single document he pretended to correct, because, at that moment, the sound of his heartbeat thumping loud in his eardrums prevented him from concentrating.

He glanced sideways towards you as you moved to grab your coffee. Alan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down,  as he observed the way your lips pressed against the can and one stray drop of coffee trailed down your chin, your neck and entered the confines of your uniform.

He licked his lips and gritted his teeth.

How he wished he could taste your skin – but no, no. He couldn't entertain thoughts like that, not when he felt so unworthy of your touch.

He shook his head, trying to chase his thoughts away.

His mind flashed to Dante and the purple and black bruises littering his body and a cloud of guilt immediately hid his desires under its gloomy shadow.

How could he ever think of touching you with the same hands that killed a man? The same hands that held weapons, the same hands that landed him in juvie.

Alan tried to hide all the blood under grease and car oil, but it was still there – and he would rather be damned than cause the same pain on you by cursing you with his attention.

He didn’t deserve you. Not your company, not your friendship, much less your affection.

His heartbeat kept on drumming loudly on his ears, every part of his body seemed to be pulsing in the same rhythm as his thoughts snowballed into a pit of self-hatred.

He felt heat emanate from his skin, even though his room’s air conditioner was blasting the same way it had always been. Alan tried swallowing through the sudden nausea, but his throat felt like it was closing up and his tongue felt heavy on his dry mouth.

He rested his head against his trembling hands, trying his best to breathe even though it felt like his lungs weren’t working. He felt like he was dying. Was he dying? But why? Did something curse him too? Or maybe he was just ill, he never really had any health checks done by Mortkranken anyway, maybe he had been sick already.

He felt like he was going to throw up, but he didn’t even remember where he was. Where was he? He couldn’t see. His vision seemed to have darkened and his chest hurt so, so much. He gasped, trying to force the air inside his lungs.

He wished he could have at least held your hand before he died. Oh, speaking of it, weren’t you working with him just a few moments ago?

“–lan. Alan. Can you hear me? Alan, focus on my voice if you can hear me, please.”

In between the clouds in his mind, he suddenly heard your voice, muffled and distant.

“I’m right here, Alan. Please focus on my voice, I’m right here.”

His head snapped towards you, breathing still erratic. His tunnel vision seemed to expand a little and he managed to make out your face. You were right beside him, an extremely worried expression on you.

Why did you look so worried? Oh, right, he was dying.

“I know it must be hard to focus right now, but I’m gonna keep talking so you can try to come back first.”

He managed to suck in a shaky breath through his nose, the feeling of salty water hitting the back of his throat. His trembling hands moved to touch his own face - it was wet with his own tears. When did he start crying?

This seemed to bring him back a bit more, so you kept on talking.

“Can you hear me better now? Let’s try breathing together?”

He looked at you, thoughts still hazy as his heartbeat kept on drumming loudly.

“Alan.” you called him and he tried to focus on your face.

“I’m going to touch your arm, is that okay?”

You seemed to have said something about touching him and he nodded, confused.

He suddenly felt your hands wrap around his wrists.

“Focus on my hands and on my voice. Okay?”

He nodded again, still unable to speak.

“Let’s try breathing together. I’m gonna count and you’re gonna follow me, okay?”

Your thumbs gently rubbed against his quickened pulse and he felt the fog dissipate a bit more.

“Breathe in deeply for 4 seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4.”

He followed your instructions, trying to open up his own airways.

“Hold for 7 seconds. Don’t exhale yet, okay? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.”

He moved his wrists, allowing you to hold his hands instead and you squeezed them, reassuringly.

“Now let go for 8 seconds. Exhale. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.”

He felt his chest hurt a little bit less and cringed at the damp feeling of his tears wetting his face.

You guided him through his breathing for a few more minutes, until Alan felt like he could speak again.

“I thought I was dying.” he confessed, voice raspy and low. You looked at him, sympathetically.

“You were going through a really bad panic attack.” you said, and he widened his eyes in surprise “You’ve never gone through one?”

He shook his head. So he wasn’t dying. Good. But also, he felt like running away from his mind even more after he that.

“It can happen to anyone. I’ve been through some as well, especially if I’m too trapped inside my own bad thoughts. That’s why I knew that breathing technique.” you grabbed a napkin on his table and kneeled closer to him, motioning with your hands towards his face. “Can I?”

"Okay" he managed to say and hesitantly closed his eyes as he felt you dry his tear-striken face with the napkin.

It was the closest you have ever been to him. He breathed deeply, basking on the scent of lavender fabric softener that came from your clothes, and leaned against your touch unconsciously.

Your eyes softened as you observed him in such a vulnerable state. You didn’t know what was it that plagued him so much that sent him spiraling so horribly, but nothing could beat the certainty that you wished you could protect him from those demons just as much as you wanted to keep touching him.

“Alan.” you murmured and he opened his eyes, suddenly embarrassed as he realized he was resting his cheek on your hand.

He quickly leaned away from you, gaze moving everywhere but your face.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice I wa-”

“Alan” you said, once again, louder. He looked at you, silencing himself.

“Would you let me hug you?”

Alan's eyes widened and, for a moment, his thoughts seemed to halt for the first time in that afternoon. 

Your question echoed inside of his skull and all he managed to do in response was lean forward again, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

You leaned your cheek against the back of his head and made sure to keep breathing deeply and evenly so he could follow your example. His arms were hesitant, and looped awkwardly around your waist, afraid of holding you too tight.

Your hands pulled his arms closer and he froze, his already tensed up muscles feeling even tighter. You moved your hands to his back again and began rubbing circles against the fabric of his vest.

Alan tried his best not to allow himself to melt against your touch, but after a while, he failed to keep himself from indulging in the feeling of peace that you gave him. It was something he only found in you and he felt like he could happily drown in it.

Your head moved, and you leaned back in order to be able to look at his tired eyes.

“I hope you know you can count on me if you ever need to talk about something. You don’t have to deal with your thoughts alone.” you murmured, arms still keeping his locked in your embrace.

Alan avoided your gaze, looking down at the documents you two still had to write, long forgotten.

The persistent voice in his head still tried to claim he wasn’t worthy of anything you were offering him, but in your arms, your voice was much louder than any insecurity he could have.

He chose to listen to you, even if just for that moment.

He nodded, arms steadying around your waist.

“Thank you.”

Masterlist link

[theprinceofliones]

He knows something's wrong when his son doesn't come home.

Meliodas can feel it in his bones, tingling underneath his skin as his demon blood hums with his unfiltered anxiety. He itches to move, to fight, to distract himself even though it feels like the walls are closing in.

Tristan had left for Benwick a week prior, to visit Lancelot and attempt to find a way to lift him up despite Percival's death, to attempt to bring him back into the fold.

He left with his Platoon, Isolde and Chion, and Meliodas trusted them of course. But, his son was powerful just by himself, so he was at least a little reassured in that aspect. Meliodas never thought Arthur would attack again, not now, not when he'd succeeded in ridding of the prophecy.

Isolde is limping, holding up a barely awake Chion, and all of his fears suddenly come true.

They were attacked by Arthur's knights.

Tristan tried to buy them time to get out of there.

Tristan didn't come home.

His son had been /taken from him/.

Meliodas is ruined.

_

He enters the meeting hall, opening the doors himself and feels as though he's working on autopilot, like someone has taken over his body and is doing everything for him because--how could he do anything else? How could he? When his worst nightmare has become reality.

Elizabeth, his wife, his beautiful, gorgeous other half, his strong, /true/ soulmate stands at the end of the table whilst other Lords of the realm discuss amongst themselves. They had been for days, inside of these four walls, panicked now that Percival's death was made public. Elizabeth had been attempting to placate them, to reassure them that not all was lost.

But, it was. Everything was lost. His son was gone.

Meliodas doesn't feel the tears on his cheeks, nor does he feel the stare and silence of every knight and lord now that he's entered. He simply limps his way over to his wife who's staring at him with wide, golden eyes, absolutely frozen as she watches her husband and his hunched over form, like he'll fall apart.

Something's wrong. Something's happened.

She goes cold, an unmistakable numbness taking over her, true, /pure/ fear taking ahold of everything she is.

She's never felt such terror before. Not ever.

Something's /wrong/.

Meliodas finally makes his way over to her, exhaling shakily before he reaches up to gently grab her hand and, for a moment, it looked as though he were moving to softly graze her stomach, her womb, before he twitches to grasp her palm and turn the two of them around towards the fireplace behind them, away from the eyes of the lords and knights staring at them as though they're ghosts.

Elizabeth feels her husband shake, /shake/, and she thinks she knows.

"Arthur-" Meliodas' voice is hoarse, as though he had been screaming. "He took our boy, Elizabeth. Our baby."

Her worst nightmare, now a reality.

Elizabeth is ruined.

She rips her hand from his, going completely cold, cold as corpse, and takes a step away from him, skin going paler than that of a ghost.

She moves to take another step, and nearly falls over, her foot shaking.

Elizabeth /trembles/, fear overriding her, terror and horror making a home inside of her insides, replacing her blood for dread, and her bones for panic. Her heart beats loudly in her ears, resounding throughout her skull as she moves away from him, trying and nearly failing to hold herself upright.

Her hands reach up to grasp at her stomach, where she once created life from, where she once held her son away from the whole world, where her son couldn't be taken from her.

She bows her head and shakes uncontrollably, all noise turning muffled as grief immediately takes over her, fills her senses and she /sobs/.

/No, no, no/, her mind begs. /Please, let this be a nightmare. Please/.

Her son, her boy, her baby. Gone. Gone. Gone.

/"What's happened?"/

/"Is the Queen alright?"/

/"Your Grace, are you-?"/

Her son, her boy, her baby. Taken. Taken. Taken.

What else would this world take? What else would the Gods deem her unworthy of? How much more would she suffer?

Arthur had been her friend, her ally, but he had lost his way.

She had been prepared to save him, to help guide him back on the right path because-it wasn't his fault. It wasn't him anymore, it was Chaos inside of him, controlling him, making him do things he wouldn't ever normally do.

She was prepared to forgive him.

But there was no forgiveness any longer.

Elizabeth had none left to give.

Suddenly, she lifts her head back up and stands upright, very suddenly calm as she exhales once, twice, three times, through her parted lips.

It was as if all sorrow and grief had been burnt away, burnt away by the boiling, ever so careful /rage/ consuming her, taking over all she was and all she'd ever be.

She can feel the tears drying on her cheeks as she turns around, facing her husband and the rest of the room.

Meliodas stares at her as though he's never seen her before.

The lords and knights all rear back at the sight of her.

"His head," She heaves as her skin boils alive. Her stomach is an empty vessel now, barren and cold. "Bring me Arthur Pendragon's /head/."

She wasn't a defenseless little princess, she hadn't been for a long time, but for the first time since facing off against the Demon King, does she truly feel as though her rage could transform her into something vicious.

Meliodas' eyes are shining still, filled with tears, but they're empty, nearly lifeless, and they are the same in their shared grief. But, hers burns brighter than the light of a thousand suns, and his is an empty cavern filled with nothingness.

The grief and rage of losing a child could burn down the world. Either the Kingdom of Britannia or Kingdom of Camelot could be allowed to prosper, but not both.

Arthur Pendragon would reap what he's now so viciously sown, would pay for everything he had taken from her.

After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

[charlie-the-ghost64]

Ooookay. There’s a few differences in my version of Mario from when he lived in Brooklyn and after he got settled in the Mushroom Kingdom.

I explain it more under the cut. Just didn’t want to force everyone to have to scroll past that list lol.

Pre-Mushroom Kingdom

When Mario and Luigi were just starting out in their own place, Mario was very obsessive when it came to the bills. To the point that he checked their bank account daily. He’d always be looking for a cheap trick to try and save a few extra dollars. Sometimes he used the wrong trick and ended up using more money.

Mario and Luigi tended to get into small arguments over these tricks. In Luigi’s mind, it would pay off in the end to spend a few extra bucks on something they needed rather than it breaking in a few weeks because it’s so cheap. Mario on the other hand refused to accept that they could afford good products, even if Luigi set aside money for whatever they were buying. Mario usually “won” these fights due to Luigi not being as stubborn as his brother.

Mario doesn’t like to talk about work with their family. He tries to keep conversations focused on everyone else. Mario didn’t want to admit just how much time he spends working and how much of his life it takes up. He especially avoids talking about it with Luigi.

Speaking of work, he does that far too much. It worried Luigi endlessly, to the point that he’s had nightmares of Mario not being able to drive home because he’s too exhausted. He tended to sneak back out after Luigi has fallen asleep to go work some late jobs around town. Most are in fairly dangerous parts of town, so he and Luigi keep a family tracker on their phones just in case. Due to working too much, he’ll also occasionally miss a meal. It’s a price you sometimes must pay when you won’t give yourself a break.

