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peachesofteal · 10 months ago

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Simple Math / Part Six

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.

“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”

Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML.

That was only an hour ago.

He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him.

“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“

“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses.

“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.”

“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise.

It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet.

“I dinnae need-“

“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist.

“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses.

“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs.

“Alright.”

“What’re you doing after this?”

“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?

“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.

“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt.

“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.

“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”

“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.

Nothing like a seven am beer.

Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.

“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.

“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.”

You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.

“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”

“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”

“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”

“No days. You?”

“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”

“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.

“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

>Make it home from work alright?

>It’s Johnny, by the way :)

The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.

“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.

“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”

“What?”

“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.”

Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.

“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”

“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.

Your beer goes sour in your stomach.

“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.

You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.

By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.

It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines.

>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!

A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.

>Get some rest.

The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.

Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.

He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.

Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.

He won’t be your patient anymore.

He won’t… be your patient anymore.

The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.

This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery.

So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright.

This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake.

They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you.

You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own.

It’s for the best.

You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.

Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional.

Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will.

“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.

“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny.

“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer.

“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on?

“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.

A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.

“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”

“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.

“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face.

“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.

“Ye think so?”

“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.

“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”

“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Doesnae count. I was high.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”

“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now...

“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”

“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“

“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?

You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well.

"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.

“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.

“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?

“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”

“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number?

Of course, he knows, he started that group text.

Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-

“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”

“Y-yeah.”

“We, bunny? We.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?

“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”

“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.

“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”

“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.

“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.

"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.

Fuck. You’re so fucked.

Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.

Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.

Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest.

He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.

So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.

His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.

>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.

> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?

>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.

>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck.

Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way.

>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.

Simon, Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse? I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to. You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name. I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging. -K.L.

There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.

Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from?

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader x ghost

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kookslastbutton · 5 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter iv

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader (not poly)

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 11.3k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, tornado of emotions (you might laugh, you might cry, and you might just wanna punch something after this chapter), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, denial, self-deprecation in some aspect, etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: So, elephant in the room....how did this get past 11k when other chapters are significantly shorter? Well...I had ideas? I'm sorry!! 🫠 ANYWAY more angst in this chapter. Sorry not sorry for what you will consume here. I honestly love this chapter so much though! Okay, I won't say any more bc spoilers are cool but not in my fic! (hehe) Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

Numb.

It’s the only word you can rummage up to describe the sudden shift in your demeanor. You’d think one’s typical response to their ex-husband’s drunken confession would be one of confusion, anger, hurt, or the like.

But you’ve gone stone cold instead, barely able to feel the steaming hot water that kisses your skin from within the tub. The room seems to have become a bit of a haze too, your vision blurring as you grip your cell phone in your hand.

The absurdity of it all—the man who handed you divorce papers now professing his love—feels like a cruel joke. The sheer impossibility of the situation is almost laughable, yet you can't even bring yourself to do that at this point. You've exhausted all of your emotional resources.

You’re unsure how many seconds pass before his voice calls your name again.

“__? Are you still there?” His voice is a muffled echo in your mind. It sounds so far away, though you know he’s right here on the other end of the line.

"Honestly Jungkook…I don’t know what you expect me to say.” The words come out slow, measured, and almost emotionless.

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of his confession. "I guess—I'm not sure either. But I just needed you to know. I needed to tell you everything."

“You're drunk. You realize that, right?"

“I had a few beers, yeah," he admits. "Maybe I'm a little tipsy. But it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. I miss you, __, a lot."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re back in the past, back when those words would have meant the world to you. But now, they feel hollow, devoid of the warmth they once carried. And how can they not? You tethered yourself to your ex-husband for three years, learned his patterns, became acquainted with his needs, and danced with his indifference. In the end, the result is always the same, and this time is no different. By morning, he'll likely forget everything he's ever said to you and return to his normal habits.

You take a deep breath, your head resting on the cool porcelain tub, and close your eyes. "I can’t do this," you say quietly. "Not now."

"It's late. I understand-"

"No," you interrupt, voice firmer, "you don't understand, Jungkook. You don't understand me and you never have. I'm hanging up now."

"Please don't. I know I've hurt-"

"Stop. Do you know how patronizing that sounds to me? Please don't call this number again."

"But... I love you, __," his voice is barely a whisper. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"Goodbye, Jungkook." You end the call before another word can drop from his lips, or yours for that matter. It's time you accept that you are never more than an impulsive decision, a temporary solution, and an item on his agenda. Tonight's conversation solidifies that for you.

Despite being sleep-deprived the next morning, you refuse to let fatigue keep you from fulfilling your promise to visit Taehyung at the hospital. You've been anxious about him all night, tossing and turning without respite. The weight of your ex-husband's drunken confession added to your restlessness as well. Nevertheless, you push it out of your mind as you bound out the front door.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by an abundance of flowers, cards, and thoughtful gifts scattered around Taehyung’s hospital room. One bouquet on the windowsill catches your attention in particular—its familiar scent of lavender is instantly recognizable.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind you. You turn to see Dr. Min entering the room, Taehyung’s chart in hand. He seems more lively than last night, his expression noticeably brighter with a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” you reply. “I’m guessing these are from Taehyung’s fans and colleagues?”

He nods. “Indeed. Lavender is a calming scent. It’s no wonder people chose it for him.” The corners of his mouth lift slightly before he continues, “My girlfriend loves it too. She says it helps her relax after a long day.”

The comment is unexpected yet sweet. You notice the suppressed grin and the warmth in his eyes easily, signaling his deep affection for her. You wonder how it must feel to love someone so purely and without restraint. Before the thought lingers, your gaze shifts involuntarily to the man on the hospital bed, still asleep. Though the bandages are gone and his breathing is stable, your concern deepens as you take in his nearly still form.

“How’s he doing?” you ask, moving closer to his bed. Your heart tightens with each step as the cuts and burns on his face become more visible.

“He’s lucky,” Dr. Min says, walking to the opposite side of the bed, his tone growing serious. “He has multiple rib fractures, a mild concussion, and a few burns, but it could have been worse. Taehyung is stable now, and we’re monitoring his progress closely.”

“How long will it take for him to heal?”

“His face burns are only second-degree, so they should heal in a couple of weeks. The concussion should also resolve with ample rest and by avoiding strenuous activity—both physical and mental.”

“Which means he won’t be able to act for a while?” you ask, reading between the lines.

“Afraid not,” Dr. Min dismisses the idea. “Hopefully, his projects can accommodate his absence.”

“What about his rib fractures? I imagine those will require the most attention.” You feel like you might be asking too many questions, knowing Dr. Min will likely need to repeat everything to Taehyung later, but you can't hold back. After all, you made a promise to yourself last night that you'd