Mario has major anxiety. I feel it’s a given judging by what I’ve already said, but I wanted to be more specific. He primarily is worried about Luigi. His brother has really bad social anxiety, sometimes making it hard for him to speak to customers. Mario tries to stick with Luigi whenever his brother is also working.

Mario’s tells that something is wrong is: tapping his foot, constantly checking that Luigi is next to him, and crossing his arms over his chest. More subtle than Luigi’s stuttering and fidgeting.

Post Mushroom Kingdom

The first week or two of being in the Mushroom Kingdom was very chaotic and eye opening to both brothers. Both go through a lot of change, though Mario does the most of it. The most immediate change was learning that Luigi is not as helpless as he may seem.

Mario discovers just how good of a fighter he can really be, helping rid some of his anxiety when the two are apart. He knew now that Luigi is capable of protecting himself, and fairly good at it too. He also learns to trust him more with billing and tells him the truth about how poor off they’d been. The two end up having a very long talk about how they needed to be fully honest with each other about serious stuff if this was going to work. Luigi can’t help him stay rational unless he knows how bad it really is. Mario apologized for lying to him during this conversation. Luigi, of course, forgave him.

Since the two no longer have money issues (those toads pay surprisingly well for plumbing), Mario’s cut back on the cheap tricks. Sometimes Luigi will catch him, but as long as it isn’t anything big, he lets him get away with it. It didn’t hurt. The brother’s relationship has healed a lot around the month mark. Fights are a very rare thing, and even when they happen, the two are able to resolve those very quickly.

Mario tends to be quite the chatterbox when it comes to telling his family about the Mushroom Kingdom (especially Peach). Their family is always happy to listen, teasing him about how much he talks now compared to only a few weeks ago. He’ll always get embarrassed.

He’s also on a more stable work schedule. Given toads are willing to pay a lot more here, and they’re getting consistent jobs, Mario didn’t need to work overtime anymore. Due to that, he’s been getting proper sleep and no longer skips meals. He’s started a new habit with Luigi around this time where the two do a bunch of meal prep together. It’s a good way to ensure they’re both eating enough and to spend time together, something Luigi’s been wanting outside of work. Another bonus is he no longer felt exhausted all the time. It’s caused him to be more talkative.

His anxiety’s better than it used to be. He still has it of course, but he’s been considering going to therapy after Peach’s suggestion. He’ll have to give that Dr.Toad a call.

And that should be it for this post! I’ll be making a Luigi one sometime in the future. If anyone has any constructive criticism, please share! It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this and I appreciate any and all tips I can get to be a better writer! Thank you for reading!

[spacebarbarianweird]

Burn, Butcher, Burn!

Synopsis: Before leaving Baldur's Gate for good, Tiriel and Astarion have one more thing to do.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Tags: fluff, traumatized Astarion, things and places are burning

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Please! Let me out! Please!

Cold. Hunger. Pain.

How long has he been there?

Months? Years? Decades?

Astarion has bitten his wrists to get at least a few more drops of blood. But it only made him hungrier. He dreams of fleas and rats and worms because at least those vermin are alive.

He hasn’t moved for so long. He wishes only for death.

But he is already dead.

And it’s only getting worse.

The torture will never end. His skin will be flayed. His body will be raped. His bones will be broken.

Over and over again.

The reverie lets Astarion go. He stares into the darkness – full of shades of grey thanks to his elven darkvision. 

He isn't in the coffin.

Astarion licks his lips. Memories slowly crawl back dispelling the nightmares.

Could it be…

Something moves beside him. A body.

Is it another conquest? Another victim? Is it?

Astarion elbows up fearing he will see an unfamiliar face.

Tiriel nuzzles into his chest. Her breathing is steady and so is her heartbeat. She is as warm as a fireplace. She has a bandage on her neck, and Astarion catches a subtle scent of blood.

It is real. All of it.

Freedom. 

Love.

Satiation.

Warmth.

Astarion stares at Tiriel’s face.

A month ago, they both got rid of the parasites and Astarion had to return to the darkness. 

He expected Tiriel to abandon him once she saw him for what he really was.

She didn’t.

And she is still there, by his side.

He watches her, studying her facial features. Tiriel hugs him, sharing her body warmth with him, and he knows his cold touch would feel uncomfortable to her if it wasn’t for an extremely thick blanket covering them.

Suddenly Tiriel moves and opens her eyes.

“Hm? Are you awake?” she asks.

“Yes”

She turns on her back, tugs her blanket and falls asleep.

Of course, Astarion realizes she woke up because he was staring.

Astarion sits up, putting his legs on the floor.

He needs something to occupy himself – it’s still daylight outside, almost noon. And Tiriel needs to sleep.

Sleep. Such a strange concept. Elves need to get absolutely wasted or drugged to experience what others have to go through daily. Would he be happier if he could sleep? He remembers his siblings – Petras’ stupid smile, Leon’s peaceful face.

It seems like he and Daylria suffered the most – elves who couldn't escape from their misery to the dream world.

Astarion stands up and sits on the floor.

What to do?

Boredom was such a weird concept – he never experienced peace in the two centuries of misery.

And now he has all the peace in the world.

And Astarion doesn't know what to do with it.

He opens a book. Closes it.

So many books to read. And he can't choose any. He lacks concentration. Before, he could have only dreamt of indulging in all these simple luxuries, but now, he simply can't make himself.

He fears being punished.

Beaten. 

Astarion curls at Tiriel’s side. Plants a kiss on her back. Deep down, he wishes to wake her up, to hear her voice soothing his anxieties.

What if she were an elf like him and didn't need to sleep…

Nonsense. Astarion can wait a few hours before Tiriel returns to him. 

He lets Tiriel go and leaves the bed. He approaches a small window and hears voices from the outside. He doesn't dare to open the thick curtain for even the small amount of sun will leave him in pain and burns.

It's been a week since the netherbrain, and the city was being slowly re-constructed – whole streets were destroyed. Astarion knows the city will never be the same again.

He doesn’t feel sorry.

Astarion hates Baldur's Gate.

He hates these streets and these houses, these taverns and inns. The streets are full of homeless people and beggars. The whole city used to be his hunting ground. The whole place used to be a brothel. How many people of different races did he bed? How many times did he lie on his back or on his stomach while yet another ‘lover’ used his body to their liking? How many times did he use his mouth to go down on them? 

Didn’t any of them notice he was already dead?

And how many times did he wish to die?

It’s still hard to believe it is all over. 

He tugs the curtain just a bit to see the outside but not be burnt. They stay in the upper town, which was relatively untouched by the debris, but the place is too familiar for Astarion.

He can see the Cazador’s mansion.

It’s still there. Dark and empty. Even though many people lost their homes, no one dared to stay there, maybe, believing the lord and his invisible servants were still somewhere.

It looks like a menace, like a warning that nothing is over. Nothing will ever be over…

Nothing…

“Hello, love,” Tiriel mutters, elbowing up.

Astarion flinches and realizes it’s almost sunset outside. How long did he stay like that?

“You should have woken me up. Though I think I want to sleep for days,” she smiles. Her face is puffy, her hair is messy; she is the most beautiful person Astarion has met. “Can I kiss you?”

Astarion suspects he smiles like an idiot. 

“You know you don't have to ask?” he murmurs.

“But I like to.” 

Tiriel puts her palms on his cheeks and kisses him. For a brief moment, there is nothing but her warmth, her heartbeat, and her scent.

She breaks the embrace and Astarion adores her face. Freckles, deep wrinkles on her forehead when she smiles, her lips, her eyes (one blue, the other is green), half-elven ears – he still hesitates to tug them when she is in his arms, and, gods, her fire read hair that looks like a flame in the sunshine.

Pity he will never see her like that again.

Tiriel pulls away and looks out the window. Then, she frowns.

“Something on your mind, my love?” He touches her cheeks. She nods.

“Astarion, I need to go and do something. Will you be able to find me at sunset? You know… by…”

“Now that my vampiric abilities are back I can catch your scent even in that wretched crowd of a city. Don’t worry. I can always find you.”

“Great, because honestly, I am afraid to get lost.”

Tiriel pulls away, but Astarion grasps her arm. The very idea of staying in that room alone scares him.

He doesn’t want it.

“But can’t we do that together when it’s dark?” He pouts.

“Please, it’s almost sunset. You won’t regret it.”

Astarion feels torn apart. He is afraid Tiriel is going to leave him. What if she is scared of him? And wants to run away? What if there is a ship that will take her far away from him and she just has enough time to board it?

But if he keeps pushing…What if it makes her realize he is a lost cause? What if he is breaking something between them right now?

What if…

“Astarion look at me,” Tiriel asks and he realizes he’s been staring at the floor. “I am not going to leave you. I don’t want to break up. I’ve been telling you that every day since you returned to the shadows. I made a choice and I am not regretting it, at least, for now. I just want to do something – just find me at sunset, all right?”

“Good,” Astarion sits on the floor and takes a book. “I will try to occupy myself.”

Tiriel quickly puts on her clothes and leaves. Astarion feels her scent fading as she goes further away.

He must get used to it. He won’t be able to keep her all by himself the whole day long and she will have to go away from time to time. But it doesn’t mean he feels less lonely.

When it’s dark, he jumps on his feet and rushes outside. 

Strange.

Her scent is still very close, though he thought she would be waiting for him in the Lower Town.

He covers his head with a hood and follows the path. Then he realizes …

… that he follows a way too familiar path…

It's the road to Cazador’s mansion.

The same narrow streets he used to walk returning back with yet another victim. Or without anything, knowing he would be flayed and beaten.

He stops hoping he’s mistaken, but Tiriel's scent leads him directly to the mansion.

But why? Why?!

He is getting angrier with every step he has to make. How dare she force him to come back? How dare she?!

Then he feels tears pricking his eyes. He has only recently started grieving his past and everything that was taken from him.

He finds Tiriel at the wooden tower. Its enchanted guardians left the place when Cazador died and now it is as empty as everything else.

Tiriel sits at the table and there is a sack at her legs.

“Hi!” She waves at him. “I’ve been missing you!”

“Why did you bring me here?” He demands. His voice betrays his emotion, he knows he sounds like he is about to cry.

“Well, first, I found some good prospects for us – so we can leave the city tomorrow and never come back. And second – you can cast ignis, can’t you”

Astarion raises his hand feeling how magic fire prickles his fingers. Yes, this spell was always his. It was something natural for him, a fey magic, but Cazador forbade him from using it. Because otherwise, Astarion would be able to warm himself. And now he can use it freely.

Tiriel smiles again and raises her hand. She inherited the same skill from her elven ancestors. 

Create small balls of fire and throw them into enemies. The problem with Tiriel is the fact that when she is in her berserker state, she can’t concentrate on magic. So it’s more like a game to her rather than a weapon.

“So, I suggest,” she opens the sack showing a few dozen glass bottles. “We burn this place down! And if someone wants to punish us for arson, we are going to be far far away.”

“And what is that?”

“A gift from gnomes. Looks like water but burns like a spirit. This place will be set on fire with all its fancy stuff, beds, chambers, ugly paintings, dust, and whatever is left here.”

Tiriel laughs as if she is going to have the biggest fun in her life.

“I never noticed you were a pyromaniac!”

“Astarion, there are many things we need to learn about each other. And a new fact about me – I love burning things. I love setting places on fire. And I so much enjoy hearing you casting ignis. Makes me want you even more than I usually do. But”  She closes the sack. “If you don’t want to, just tell me, and I will sell the potions at the market.”

Astarion lets out a laugh. Gods. He has been dreaming of burning this place down for centuries. Cazador couldn’t prohibit his thinking and Astarion liked imagining this place on fire. He often would imagine himself burning too, because vampires can burn.

But he has never said it to Tiriel.

But she knew he would love it.

Astarion takes the heavy sack. 

“Yes. Let’s burn this fucking place down!”

Tiriel grabs his hand and makes him follow her into the dark halls.

One bottle for the room of the favorite spawns.

Two bottles for the chamber where Astarion had to sleep with his victims.

Three for the torture dungeon.

One by one they throw bottles in rooms and closets. Astarion rips the rugs and curtains, and Tiriel breaks the paintings and furniture. 

A bottle for the tower of Cazador’s niece.

A bottle in Cazador’s wardrobe.

Astarion curses. And laughs. He dominates his own past and Tiriel encourages him to keep going.

“Oh look! The bastard had so much whiskey and wine! What for?” She says opening the wine cellar.

“For parties,” Astarion finds the most expensive ones and throws them on the floor. “And sometimes he would try to drink himself to numbness.”

“Watch out!” Tiriel grabs yet another bottle but Astarion jumps to her and snatches it from her hands. “What?”

“It’s Berduskan Dark. The most expensive wine on the Swords Coast.”

“And?”

“It costs 1500 gold at least!”

“You wanna sell it?”

“I don’t,” Astarion opens the cork. “It is dark, like blood, and sweet.”

“Like blood?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “It has a very high alcohol content. Can knock out an ork. I wonder where he took it from.”

Tiriel shrugs. “You know I don’t like wine.”

“You just never tasted a proper one,” Astarion smiles. “Open your mouth.”

Tiriel obeys and sticks her tongue a bit. Astarion gently takes her head and pours wine into her mouth. The Berduskan Dark streams down Tiriel’s throat and along her chin, staining the shirt.

“Oh fuck,” she mutters gulping the wine. “It burns my tongue!”

“Yes, like it's supposed to. Keep drinking..”

Tiriel takes the bottle and takes a few more gulps. Astarion thinks maybe he should have offered her a goblet, but it’s too late.

She finished almost the whole bottle off.

“Fuck!” She slurs and almost falls off the table. “I don’t remember ever getting wasted so fast.”

“Good.”

“Oh…That was your plan! You wanted to taste Berduskan Dark!” Tiriel puts the cork back. But I do it only for you because I don't really like it!”

Astarion tugs Tiriel and kisses her wine-stained lips.

Then, he imagines himself in the same room mere months ago. 

What would he think if he knew it was possible? To destroy that cellar, to kiss a person he wants, to get drunk together?

“What was the bastard's favorite place?” Tiriel asks.

“Come on,” Astarion takes her hand and leads her through the dark halls to the throne room. The black armchair made of dark wood looks ridiculous and pompous. “The bastard thought of himself as royalty!”

“But he was a moron. Neither the bhaalists considered him a target nor Gortash invited him to his coronation,” Tiriel falters. Now she is completely drunk.

Astarion pulls her to the throne and makes her sit on the soft pillows. Cazador’s pillows were made of some expensive fabrics – the ones that were supposed to always be clean.

“Can I bite you?” He asks.

“Of course.”

Astarion grazes her throat. He doesn’t care about the mess he is making. He wants to create a mess. 

Tiriel’s blood spills over the throne and pillows and Astarion tastes alcohol. Then he suddenly feels happy. Darkness fades away, replaced by intoxication and satiation. 

As for Tiriel's clothes, he will wash them. Or will get her new ones. Doesn’t really matter.

“Now we are both drunk,” she pouts.

Astarion almost falls when he takes the last bottle from the sack. Tiriel hugs him and starts murmuring drunkenly.

“You are so cute, you know that? And your ears stick so funny from your hair! You look like a dandelion!” She laughs as if it was the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

Asatrion smashes the last bottle and the fire and liquid mixes with blood. 

Tiriel raises her hand, trying to cast a fireball.

“No!” He shuts her mouth. “Are you stupid? The whole place is soaked in wine and this gnome shit!”

Tiriel bites his palm. And then starts laughing and snorting.

Astarion grabs her waist and lifts her on his shoulder. She keeps laughing and insulting Cazador, calling him a miserable dork with no imagination.

“Like, he was immortal and powerful… But he didn’t bother to go hunting himself! What was wrong with him? I mean, was he afraid of people? Astarion, you fed him dirty drunk homeless idiots who haven’t washed in decades! And he was all right with it? I mean, I know there are idiots! But this is some new level for me!”

Astarion approaches the main door. Turns back. Sees the mansion for the last time.

“Burn in hell,” he says. “Burn!”

Then he opens the door with his leg and gets outside.  They walk a few yards then he places Tiriel on the ground (she barely can walk by herself) and she immediately opens the cork of the wine bottle.

“You said you didn’t like it.”

“But you did.”

Astarion raises his hand and feels the fey fire prickling his fingers.

“IGNIS!”

A fire ball is thrown through the open door into the hall.

And the vampire mansion is set on fire. 

Astarion watches the fire consuming his past, destroying his misery.

And he cries.

He cries out loud like a lost child, clinging to Tiriel as his source of comfort and warmth. And Tiriel drunkenly starts singing him a lullaby.

“Tsk. It’s all right, my love,” she whispers. “It’s all right. We are starting anew tomorrow. We will see so many places together that you will forget that mansion. And I will touch you so many times it will make all the dirt you’ve been through fade away.”

Astarion keeps crying as they walk back to the inn. And Tiriel, drunk and dizzy, falls asleep in his arms in their bed.

**

The touches don’t burn his skin and he doesn't feel disgusting. It's something new. Astarion turns back to see naked Tiriel napping on the grass. She sleeps shamelessly, her legs half open and the fresh bite mark barely healed,

Astarion knows it’s a reverie. A weird memory he doesn’t know how to feel about. It's the first time Tiriel was his. He kissed her, he hugged her, he had sex with her. It was all a game for him but something else for her. 

The memories slowly set him free and he realizes Tiriel is still in his arms. She doesn’t sleep, that’s for sure, but she also doesn’t move, allowing him to relax in her embrace.

He reaches out for her ear and tugs it, forcing her to squirm.

“Half-elves do have sensitive ears!” he laughs. 

“That was weird,” she mutters. “Do it again.”

“You don’t need to ask twice,” he repeats the same motion. “Are we leaving today?”

“Yes,” she puts her arms on his back. “And we aren’t coming back, love.”

--

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[stellocchia]

Killer being incredibly touch-starved is something I've been thinking about for a while. We know very little about monster biology, let alone Killer's who's something in between, so I'm gonna base this on the effect of touch deprivation in the real world (which, yes, is a very real and highly studied thing. And no, the people using it as an excuse for why they're 'owed sex' are still full of shit, because to the human brain the kind of touch, as long as it's positive and well received, doesn't make a difference).

Killer, for his whole time with both Chara and Nightmare, is deprived of any positive touch. Nightmare stabbing him and forcefully manipulating his soul certainly doesn't count as positive, and most Chara did was cut him up for fun (and out of curiosity).

There is a chance for him to receive some affection in an expanded Nightmare's gang situation, as I refuse to believe that people stuck in such awful conditions together would not develop a certain degree of closeness. Still, they live under Nightmare, so they probably cannot afford to indulge in any form of comfort too much. And I don't doubt that, in such a tense situation, fights would also break out often. Meaning he'd most likely get more gaster blasters to the face than pats on the back.

With that out of the way, here are some of the symptoms Killer may experience:

Overwhelming loneliness

Strong cravings for affection

Feelings of depression

Anxiety

Heightened levels of Stress

Difficulty sleeping

Attachment avoidance patterns

He'd also most likely do things to emulate the feeling of touch like cuddling his cats a lot, laying under whatever heavy thing he can find, and taking hot showers/baths. After all, this is Killer we're talking about. These are a lot of feelings and uncomfortable sensations that are entirely out of his control, he's definitely gonna try and reign them in.

I do think that, of course, this would affect every Stage differently. And they'd probably go about dealing with it differently.

Stage 1 would have a conflicted relationship with touch. On one hand, it's hard for him to keep from showing the discomfort he's feeling due to the touch deprivation. On the other, he also always struggles with feelings of guilt regarding the fact that, in his mind, he put himself in this situation. He probably wouldn't think he deserves to feel better. And definitely wouldn't outright ask for a hug or to hold hands unless he was desperate.

He'd probably try to deal with it quietly. Probably running the shower as hot as it can get and hoping it gets rid of the itch in his bones. He has probably begged both Chara and Nightmare for affection before, though I doubt that ended well. I think Chara just pushed him away in Disgust, Nightmare probably made him regret asking.

I feel like later on with Color he's probably gonna need constant reassurances and frequent gentle reminders that he can ask for a hug whenever. And, if that feels like too much, he can sit close to Color, shoulder to shoulder. They can hold hands, and, when that feels like too much, they can interlock pinkies. There are ways for them to navigate around this. And I think Color would be happy to help from the get-go with him.

Meanwhile, with Stage 2 I've always felt like they probably dislike touch (something something they don't allow themselves to show any degree of vulnerability and never let go of control. Both things that would happen if they indulge in any amount of physical affection). To be clear, this does not mean that they're immune to the consequences of touch deprivation, it just means that dealing with them will be even harder for them.

During their time with Chara and Nightmare they'd probably use a lot of the good old "gaslighting themselves into thinking that everything is okay" method. Similarly to how they did with convincing themselves that they actually enjoy being hurt on the regular, eventually, they'd probably start believing it. Also, they'd be highly reliant on their cats if they have any around. Cuddling them does soothe a lot of the symptoms for quite a while, and those little balls of fur at least are not gonna backstab them.

Even once they're with Color, I still feel like Stage 2 would rather cuddle with animals than with other monsters or humans. They'd just be far more free to do so without the threat of Nightmare killing those little critters hanging over their head. Also! A lot of types of dance and stuff like theater can help stave off the touch starvation in a way that may feel more comfortable to them. In a lot of those situations, there's a ton of touch involved, but as they'd be able to remain professional about it, it would probably feel less like giving up control and showing weakness than the alternative of being physically affectionate with Color.

Stage 3 is an interesting one. I feel like it would be the most open to admitting (at least to itself) that they have an issue. However, to solve said issue would mean putting the body in danger and that's not something it's willing to do.

Still, it would try to mitigate the discomfort as much as it can. Trying to find soft things to wrap the body up tightly with. Trying to find small places where it can feel somewhat compressed. It would never try to ask either Nightmare or Chara for help. Ever. It hates them with a burning passion and, besides, it's fully aware that, whatever is wrong with them, is most likely the fault of those two.

It probably also would regard Color with distrust at first, but, eventually, as it comes to trust him, it probably would be more than happy to get some cuddles in with him. I do think its favorite thing would be to sleep all curled up around one another in whatever safe den it has built. And, of course, as it builds trust with more people, those people are gonna be let in too. Though that's gonna take time, because for Stage 3 to trust anyone, Stage 2 and Stage 1 have to trust them first.

Stage 4 my boy... it's suffering. Not only can it not remember any instances of kindness, however rare, the other 3 may have received, but it is also the one that would struggle the most receiving any kind of genuine help even after running away with Color. And, before that, it basically just gets treated like a dog. Though, no matter how much he'd want it, the treat for a job well done is never a hug or a pat on the head for it. Usually, it's just it being allowed some basic necessities like water, food, maybe even sleep if things went particularly well.

And it wouldn't try to soothe any of its needs by itself. Just like it doesn't eat, drink, or sleep if it's not explicitly allowed. If Nightmare or Chara wanted it to get a hot shower or some cuddles from its feline friends, they would have said it. Since they didn't clearly it's against the will of the Players, as they're the Players' mouthpieces. The same would go for Color not saying anything.

And, here's the thing, Color would struggle to show kindness to Stage 4 at first. Both because it starts off as hostile as it doesn't initially recognize him as an owner and because there is something fundamentally unsettling about a being so divorced from humanity and monsterkind wearing the face of his friend. Stage 4's biggest downfall is the fact that it is so other that even the kindest souls would struggle to not dehumanize it. It was created to be a tool and it doesn't recognize itself as anything more than that, so others often fall into the trap of doing the same.

Anyway, Stage 4 would straight-up weep the first time it gets a hug. And, seeing that, Color would undoubtedly feel like shit for ever thinking that Stage 4 wasn't just as lonely, hurt, and deserving of kindness as the other Stages.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy navigates through processing Lizzie's news and what it might mean for his relationship with Lucy.

Word Count: 7,755

Notes: I hope you all don't mind this chapter being longer than I usually make them. I couldn't really find a good place to cut it in half, and there wasn't much that I could cut out, either. Poor Lucy has the lowest self esteem in the entire world. Warnings for depictions of pregnancy, angst, jealousy, smut, and references to abortion.

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Chapter 18: Seemingly Incurable Sadness

Tommy’s hands squeezed tight around the steering wheel, fighting to ignore the way that his lungs burned for a cigarette. His stomach churned with anxiety, mind still reeling.

The awkward silence between him and Lizzie stretched on and on within the confines of the car as he drove them through the winding streets towards her lodgings. Her words from when they’d spoken in his office still rang in his head. 

“Yes, it can only be yours.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“A baby. A little you and me.”

His throat felt suddenly intensely dry. He wanted to slap himself.

Fucking hell, the one goddamn time he doesn’t pull out…

He’d been too lost in memories of Greta during that time between him, Lucy, and Lizzie down by the canal. It had not even occurred to him until later that he had failed to take necessary precautions. 

He let out a small, harsh sigh. An internal scream was sounding in his head, hoping that somehow this was all a nightmare he would wake up from at any moment. He didn’t want to have a baby with Lizzie. He didn’t want to be shackled to her for the rest of his life.

But it wasn’t like he was going to force her to get rid of it.     

He would buy her a house. He would be involved in the child’s life. He would support her financially–he certainly could afford to. But outside of that, he had no intention of committing anything deeper to her. 

The last thing that he wanted was to give her yet more hope that something was ever going to happen between them. 

He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Lizzie had been expecting him to drop instantaneously to one knee with a marriage proposal the very moment that the announcement of her pregnancy left her lips. 

Pulling the car over against the curb directly in front of Lizzie’s lodgings, he killed the engine, half hoping that she would just get out and leave him alone without another word. 

He needed some time to himself, to properly collect his thoughts. 

“Would you like to come up?” Lizzie asked, voice soft. 

“No.”

Still, she made no move to get out of the car. “What will you tell Lucy?” she finally asked, and Tommy had to suppress a wince at his lover’s name, guilt roiling within him so violently that for a moment he thought it might make him sick. 

It had been the very first thought that had come to him, after the initial shock had worn off and he was left with the weight of the reality that Lizzie had just dumped at his feet: Christ, what am I going to tell Lucy?

He had fucked up. Colossally so. Sure, Lucy had been there in the canal too, but she wasn’t the one who’d gone and accidentally impregnated Lizzie while knowing better than to not be so careless. That was all him.

And now he had to go tell his sweet, wonderful girlfriend that he’d gone and knocked up someone else. 

Again.  

At least with Grace, the three of them had been in love. They’d wanted to be together. This time around was different entirely.

“I’ll tell her the truth,” he said softly, clearing his throat. Anxiety twisted in his chest at the mere thought, despite his attempts to talk himself around it. To remain optimistic. He had no intention of leaving Lucy. Things could still remain as they were, between them. 

Now, if she left him, that would be another story. He didn’t think that she would, but, well…

He wouldn’t blame her, if she did. 

“I feel sorry for her.”

His brows knit together in confusion, something in Lizzie’s tone sending alarm bells off in his head. It did not sound like a simple statement of sympathy for how this whole situation might affect her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, after you split up with her, I doubt there will be much of a place for her here at all anymore–”

“No.” It came out perhaps harsher than necessary, and Lizzie’s mouth shut, her jaw tightening. But he needed to get it through to her; make it crystal clear. “Under no circumstances will I be leaving Lucy.” Lizzie opened her mouth to argue. “Ever.” He put as much firm, immovable emphasis on the word as he could without shouting. 

“I’m having your fucking baby, Tommy. Why does she get to be more important than that?”

“Lizzie, please…” he pinched at his brow, battling back a headache. Working hard to keep himself level headed. “I will take care of you. I will take care of the baby, but I’m not…I can’t promise you anything more than that. And I’m not dumping Lucy out onto the street like garbage so that you can play out some fucking fantasy–”

“You’re the one living in a fantasy!” she snapped. “You’re going to make our child a bastard! I know how this goes, Tommy. You’ll stash us away out in the countryside, right? Only to be visited on the rare occasion that you have time for us.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying–”

“No?” she sneered. “You’re going to allow it to be public knowledge that you have an illegitimate child? I’m sure that will do wonders for your reputation.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “I will not allow my child to be shoved aside while you gallivant around with that little tart–”

“Oi!” This time he did shout, voice echoing throughout the interior of the car. Lizzie cringed back at the sound, shoulders drawing in, and a look of immediate regret passed across her face. Had he not been so frustrated, he may have found it fascinating: the way that she seemed to almost rouse, like she had been stuck in a trance of anger and jealousy before his bellow of fury snapped her out of it. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her hands. “I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, looking out the window. “I didn’t mean that.”

Tommy wiped a hand down his face. There were about a dozen things he’d like to say to her, but he decided to refrain. At least until after he’d spoken to Lucy and knew where she stood on everything. 

“If you are going to insist on keeping the baby, I’m not going to fight you on it,” he said, slowly. “But you need to make peace with the fact that Lucy is important to me. She will always be important to me. She’s a part of my life. You have to accept that, Lizzie.” When she didn’t say anything, instead just staring down at her hands, he let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “This really shouldn’t be so big of a shock.”

Still, Lizzie did not answer, just sitting there in angry silence. Tommy shook his head. 

“I thought that you and her were getting along,” his voice was quieter, at a loss for what else he could do or say. Only able to hope that somehow, Lizzie would remember that Lucy wasn’t her enemy in all of this. Hell, up until the canal, things had been cordial, even friendly, between them.  

Lizzie did not acknowledge his words, turning away sharply and opening the car door, stepping out onto the street. When she turned to slam the door shut behind her, she shot him a look that it took him a beat to recognize as heartbreak.   

Guilt crashed down upon him again. For placing them both into this situation. For getting her hopes up again. For not being able to give her what she really wanted. 

For, in complete and total honesty, not really wanting to. 

Because he would never trade what he had with Lucy for even the remote possibility of having something with Lizzie. Not ever. And the type of love that Lizzie was seeking from him was not the kind that would have room for anyone else.   

God, what a fucking mess. 

“I know a good realtor. I’ll have him call you so you can start looking at houses,” he tried to offer. Lizzie looked away. 

“Whatever.”

He sighed, for perhaps the thousandth time that night. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” she said, still without looking at him, and slammed the car door in his face. He watched her walk to her door, waiting until she was safely inside before turning back on the engine, pulling the car away from the curb, heading towards home. 

Towards Lucy. 

Dread sprang up in his throat, tasting of bile. He did not know how he was going to face her. Already he could envision it: the way that her big green eyes would look up at him, wide and full of hurt. A tremor traveled down his arms, all the way to his hands. With a sharp jerk, he suddenly yanked the steering wheel to pull over the car, letting the engine idle while he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. The smoke drew deeply into his lungs, helping to somewhat stifle the shakiness of his hands.

His Lucy. His poor Lucy. This was going to hurt her. She would most likely try to pretend that it didn’t, but it would.

And it was his fault. 

He loved her. He’d promised never to hurt her, and here he was, about to waltz into their home, drop this whole load of shit at her feet, and ask her to still, somehow, stay with him. He couldn’t be more selfish if he tried. 

It had never been his intention to have any more children after Grace died. He had been on the fence about it even prior to her death. In his mind, Charlie had been more than enough, and after learning that Lucy couldn’t get pregnant, the idea of him and Grace having more had felt almost…insensitive. Not that they’d even gotten the chance to ever really discuss it. Grace died before that could happen. 

The very thought of Grace was enough to have a burn of tears, both of guilt and sorrow, burning in the back of his throat. It was times like these he was thankful that he did not really believe in an afterlife. The thought of her looking down on him and seeing what he had done made him want to weep with shame. 

No, after Grace was gone, more children had not been something either he or Lucy had planned on. She could not have them, and they were more than content with Charlie, Asher, and their horses. 

As if things weren’t bad enough already, it was compounded by the reality that Lizzie was about to give him something that Lucy never could. The pain that would cause was not lost on him. Yet another kick to the stomach for his kindhearted redhead to endure. His lover who had never, in all their time together, done anything to hurt him. Certainly not to this magnitude.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, striking it as hard as he wished that he could hit himself, palm burning where it collided with the material. 

“Fuck!” he screamed.   

Face falling into one of his hands, palm rubbing at his forehead and eyes, he drew in a deep, ragged breath. Wedging his cigarette between his lips, Tommy pulled himself together, hands curling around the steering wheel after he put the car back into gear, beginning to once more drive through the dark streets of Small Heath, bouncing slightly along the uneven cobblestones. 

He’d drive around for a while before heading home, he decided. To collect his thoughts and figure out just how the hell he was going to tell Lucy about all of this. 

A few blocks down the road from home, he came across a flower shop. Breaking in was no trouble, and he left a few shillings on the counter for the bouquet he’d stolen, closing the store up just as he’d found it, settling the flowers on the passenger seat gingerly, making sure that they didn’t get squished. 

It felt like not even close to enough given the circumstances, but he had to do something nice for her. 

The time spent driving and thinking had only served to triple the anxiety he’d already felt in regards to telling her. 

He glanced over at the flowers, swallowing painfully. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. Maybe she wouldn’t leave him. 

Still, the thought did little to soothe his nerves, nor did it stifle the swirling self hatred that tormented him the entire drive home. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy ran a hand over her hair, sighing and swirling the whiskey in her glass before raising it to her lips for a sip. Her eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion. Even the very thought of having to change from her work clothes into a nightgown for bed seemed to be too much effort.

After getting home, she’d grabbed a quick snack from the pantry, chatted with Finn for a little while, and then went upstairs to tuck Charlie in and read to him a chapter of the book she and Tommy had been reading to him every night before bed when they were able. He’d crashed about halfway through, and she’d quietly pecked his forehead before placing the bookmark between the pages, switching off the light, and departing from the room to let the little boy sleep.

Standing there in the middle of her and Tommy’s makeshift bedroom, she tapped the metal of her rings against the glass containing her drink, just staring into space. It had been a hard, long day. She hoped that Tommy would be home soon. 

Frowning, she took a look at her pocket watch, wondering just what could be taking him so long. She set it down onto the vanity with a soft clink, just as she heard the sounds of a car pulling up outside. 

Speak of the Devil.

A moment later she heard the sounds of the front door being opened, and then boots on the stairs. 

She set her glass down beside her pocket watch on the vanity, turning with a smile to the door when it opened. 

“Hey–” whatever else she might’ve been about to say died on her tongue the moment that she saw his face. He looked ashen, nearly ill; his blue eyes miserable, fixed on her with what she could only call regret and desperation. “What’s going on?” she asked, gaze dropping to the bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand. Tommy swallowed hard, setting the bouquet aside onto the nightstand and taking a step towards her, resting both hands on her upper arms. 

“Lucy…” his voice wobbled a little at the end of uttering her name, breaking eye contact to look down. Her brows pulled inwards in response to the look of outright shame that crossed his face. 

When he looked up at her it was to gently stroke his fingertips down her cheek, eyes fixed upon her face as if trying to memorize it. Like he expected that at any moment she would walk out the door and never return.

“I love you so much,” he said quietly. Her heart jumped into her throat, confusion only building. It wasn’t like declarations of his love for her were a particularly rare occurrence, but there was something about his tone that had a plume of dread twisting inside of her. “I’m so, so sorry, love.” 

“What…?”

He replaced his hand on her upper arm, looking down again for only a moment, collecting himself, before forcing his eyes to meet hers. The regret and misery in them nearly bowled her over. 

“Lizzie is pregnant.”

Lucy stared at him, feeling as though she’d been punched. Like that moment after the wind was knocked out of you and you felt as though you might never be able to catch your breath again.

“O-oh,” was all she managed to say, head spinning with a thousand possibilities, a thousand thoughts all at once. She did not need to ask him if the baby was his; the grave, regretful way that he had told her was answer enough to that question. 

Tommy was still holding onto her, watching her reaction beseechingly with barely concealed fear. Still looking at her like he expected at any moment for her to wrench herself from his grasp and push him away. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.  

“What–um…what about…are we…?” she could not seem to be able to put together a proper sentence, too many questions, all needing to be asked and yet dreaded to be answered, perched on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself but not really succeeding. “She’s keeping it?” she managed to get out. Tommy nodded. Her head bobbed in numb acknowledgement. She’d thought as much, given the way he was behaving. 

Saw her chance and fucking took it, she caught herself thinking bitterly, and shoved the thought down with a wince. Tommy’s hands tightened a little against her arms, looking as though he wanted to pull her closer, but was unsure if she would actually be agreeable to him doing so.

A baby. Tommy was going to have another baby. With someone else. The one thing that Lucy could never give him–that fact only a twist to the knife already embedded in her flesh. She was struck harshly with a potent sense of deja vu, teleported back to the day of the Derby, after all the excitement was over and Tommy told her in the car on the way home that Grace was pregnant with his child. 

Except this time was not at all the same, was it?   

Grace had loved her. Grace had wanted her around. Had accepted and openly encouraged her relationship with Tommy, as well as her position as a second mother figure in Charlie’s life. Lucy knew she would get no such consideration from Lizzie. 

Because–let’s be perfectly frank, here–Lizzie hated her guts. The mask had come off after that day in the canal. Whatever friendliness Lizzie may have shown her before then, Lucy could not help but think that it had to be only because she knew that she needed to play nice with her in order to remain close to Tommy. It hurt; she genuinely thought that they might’ve been on their way to finally becoming friends.

You idiot, she chastised herself. They should never have started things back up with Lizzie. But maybe this was what they deserved, for so flippantly using Lizzie as a stand-in to fulfill their own grief-fueled fantasies. 

Lizzie would want her gone. Of that, she had no doubt. She wondered how long it would be before her first attempt at jettisoning her from Tommy’s life. Perhaps she had already tried after telling Tommy the news.

A horrible thought barreled into her mind with the force of a freight train, her gaze, having drifted to stare blankly around the room while she thought, snapping back to Tommy’s. Fear locked its hands firmly around her throat.

“Are you leaving me for her?” she forced herself to ask, voice quiet and trembling. Tommy’s eyes widened. 

“No! No, I’d never leave you,” he cradled the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, leaning desperately into the strong warmth of his touch. 

“Does Lizzie know that?”

“Yes; I told her.”

After she undoubtedly asked you to throw me out onto the street without a second thought. “I’m sure she was thrilled.”

He took hold of her face with both hands, tilting it to look at him. “I made it clear that if she wants to have this baby, she’s going to have to make peace with the fact that you are a part of my life.”

She gave him a despondent look. “And do you really think that she will?”

Tommy frowned. “She’s going to have to.”

She nodded, slowly, movements jerky and numb. Guilt and confliction roiled around inside her. Of course she did not want for him to throw her away, but…it all just seemed so incredibly unfair to Lizzie.

He may have put his foot down this time. But what about the next? Or the dozen after that? What about after the baby comes? 

If Lizzie decided to force him to choose between Lucy or her and the child…

Lucy was not fool enough to think that she’d ever be the triumphant party should a choice like that be put before him. Nor would she want to be. The thought that she could ever be what came between him and his children made her feel physically ill. 

Within seemingly a matter of moments, the entire dynamic had shifted, the power structure reversing. Lucy suddenly felt incredibly small and inconsequential. Nonessential when put into the grand scheme of things. Lizzie was going to be the mother of his child, now. That automatically put her high above Lucy in the hierarchy of important women in Tommy’s life.   

They were connected forever, now. Lizzie’s place at Tommy’s side was secure. More so than Lucy’s was, even. Through the baby they would share a bond that Lucy would never be able to have with him. 

The dark pit of despair was opening wider within her mind, beckoning her to its edge, encouraging her to spiral down into its ink-black depths.  

She swayed on her feet, a violent shudder going through her, a small sound emitting from her throat. She pulled suddenly away from Tommy, staggering forwards, not even entirely sure where she thought she was going. It was only when she drew away from his body that she realized just how imperative his presence had been in holding her together.

“Luce?” Tommy asked, voice worried, and she could sense him hovering behind her, wanting to reach out, but hesitating, unsure if his touch was still welcome. 

Slowly, without even processing what she was doing, she lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back propped up against the side of the bed, knees curled underneath her. Knuckles raising to press against her lips, she fought to contain the strangled sob that came from her throat. But more were coming, hot tears pooling in her eyes to run down her cheeks. 

“Oh, love,” Tommy said, and then he was sitting down beside her, shoulder pressing against hers, arm wrapping around her, hand cradling her head and pulling it to tuck into his shoulder. “Come here.”

Her cheek pressing into the warmth of his body seemed to break whatever lingering composure she’d been clinging to, eyes squeezing shut, entire weight slumping against him, violent sobs starting to wrack through her entire body. 

“Shh…” he wrapped his other arm around her and started to rock them both from side to side, petting her head while his lips pressed to her red curls.   

She cried hard into him for a good long while, face squished into his shirt, probably getting makeup smudges all over the material. He held her very, very tightly, nearly crushing her into him and continuing to press kisses all around the crown of her head until she settled, sobbing giving way to quiet sniffles.   

“Sorry,” she drew back, not far enough to pull free from his embrace, but just enough that she could scrub at her face with the back of her hand, embarrassed. “I’m fine, really, I’m just feeling sorry for myself…”

“Don’t…don’t apologize. You have every right to be upset.”

When she craned her head up to look at him, she was met with an agonized look in his wide eyes. His hand was still holding her head, the feel of his strong palm resting atop her hair a comforting, protective presence. His thumb stroked over her curls. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, distraught over the pain he was causing her overtaking his face. Lucy shook her head, letting her cheek rest more solidly where he had her tucked into his chest. 

“It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“I should’ve been more careful.”

“We both should’ve.” The choice to take Lizzie down to the canal had been a joint effort, after all. Tommy swallowed hard, lips parting, then closing, a fearful look Lucy almost never saw from him entering into his eyes. 

“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, I understand…” he sounded like he was in physical pain as he forced the words out, hardly able to meet her gaze, looking away as if already mentally preparing himself for her to reject him. 

She blinked up at him, taken aback. The look on his face broke her heart, the agony at the mere idea of her walking away from him perpetual and crippling. 

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, shifting slightly, wrapping her arm around him and hugging him hard. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He buried his face in her hair, and she could feel him noticeably relax against her. “You won’t. You won’t.” He squeezed her as if afraid to let her go. 

“What are we going to do?” she asked, finally, once he’d loosened his grip just enough for her to lean back and peer up at him again. Tommy sighed the sigh of the terminally exhausted.

“I told Lizzie I’d give her a weekly allowance and buy a nice house for her and the baby. I wanted to talk to you first before discussing any other details with her.”

She nodded, appreciating the gesture, and swallowed hard around the next question, voice quiet and still a little thick with tears. “Are you going to marry her?”

Tommy frowned. “I’m not planning to.”

“That could hurt your reputation…”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, and sighed again. “We’ll deal with that if we have to.” Large fingers swept some of her hair out of her face and cupped her cheek. “Even if I did…that doesn’t mean that you and I couldn’t still…”

Lucy looked away, down at her hands where she’d started unconsciously fiddling with her rings. “Lizzie might not be agreeable to that.”

“I’m not exactly going to leave it up to negotiation,” he tilted her face upwards, encouraging her to meet his eyes once more. “We come as a pair.”

“She doesn’t like me, Tommy.”

“She’s had her moments of unpleasantness, but I really don’t think she hates you as much as you think–”

“In her eyes, I’ll always be the primary obstacle between you and her finally being able to be together.”

“That’s not true.” He must have seen something in her face, because his gaze sharpened, shifting closer to her on the floor, jaw setting stubbornly, deadly serious. “Hey, look at me,” he commanded, gently, waiting until she did before he continued. “We’re going to be okay,” he swore. “I love you so much. I’m not going to leave you. Not now; not ever, alright?”

“She might make you…”

“She can’t make me do anything. I’m not leaving you, and if that upsets her, that’s her problem. She knows what our arrangement is; I made it as clear as I possibly could.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of any problems for you, Tommy…” Lucy mumbled weakly. It was her job–literally–to help make his life easier. If her presence started to become the root of serious issues…

“You could never be a problem for me,” he sounded wholly astonished at the mere suggestion. Holding her face as though it were the most precious thing in the entire world, he stroked her cheek rhythmically with the pad of his thumb. Those blue eyes pierced into her, urgent and sincere. “I love you, Lucy.”    

She swallowed hard, forcing back another welling of tears. With it, she squashed down the still enduring batch of insecurities roiling within her, agitated and threatening to bubble to the surface like an unattended stew. Everything still felt raw, heart aching in her chest, but the comfort that Tommy’s touch and earnest words provided helped. 

She believed that he wouldn’t let her go without a fight, and she believed that he loved her. 

It was always possible that she was being unjustly harsh in her assessment of how Lizzie would behave regarding the whole situation. They had been getting along prior to the whole threesome by the canal business, after all. Maybe things really could be okay between them.  

“I love you too,” she said, and he gave her a weak smile. 

“I…erm,” he turned, keeping one arm around her while he stretched up to grab the bouquet he’d left on the nightstand after first entering the room. “I got you these.”

She took the bouquet from him, burying her nose in sweetly smelling, freshly cut blossoms. “Where on earth did you even get a bouquet of flowers so late at night?”

“I, uh, broke into a floral shop a little ways down the road.”

“Tommy!”

“What!? I left some money on the counter and closed it up just as I found it.”

She gave him an affectionate smile. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

He looked at the bouquet with a frown. “It was the least that I could do, given the circumstances.” 

A lump formed in her throat. It may have been a small gesture, all things considered, but the thoughtfulness of it wasn’t lost on her. 

“Thank you.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, the arm that was around her returning to cradling the side of her head.

He was always so sweet with her, in a way that she knew he never was with anyone else. The efforts that he made to take care of and prioritize her had always been of significance, and she was forever aware of just how lucky she was that he so genuinely, deeply loved her. 

Treacherous, her mind yanked her back to Lizzie and the baby. Between them, Charlie, the company, the war with Changretta, various family affairs, and her, it was getting awfully crowded on Tommy’s priority list.

Maybe everything would work itself out.

Or maybe not. 

First guess who on that list would be the first to go. 

“Hey,” Tommy said, and his voice was like the sudden yank of a rope, pulling her up out from under the water she’d slipped beneath, sputtering back into the open air. “Stop getting stuck in your own head.”

A tearful laugh left her lips. “Pot, meet kettle.”

He snorted a little against her hair where his lips were currently pressed. 

She sniffled, head resting more firmly against his shoulder. Tommy squeezed his arm around her, until she was tucked tightly into his warm side. “Don’t ever let me go,” she pleaded. He turned his head from where his cheek was resting against her head to kiss her hair. 

“Never. I promise.”

Angling her head up, Lucy pressed her nose to his throat, breathing in the scent of faded cologne and lingering smoke. He smelled of pine; like a campfire in the middle of the woods. Like safety. Like home. 

She ghosted her lips tentatively across his neck, feeling him respond to her touch instantaneously, fingers curling under her chin, head tilting down so that he could catch her lips with his. The kiss was slow and infinitely gentle, soft mouth moving against hers like he was trying to pour his love into her with each caress. Even after their lips broke apart, he began earnestly kissing the lingering remnants of her tears away. Gingerly setting her bouquet aside, she twisted her body to press more tightly against his, Tommy’s hands encouraging her to slide into his lap.

Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him again, lips parting to his, head angling to allow the meeting of their mouths to become deeper. Warmth from his large hand where it was pressed to the middle of her back seeped in through her shirt.   

“Mm. Are you sure?” he asked, nosing at her hair, hands cradling her in close, so that she was firmly straddling his hips.

“Yes,” she breathed out, nodding, fingers diving into his hair. Tommy kissed her again, the hand on her back sliding up to cradle the back of her head, the other stroking her thigh. Rising up from where he’d been seated and taking her with him, his strong arms lifted her up onto his torso. Hooking her legs around his waist to help him, she moaned softly as he turned them, promptly depositing her on her back on the bed behind them, falling with her so that his body almost entirely covered hers. Now that she’d started kissing him, she was unable to stop. Desperation seeped sharply into her blood, each pump of her heart sending it pulsing out to permeate her entire body.  

Maybe it was out of need for comfort. Maybe it was out of a desire to claim him. She was not entirely sure. 

Each kiss served as a reminder that he still loved her. That he wanted her. That he was there with her. He would not leave her alone. They would be okay; he would make sure of it.  

Clothes slid off, tossed in a shapeless pile on the floor where they’d just been seated. She whined when Tommy broke their kiss to instead suck at her neck, steadily making his way down her body, caressing her breasts, nuzzling at her scars, kissing every inch of naked skin laid out before him. 

The groan he let out when she grabbed his hair and steered his face towards where she needed him had her thighs twitching around his head. Heels crossing against his back, she tried to draw him in even closer, whimpering with her head thrown back when he licked a long stripe from the base of her entrance all the way up to her clit, wrapping his lips around it to give the sensitive bud a sharp suck. She could feel his eyes on her, observing her reactions to ensure that she was enjoying herself as he set to work pleasuring her. 

With fingers and tongue, he brought her to the edge of coming within minutes. But while his movements were earnest in their goal to please her, he was not hurried. Each and every movement seemed to carry with it the need to telegraph his love for her. Tender motions and soft touches. Praises whispered into her skin. Eyes heartful and adoring when they bored into her. 

He did not stop until he’d made her come twice, and only then it was because she had to nudge his head away to give herself a chance to catch her breath. The way that he snuggled his face into her palm had tears pricking the corners of her eyes, thumb stroking over his lips.

His brows creased when he spotted the film of tears preparing to spill down her cheeks, hand raising hastily to her face, half pushing himself up onto his arms to hover over her. 

“I’m okay,” she shook her head, covering his hand with hers where it cupped her cheek. He searched her face for a long moment, worry giving way to sadness. She supposed that he understood just as much as she did that the ache of what was happening with Lizzie would not leave for her a long time–if ever. 

“I love you,” she heard him whisper, dropping his face to kiss her hip. He climbed halfway on top of her, then wrapped his arms around her waist, carefully sinking his weight onto her and resting his head between her breasts, just laying on her for a moment in an embrace that she could have happily remained within for years. Hands rubbing up and down his back, she kissed the top of his head, holding him just as firmly as he was holding her. 

Tommy just held her for a moment that could have stretched eons or just a few simple minutes, before stirring in response to the light strokes she started to pet through his hair, lips pressing to the curve of her breast. She could feel his erection pressing into her thigh, pleasantly warm and heavy against her. When she adjusted her legs so they were looped around his waist, heel resting against the swell of his ass, Tommy let out a soft groan at the way her smooth skin shifted and rubbed against his cock with the movement, lifting his head to peer up at her.  

Slowly, he raised himself up onto his arms, balancing above her, and she was struck with the disparity between their two sizes. He was massive in comparison to her; Lucy’s body petite enough in its small stature and his large enough in its muscular build that he could cover her completely if he wanted. 

But the way that his body curled over hers was not threatening in the slightest. She had never felt so protected in her life. He was warm, and solid, and safe, handling her like the mere thought of hurting her was too agonizing to bear.

Palms flat to the pillow on either side of her head, he kissed her, the sensual slowness of his mouth moving against hers enough to have her practically melting in his arms.

“Please,” she begged between kisses, needing to feel him, needing the physical proof that he still loved her, that he was still hers.  

Not ceasing the press of their lips, Tommy reached down to take himself in hand, stroking a few times and swiping the head of his cock between her folds to gather up the wetness glistening there. 

He entered her slowly, hips pushing languidly forward until they were flush to hers. Lucy moaned at the stretch, legs tightening around him, hands landing on his back. He cupped the side of her face, still kissing her, breaths heavy, as he very leisurely started to rock his hips. 

A pleasured sigh left Lucy’s lips. He was so close. Buried inside her, getting as deep as he could possibly go with each thrust, chest pressed tight to hers, hands all over her. 

“Fuck, you feel good. You feel so good,” he husked between kisses. “I love you so much, Lucy.”

A lump formed in her throat at the way he said it, a sharp moan cutting her off before she could repeat the words back to him. He was still going slow, but his hand had joined the mix, fingers circling around her clit. 

His love was radiating off of him in waves, every touch, kiss, and thrust made with the intention of communicating the ferocity of his feelings for her. Truly making love rather than just fucking. It was nearly enough to bring her to tears, body shaking as it absorbed all the affection he had to give her like a sponge. Her walls tightened as the pleasure built between her legs, a moan bubbling up from within her chest. 

Strands of Tommy’s fringe, having fallen forward, tickled her face, his head turning to nuzzle at her cheek. 

“Tommy…I’m…”

“I know,” he purred, lips ghosting over her freckled skin. “Let go, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”  

Back arching, she wailed as she fell apart around him, nails digging into his shoulders and head thrown back. Tommy growled, face burying in her neck, hand going to her thigh, pressing down gently to get her to open up a little wider for her, hips never ceasing their deep rolls as he rode her through her orgasm and almost straight into another one. She clawed at his back, angling her head so that she could bury her face in his neck, feeling the vibrations of his groan from within his throat as she sucked a dark mark into the pale skin. 

“Lucy…” he grunted, pace stuttering slightly. The muscles in his back were tensing, his forehead coming to rest on hers, eyes glazed with pleasure. She could feel him all around her, inside her, cock swelling with his impending release, eyes staring into hers intensely. One of his hands, the one not still occupied with her clit, took hold of hers, interlacing their fingers and pressing them into the mattress by her head.

The look in his eyes was worth a thousand words. Devotion emblazoned as brightly as the sun within them. 

I will love you forever, that was what he’d told her when they created the blood bond that left the scars that still marked the palms they had clasped together. It had been true, then. And she knew, the full realization of it crashing upon her all at once, that it was true now.

He was still hers. He was still her Tommy.

Tears welled into her eyes, overwhelmed a little by both the immense pleasure he was giving her, and the sudden, absolute surety of her realization. 

She gasped, the tip of his cock grinding against her g-spot each time he bottomed out. Tommy’s mouth dropped open, eyes rolling a little in his skull, hand tightening in hers. His cock twitched inside her, and at the same moment his thumb pressed hard on her clit, and she cried out as, with a growl and the first burst of his seed emptying inside her, he pulled her right along with him over the edge.  

She started sobbing almost immediately, flinging her arms around his shoulders and hugging him so tightly, it was a wonder that he could breathe. He hugged her back, thick arms wrapping around her waist, face burying itself in her neck. His hips were flush against hers, twitching slightly with the last spasms of his release, cock still buried snugly inside of her. 

She wished that they could have stayed like that forever. 

Tears rushed down her cheeks, lips trembling as she pressed them together. The soft, thick tendrils of his hair slid through her fingers, hand smoothing down the base of his skull, feeling the velvety prickle of the shaved sides of his head, following the slope down his neck to stroke his strong back. 

Tommy turned his face to kiss her shoulder, then her neck. When his lips pressed to her cheek and he tasted the saltiness of sheded tears there, he pulled back, eyes wide with concern, immediately moving to push himself off of her and pull out.   

“N-no,” she tightened her legs around him, latching onto his shoulders with a twinge of franticness. “I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me. I just,” she let out an embarrassed laugh, rolling her watery eyes at her body’s over dramatic reaction to the sensations and emotions that had just crescendoed inside her. “Am having a lot of feelings right now.”

He cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing away a few of the tears. God, she must look like a mess given all the crying she’d been doing tonight.

“Bad feelings?” he asked, gaze soft but still worried, eyes fluttering when she brushed the pads of her fingers down his cheek.

“No,” her thumb traced over the spot that often dimpled when he smiled, swallowing hard, raising her head up so that their noses bumped lightly against each other. “I love you so much, Tommy.”

His throat convulsed in what she recognized as an effort to swallow down tears, emotion rushing into his eyes. 

“I love you too.” His forehead returned to its spot resting against hers. Both inhaled deeply as they kissed. When finally they parted, it was only so that Tommy could pull gingerly out of her oversensitive core, turning over to lay beside her on his side, gathering her up into his arms and tucking her into his chest. Lucy snuggled against him, closing her eyes while he stroked her hair.       

“I mean it,” he said softly, cheek pillowing against the top of her head. “All of it. We’re going to be just fine. I’m not going to let you go; not unless you really want me to. I love you. Nothing will ever change that.”  

She kissed the center of his chest a few times, murmuring similar assertions into his skin, tilting her head up to look at him.

“I love you too. No matter what. I can’t imagine any possible scenarios where I would ever want to leave you.”

Maybe that made her horrifically selfish, to not be willing to dutifully bow out of the equation so he and Lizzie could make a proper go of things. But she could not just let Tommy go like that. Without him, she would never be happy again, and she could not just abandon him and all the work they’d done. If something happened to him and she wasn’t there, she would never forgive herself. 

And, if the display of affection he’d just showered her with was of any significance, he would be heartbroken if she left. 

Besides, where would she even fucking go? Her only remaining family were her cousins and aunt in the caravans in the mountains, and she hadn’t spoken properly to any of them in years. 

He seemed incapable of ceasing gentle touches to her face, tracing the outlines of her lips and cheekbones, mapping out patterns in the constellations of freckles smattering her skin, before cradling almost the entirety of her cheek in his large palm.  

“I know…I know how hard and how…shit this all is for you. Thank you for staying with me.” The tenderness, combined with the utter relief and bountiful gratefulness in his eyes, had her heart twisting in her chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

She stretched up to kiss him again, both their lips plenty swollen from the amount of times they’d snogged.

“We’re gonna be alright,” she whispered. Tommy nodded, arms tightening around her. 

“We should both probably try to get some sleep.”

Laying her head back down on his chest, she snuggled in closer to him with a sigh. “Yeah.”

Realistically, neither of them was probably going to sleep all that much, but at least they could try to get some rest. Tommy shifted to flick off the light on the bedside table, arm returning to join the other back around her. Lucy closed her eyes at the feeling of him nuzzling into her hair, squishing in as close as she could get to his chest. 

It was not until the early hours of the morning, the sun already beginning to crest over the horizon, when either of them actually managed to slip into a proper doze. But the entire night, they held onto each other, not once letting go.

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[guess-my-next-obsession]

Breaking Up Slowly: Chapter Two

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

chapter rating: E (18+ only, TLOU spoilers sorta?, breakups, angst, cold!joel, arguments, accusations of infidelity, dom!joel, brief dirty talk, talk of unprotected piv, nightmares, anxiety, thigh riding, soft ending)

word count: 5.2k

series masterlist

It had been three weeks since the motel, or somewhere near it, at least—it was hard to tell when you were this exhausted. After a very hard fought win, Joel had scored the three of you a truck with the help of Bill, his…interesting acquaintance that lived in his own town outside of Boston. Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of nothing.

Until tonight.

Joel had been up driving for the better part of the day, his eyelids growing heavier with each blink. You watched him from the passenger seat, Ellie fast asleep in the backseat thanks to the old country playing on a cassette she’d found.

“Joel,” you started, secretly hoping that you wouldn’t have to say anything more to him than that.

God only knows what would come out if he got you on a roll.

“Yep?” he rasped, voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Let me drive,” you pleaded. Joel glanced over at you with a scowl, and although you could tell he wanted to say no, he was beat. “C’mon.”

“Alright, just for a couple hours,” he sighed, pulling over onto the side of the road. The two of you took a quick scan around before exiting the truck, the dark night making it difficult to assess the danger. “Here, just—“ He waved you over, silently demanding you crawl over his lap and trade seats without having to get out. You bit your lip as you assessed the risk—climbing over his lap meant you’d have to touch him, perhaps even feel his hand on your hip guiding you. Could you really risk opening that can of worms after weeks of relative peace? “What are you—“

You opened your door and quickly made your way around in the light downpour to his, opening it up and patiently waiting for him to get over himself and climb out.

“You’re ridiculous,” he hissed as he stepped out of the car, his shoulder bumping into yours as he passed you. Insults you could take, but the look in his eyes? That look of sheer disdain could’ve killed you if you were a slightly weaker woman.

Climbing into the drivers seat, you tried to blink away the tears that had begun to blur your vision while Joel seemingly took a bathroom break by a bush. You didn’t mind the delay, it just made it easier for you to rid yourself of your tears in peace.

“You okay?” Ellie’s voice from the backseat startled you, making you jump as you wiped your eyes dry. Clearing your throat you nodded, looking in the rear view mirror at her with a weak smile.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She gave you a skeptical eyebrow raise as Joel finally climbed into the passenger seat, still wearing his scowl.

“Hurry up and get on the road,” he demanded.

“She was waiting on you,” Ellie chimed in with an irritated tone, surprising Joel. He turned to look back at her, and although you were oblivious to it, Ellie gestured to you and mimed crying, tipping Joel off to your sensitive state.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and softened his tone, reaching over to touch your arm but it only caused you to jerk the steering wheel. “Jesus! Are you sure you can drive?”

“Would you—“ you snapped but stopped yourself from saying anything else, the clench in your jaw a sign of the inner strength it took to stop yourself from laying into him. “Just get some rest.”

“I’ll be able to rest when you get us there in one piece,” he huffed, crossing his arms and shifting in the seat so that he was more comfortable.

“Maybe if you sleep you’ll wake up less of an ass,” Ellie mumbled to herself and pulled a soft chuckle from you.

Although the two of you tried to keep all this drama between yourselves, you knew Ellie wasn’t dumb. She could see the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you, the way you quieted in his presence, the way he grew mean in yours. You didn’t want her to pick sides, but in all honestly, Joel wasn’t making it easy for her to root for him with his quick temper and no-nonsense attitude.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the road lulled Joel to sleep, his familiar soft snores shattering you in ways you’d never confess to out loud.

“So…how did you two meet?” Ellie asked after a couple hours of silence, leaning in between the gap between the two front seats to talk to you, her voice kept low as to not wake the grump beside you.

“El, I don’t really wanna—“

“Please? I’m going crazy thinking about everything…give me something less scary to think about,” she pled and you were sighing, caving to her.

“We met in Boston. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, I guess. Born there, raised there, was fifteen when the outbreak happened,” you started, eyes constantly flickering over to Joel to make sure he was still asleep. “For a while, the zone was…chaos. You were just a little kid, you probably don’t remember, but it was a war zone between the military, infected, and the hunters. That’s how I met Joel.”

“Yeah, he mentioned something about that.”

“Five years or so ago we were properly introduced—our groups sort of ran with the same crowd, I guess. Me being a smuggler and trader and him being…him.” You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as you thought back to simpler times, when his existence didn’t mean so much to you. “After a particularly bad incident that split him and his brother up, I managed to convince him to leave the hunting behind and do what I do.”

“And what was that?”

“Trading ration cards, supplies, meds…smuggling stuff in and out of the zone. Not exactly doing the Lord’s work, but…”

“Not hunting people.” You chuckled.

“Exactly.”

“So when did it…change?” Ellie asked with an awareness that shocked you, leaving you speechless for a moment.

“Eventually, you know, we grew from acquaintances to friends, then from friends into…something more. But there was a lot going on. I was head over heels for him since day one.” You kept your eyes forward, feeling your throat swell with hurt. “Tess was my friend, originally. But then she started to spend more time with Joel, and they eventually became closer than I was to either of them anymore. So, I gave him the choice to pursue her, and he did. That’s…that’s really all there is to it.”

“So…if he hurt you like that, why do you still want him?” Ellie’s questioning had finally become too much, your posture straightening as you breathed in a slow inhale. Your hand reached for the dial to turn up the cassette, desperate for a bit of silence.

“I think that’s enough talking for tonight.”

Ellie seemed to be emotionally intelligent enough to back off, sitting back in her seat and staring out of the window rather than pushing you for more answers to her endless list of questions. Answers you weren’t even sure you had.

You had all but five minutes of silence before Joel was breathing in deep through his nose, his eyes batting open and his posture adjusting.

“Shit, how long have I been out?” He turned to you but you couldn’t chance a glance at him, not after you and Ellie’s stroll down bittersweet-memory lane.

“Uh, a couple hours,” you replied in a weak voice, turning the music down. “We should find somewhere to pull over. I’m getting tired.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. I’ll take over,” he offered, rubbing his palms over his face until all the leftover drowsiness had faded. “Just pull over and we can switch seats.”

“We need to sleep and eat and fucking pee, Joel. We can stop for a while.” You finally turned to look at him, expecting that narrowed look you’d become familiar with over the last few weeks, but he didn’t look angry. He looked…concerned?

“It’s too dark out…ain’t safe right now,” he whispered, his voice as gentle as his the look in his eyes. “Just let me take over.”

You hardly had time to manage a response before his hand was reaching over, his palm warm as it hesitantly rested on your knee. You let out a shaky breath and cursed yourself for being so weak for him, shaking your head at yourself.

“Ellie, tell the woman to pull over so she can get some damn sleep,” Joel spoke up, looking into the backseat.

“Pull over so you can get some damn sleep,” she repeated, earning a chuckle from you.

“C’mon, darlin’…pull over.” You sighed at his use of a pet name, wanting to scold him for using it so flippantly, but you found yourself pulling over anyways. This time, you and Ellie switched seats so that you could lay down in the back and actually try to get some decent rest.

You felt a pair of hands run up and down your bare sides, warm and strong and so large. Just one of them was the size of two of yours, and even through the haze of sleep you could tell who they belong to. With a sleepy grin and eyes still closed, you reached up to his neck as he hovered over you, pulling him down until his face was buried in your neck. Arching your back into him, he slipped his arms underneath you and hoisted you back onto his lap, his lips pliant and wet against your pulse.

“Missed you,” Joel husked as he started to guide your hips against his clothed cock, hands gripping the globes of your ass over the cotton of your underwear. “Mm, wake up, darlin’. I wanna see those eyes.”

Leaning back, you still carried a smile as you blinked your eyes open, Joel’s concentrated look earning a soft gasp from your lips as the bulk of his zipper rubbed against your throbbing clit. A smile grew on his own face as he reached up and ran the pad of his thumb over your lip.

“So damn beautiful,” he praised with a look of awe. “I hate havin’ to leave this bed. Especially to go out there.”

“Hard day?” You purred as you leaned in to pepper his neck with kisses, your fingers making quick work of the buttons of his flannel.

“Robert’s up to somethin’…Tess and I tried to snoop around but—“

“Tess?” You immediately felt your stomach flip with jealousy.

“Yeah,” he replied, lifting your head from his neck to inspect the sour look on your face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You snapped defensively, already having shut yourself away internally. Joel gestured at your face, now irritated.

“That! You get all…worked up over nothin’,” he scolded. You mumbled a sarcastic apology and climbed off his lap and off the bed, feeling his hot gaze on you as you searched for your t-shirt. “How many times do I gotta tell you, Tess and I are friends. That’s it.”

“Yeah, Joel. So are we,” you reminded, the ill-defined nature of your relationship leaving plenty of room for interpretation even after two years of being together.

“I’d just like to have one god damn day where you act like the woman I met,” he snapped, standing up and following you out into your apartment’s living room.

“I’m not the one who’s changed!” Joel watched you as you turned the sink on and poured yourself a glass of shitty tap water, one hand on his hip and a look of disbelief written on his face. “If you would just admit that there’s something going on between you two, we could figure something out! We could…share you or something.”

“Like it’s a damn custody battle?” He guffawed, shaking his head and turning to look out of the window. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re fucking her!” You shouted, causing him to whip his head around. His eyes were pointed, the kind that you’d seen hundreds of times before but had luckily never been on the receiving end of. In just a few steps he was in front of you, backing you against the counter behind you. Your breath hitched as you stared up into his eyes, all the anger and insecurity leaving your body under the heat of his stare. With a weaker, broken voice, you asked, “Are you fucking her?”

“No.” He shook his head, his voice strong with sincerity. “And don’t you ever accuse me of it again unless you see it with your own damn eyes.” His hands gripped your hips again, his touch less revering but still just as needy and desperate. “You are the only person in this god damned world capable of making me this fuckin’ angry…and this fuckin’ hard.”

He ripped your panties at the side-seams, the cotton falling to the floor as he spun you around to face the counter and kicked your legs apart. Next came your shirt, quickly peeled off you and thrown across the room before his calloused hands ran up and down the expanse of your bare spine and around to your stomach until he was gripping your breasts with both hands.

“Maybe I just gotta fuck this jealousy outta ya,” he proposed as his lips traveled up your shoulder blade to the back of your neck, biting a soft mark into the skin there. You whimpered and nodded, sticking your ass out for him even more than he’d already arranged it, earning a smack to the plump flesh. “All you need is a little reassurin’, don’t ya? My jealous fuckin’ girl.”

The sound of his belt coming undone had you dripping with need, but right as he started to slip into you, you were bolting upright with a plea for air, a cracked gasp leaving your lips as you focused on reality. Joel and Ellie were startled by the sound as they sat in the front seats of the truck, both of their necks craning to glance at you.

It had just been a dream. A bad dream. A fucking good dream.

“Jesus, you okay?” Ellie asked, turning in her chair completely to face you as you sat in the backseat covered in sweat, your chest heaving as you tried to calm the aching arousal between your thighs. You felt completely embarrassed, especially given the racy nature of your dream. Had you said anything out loud in your sleep that gave your subconscious’s deepest desires away? Could Joel tell that you were dreaming about him? The way he avoided your eyes in the rear-view mirror did little to reassure you otherwise.

“Yeah,” you panted back to the teenager. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” she chided, tone laced with disappointment? Frustration? You weren’t sure.

“Ellie, knock it off and turn around. Put your damn seatbelt on,” Joel scolded, much to both of your surprise. Feeling the need to clarify his defense, he spoke again, “We’re almost to Pittsburgh.”

“Pittsburgh?” You gathered yourself enough to object to the plan. “You didn’t say anything about us going through Pittsburgh.”

“Well I didn’t know until about a hundred miles ago,” he responded with a curious tone. “There a reason we shouldn’t?”

“I’ve heard it’s littered with hunters. We should find another way around,” you advised, meeting Joel’s eyes in the mirror.

“I don’t know that we got the gas for that.”

“Joel…you know what hunters do to people. I’d rather us run out of gas in the woods and have to walk than to run into them.”

He took a moment to think about his options, his jaw ticking and thumbs drumming on the steering wheel before he was turning the truck around.

“Alright. There was a small town a few miles back,” he rasped. “We can try to get a night’s rest there and hopefully even some gas.”

You offered him a small smile, silently thanking him for listening to you when he easily could have ignored your advice. Joel didn’t smile back, simply nodding at you once through the rearview mirror, but it was enough to have a frenzy of butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Place is clear from what I can tell,” Joel pointed at an abandoned house he just cleared in a small, quiet town about an hour outside of Pittsburgh called Somerset. “Long as we stay quiet and keep our eyes open, I think we’ll be alright out here for the night.”

You stared up at the two-story colonial home, it’s red brick half-covered with kelly-green vines, the white of the doorframe and gazebo now a murky grey. Still, even in it’s withered state, it looked like a nice place to call home. Maybe in another life you’d be living in a home like this with a family you helped create, a cat or a dog to curl up in your lap, a husband that loved you and let you love him.

But that world is simply a fantasy.

The world you found yourself in was grimy, murky, overgrown with weeds and left uncared for. There was no place for a family, no time to sit curled up with a pet, no men left who could give or receive that type of love—that type of luxury.

You needed to learn to let go of these delusions and fantasies if you wanted to stay alive out here. Joel seemed to do it easy enough, after all.

“C’mon,” Joel urged you forward with a small voice, nudging his head towards the house while Ellie was already heading in. You cleared your throat, embarrassed that he’d caught you deep in your thoughts, but as you went to walk past him, his hand gently grabbed hold of your wrist. “Hey, you alright?”

No. No, I’m fucking not. Not with you holding my hand like this. Not with you looking at me like that. Not with you.

Your lips parted to speak but nothing came out. Instead, you gave him a quick nod, your response seemingly not adequate enough for him because he refused to let go of you.

“I’m fine,” you tried to reassure him again, this time mustering more sincerity.

“You can fool her all you want, but you can’t fool me,” he whispered earnestly, shaking his head at you, eyes looking into yours tenderly, almost longing. “What can I do?”

“Joel, you can’t fix this mess,” you gestured to your head. “I’ll be alright.”

“Will you? Because from what I can see, you can’t stay out of your damn head for five minutes,” he continued his whisper yelling, not wanting Ellie or any possible infected to hear. “Tell me what I need to do to help you.”

You stood there looking stunned or stupid, you couldn’t tell by the look of irritation on his face. What were you supposed to do? Beg him to love you again? Beg him to leave you again? No. You’d find a way to be okay on your own. You needed to find a way to be okay on your own.

“I’m not your problem anymore,” you finally decided on.

“The hell you aren’t,” he snapped at a normal volume as you started towards the house. He called your name, clearly not finished with the conversation, but you didn’t stop or turn around. “Baby, please—“

“Do. Not.” You turned your head around, eyes welling with tears instantly as you pointed your finger at him. “Do not call me that. You have no right to call me that.”

“I’m worried about you,” he almost whimpered, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he walked to meet you on the front step. “And you’re right. I have no right to care this much ‘bout someone I’m not with, but…I. Can’t. Help. It.”

“If I have to find a way to be okay without you, you can find a way to stop caring about me,” you argued, fighting the urge to lift your hand to his perfectly rugged face. “I’m tired. Can we go inside now?”

“One last thing,” he begged. “What were you dreaming about in the truck?”

“That’s private,” you snapped.

“You said my name.”

“Yeah, well…you’ve given me plenty to dream about in our time together,” you shrugged. “Good and bad.”

“You’re killin’ me,” he shuddered, shaking his head at you. You watched as his hand raised up, his palm ghosting over your cheek, wanting to cradle it but refraining from making contact. Holding your breath, you tried to will him closer, pleading to some unseen force for him to make a move, to make him try, but no one seemed to be listening. He dropped his hand to his side and sucked in a slow breath, his eyes bouncing between yours. “Just…be okay. Alright?”

“Yeah…I’m working on it.”

You grabbed the doorknob and walked inside, hearing Ellie’s gasps and stunned laughter as she checked out the home.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed as she came walking down the stairs towards the two of you. “This place insane!”

“Keep your voice down,” Joel scolded dryly, dejected from your conversation. “It’s clear, but that don’t mean it’ll stay that way.”

“Sorry,” she sassed under her breath as she reached you, following the two of you into the living room. “How much was a place like this back then? Like a million dollars?”

“Nah,” Joel started as he inspected the cabinets for any sign of spores. “Round here it was probably only ‘bout two, maybe three hundred.”

“Dollars?”

“Thousand dollars.” He corrected.

“How much was your house?” She inquired as she hoisted herself up onto the kitchen island beside you, your eyes and hands busy unloading a can of beans to settle your rumbling stomach.

“Ya know, that woulda been a rude question to ask somebody back in the day?” Joel grumbled as he turned around, your eyes missing the way his scanned over your concentrated face.

“Well, we’re not back in the day anymore,” Ellie retorted. “How much?”

“Three fifty,” he caved and answered her, too busy watching you to continue this back and forth. When you finished peeling the lid open, your eyes met his on accident, and you watched as he quickly turned to look at Ellie. “Three-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars down the drain, that is.”

Joel left the room abruptly, mumbling something about going upstairs to look around, leaving you and Ellie standing there with creased eyebrows.

“What’s his deal?” She whispered to you as you handed her a spoon, offering to share the can of room-temp black beans with her to which she accepted.

“I think that’s my fault,” you sighed, spooning some beans into your mouth.

“How’d you put up with him for so long? You two seem so different.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and shrugging. “It wasn’t like this back then. This is…new territory.”

“I can’t imagine him being any different,” she chuckled. “What’s he like when he’s not so…grumpy?”

“Well, he’s always a little grumpy, but that’s a part of his charm,” you smiled. “I don’t know, he was funny and sensitive and sweet…warm, gentle…soft.”

“Joel is soft?”

“Was,” you corrected with an exhale. “Joel was soft. Not…anymore, apparently.”

Joel laid awake downstairs on the sofa, trying and failing to will his eyes closed for the last hour. Through the window shined a midnight blue glow, casting dark shadows across the hardwood floor. It was silent, no outside force to be blamed for his restlessness, just his aching heart.

He couldn’t sleep knowing that you were right upstairs, clearly aching for him the same way he was for you. He could see how being around him was beginning to eat you alive and how you tried your best to fool him. But he knew you better than he knew himself, your eyes having been his safe place for two damn years. He could see that you were always lost inside your own head and he craved to be able to let you out, to help you come back.

Rolling onto his side, he stared ahead at the long-forgotten fireplace, it’s red brick now blackened with coal black soot. He had half a mind to believe that’s how his heart looked these days—it’s how it felt, at least.

His introspection was cut short by a blood-curdling scream from upstairs, the voice to adult to be Ellie. Joel grabbed his shotgun and raced up the stairs, bursting into your room ready to kill something, but instead being met with the sight of you, freshly awake and panting. You were sat upright on your blanket on the floor, your hand over your heart, eyes squeezed shut, shaking breaths filling the room.

“Just a nightmare,” you offered a bit of explanation in hopes of ridding him of his worry, his face still screwed in terror. “I’m okay.”

“Stop that.” The sternness in his voice woke you all the way up, your eyes widening as he stomped over to you. For just a split second, you feared him, the look in his eyes dark with rage and emotion.

But then he was kneeling down, dropping his gun to the floor beside your makeshift cot, his hands lifting to your cheeks to cradle your head in his hands. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until his thumbs were wiping away the stream of tears running down your cheeks. Your throat began to swell at the warmth in his touch, a sob threatening to break free as he stared at you like you were the only thing in this world he cared about.

“Let me be here for you,” he begged in a barely audible whisper. “Let me help.”

“It’ll just hurt more,” you cried, tears flowing again. Joel threw caution to the wind and pulled you into his arms, laying down with you on the floor, your face buried in his neck while he pet the back of your head.

“Is this helpin’ or hurtin’?” he asked in a whisper, his hand on your back rubbing soothing circles to calm you. When you didn’t respond, he tried to let go of you, not wanting to force his comfort upon you that if you weren’t comfortable with it.

As soon as his hands left you, though, you hugged him tighter, a silent demand for him to stay put. You’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be held by him, the way his strong arms wrapped around you like you were something precious, his warmth, the feeling of his body beneath his clothes, even the musk of his natural scent—it all soothed the ache that had been plaguing you since he left. Since the last time he held you like this.

“Talk to me,” he demanded softly, his fingers now lightly scratching your scalp. “What were you dreamin’ about?”

“It’s…embarrassing,” you confessed, your words muffled as you kept your face buried in his neck.

“Darlin’,” he cooed, his fingers lowering from your head to run up and down your bicep in featherlight strokes. Sitting up a bit so that you were looking into his eyes, you hesitated before speaking, not wanting to ruin this moment with the truth.

“Dreamt I was…” you sighed, exhaling all your anxiety and melting back into him, your cheek resting on his chest. “Dreamt I was dying…clickers feasting on me, and you were just…watching. You were just standing there, no emotion, no fear, no…grief in your eyes. Like it meant nothing—like I meant nothing.”

“Look at me,” he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to his gravely serious ones. “If anything were to ever happen to you…I promise you, it would shatter me. Would be the end for me, too.”

“Why can’t you just let me love you?” You asked, your voice breaking with emotion as you reached to hold his face, tracing your thumb over lines and freckles that you’d memorized by heart. “It’s all I want…just to love you.”

“Love me,” he rasped back, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Love me.”

You moaned softly, so hushed that Joel had to question whether or not he actually heard it, but your hands tugging him by the collar of his jacket to roll on top of you shooed all doubt in his mind. He let out a soft moan of his own as he slotted his thigh between yours, his hand stroking your hair out of your face as he laid half on top of you, eyes worshipping you in the pale blue of the midnight moon shining through the window.

“We can’t…not with Ellie in the next room,” he warned as he hovered his lips over yours, your lips chasing his. “Don’t let me get carried away with you.”

“Just kiss me,” you breathed out as you pulled him to your lips, a gasped moan spilling from his lips into yours as he gripped your hip so tight it might leave a few bruise marks. You swiped your tongue over his lips and he growled, rolling his hips into yours. You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers tangled in his slowly greying locks, your teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

“God,” he groaned, his hand slipping lower to squeeze your ass. “I missed you so much, my pretty girl…missed you so much.”

“I want you,” you begged breathlessly, grinding yourself against his thigh in hopes of finding some relief. Joel shook his head as his lips found your neck. “Please,” you begged again even more desperately. “I can be quiet.”

“We both know that ain’t true,” he smirked against your skin, seemingly lost in memories of the past when the two of you were free to go at it like wild animals. “But…you can get yourself off on my thigh. Long as you save all those pretty sounds just for me.”

“Fuck,” you moaned into his ear, continuing to roll your hips against his tree-trunk of a thigh. The seam of your jeans caught deliciously against your hyper-sensitive clit, your body buzzing from having the man you lived back in your arms after so long. “Gonna cum,” you warned, earning a squeeze of his hands on your ass and his teeth biting at your neck. “Joel…fuck…I’m…oh,” you spoke through pants until you broke, your hips stuttering against his thigh as your orgasm hit you hard enough to hurt, the violent aftershocks of your euphoria almost too blissful to take.

“There you go,” he praised, kissing your pulse and running his hand up and down the curve of your body. Completely spent, you felt yourself falling back to sleep underneath him, Joel’s warmth and weight your new favorite blanket.

Joel kissed your temple before moving to get up, needing to go back downstairs in order to watch the front door for any intruders. Feeling his warmth leaving you, you tried to reach out and grab him but quickly gave up, your exhaustion triumphing over your desire. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at you, sleeping peacefully with a glow still on your cheeks from your orgasm. You looked so beautiful and delicate, this world failing to get to you, failing to turn you cold and worn down like everybody else. Though he knew this was dangerous—you and him tiptoeing over the line he drew between you—he couldn’t bear to keep himself from you anymore, not now that he got the chance to hold you again.

Leaning down to press one last kiss to your cheek, he pulled your blanket over your body.

“Sleep well, honey,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear as he debated speaking the words he’d long been withholding from you. But here, with you fast asleep, he couldn’t stop himself from confessing the truth. “I love you more than anything in the world. I’m sorry I never showed it.”

As Joel grabbed his gun and turned to leave, he heard your voice, soft and husky with sleep.

“I love you, too.”

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[rogue--nation]

Uncommon Simon Ghost Riley (mostly for OG than Reboot) Headcanons that I find realistic.

1. Social Anxiety and Communication Issues. Simon finds it difficult to communicate with people outside his field of work, especially women. He doesn't have much experience with them and he is afraid to be perceived as a freak. However, women are usually afraid of him, sometimes curious, but keep away, feeling this sense of uneasiness, awkwardness around him. It is simply because he doesn't know how to be a so called normal person. Nothing about him is quite normal. Military has always been a significant part of his life, of him entirely. He doesn't know what to talk about or even finds civilian life boring. Every time he is on a shore leave he feels like an outsider among the locals. He keeps to himself to save himself from a conflict or an embarrassment. But if he gets comfortable enough around someone, he can be perceived as a very interesting and intelligent person. Simon usually gets rid of this anxiety by drinking. A little bit of alcohol percentage really makes him a normal person.

2. Soldier intuition and reflexes. It helps him a lot and sometimes... It causes trouble. Intuition sure saves his life in tricky situations and also this same intuition makes him read the signs wrong and cause a misunderstanding, a fight or a conflict, especially around civilians. Let's say, he casually activates his fight or flight response. Not always, of course, but there are some instances that make his life a lot harder than it has to be.

3. Adrenaline addiction. He is very paranoid. Always ready for a fight. Maybe even looking for it, looking for trouble. Civilian life indeed is boring for him for this lack of adrenaline release, so sometimes he intentionally escalates situation to let out some steam, despite being a very calm person by nature. (IDK maybe that's why he still lives in Manchester, there's always trouble).

4. PTSD. Yes, he suffers from it. Especially after Brazil and Rojas. He's been tortured psychologically, physically. Beaten up, raped, buried alive with a corpse. And he fucking survived. It didn't make him stronger, it broke him. It killed something that doesn't let him step away now. This very mission has branded him, cursed him to go on and never lay down his weapon. There's no way back from battlefield for him. He has nightmares, but tries to cope with them. Most of the time he is to tired to have a very emotional reaction to such dreams. And he wears himself down to have a dreamless sleep.

5. He knows a bit of Spanish and Portuguese. And he understands when locals speak these languages, he can read and easily communicate, but he prefers to not show off this skill too much, this is a tactical decision. The less enemy knows about you, the less they're expecting.

6. Detachment from him face. He almost forgot how he looks like in the mirror, he barely looks in it. When he thinks about his face, he mostly thinks about his mask. It's a part of him now, like an another layer of skin. The skull pattern on it is an echo from the masquerade paint he had on his face during Los Muertos. He metaphorically died back there in Brazil, died in the hands of his torturers. He is shell of a man he used to be. He is Ghost now. Phantasma.

When he has to take it off, especially in civilian environment, he feels naked, unsafe. Like if he is stripped of something that makes him who he is. It's almost an equivalent for a regular person to put on a mask and hide their face. The mask IS Simon's face.

7. Emotional spectre and control of them. He has a hard time processing and understanding his emotions sometimes. He reads anger well. Despair, too. They're common. But others, more complex states are a mystery to him. Cause-and-effect relationships of his own mind are troubling time to time. He well knows what can trigger him. And when Simon understands what's bothering him, he can develop means to control it.

The struggle to read himself, however, does not affect his ability to read others, especially the enemies. He can predict what they're about to do, how they're going to react.

On the outside, he tries not to show much, but his voice reveals his emotions in critical moments: the screams, the stutter, the growl.

8. Need for affection. Like any other human being he needs attention, care, words of affirmation. He lacks it in his life. Yeah, he is on a good terms with his team, he is stoic and self-contained, but deep inside he is needy. Physical touch, emotional connection, romantic love.. he aches for it. But his logical side clearly understands that he is impossible to love. He is a troubled man. Wrecked. No one would ever want him in their life. A burden. Loving someone like him is a death sentence. So, there's this emptiness within him.

His perfect match would be someone "normal", mature and understanding. By saying "understanding" I don't mean just being able to accept him as he is, but someone having a similar experience in life, someone, who knows how to cope with trauma. And this significant other shouldn't be a "crutch" for Simon, because in my opinion such relationship wouldn't last long. It's not about fixing him, but about showing him that things can be different if he finds other means to cope with his demons than just restlessly fighting. He has to make a choice: to keep himself in that vicious bloody cycle or finally step up and take another challenge. I don't think he can actually change, but he definitely can make it work if someone believes in him.

Yes, he can hire a prostitute and let out some tension, but he will feel terrible afterwards. If, of course, he will actually be able to get intimate at all, by setting aside all the anxiety, fear and hate he has for himself . It's easier to take care of himself on his own.

Talking about sexuality. As I mentioned, he is not very experienced and he gets intimate rarely, so at first he doesn't last long at all. He can be a bit awkward, but he is never rough, since he has enough violence in his life and for him the act of making love is about tenderness. He would never want to harm or hurt his partner in any way. He is usually quiet in bed, but can be very audible from time to time when he simply cannot control himself.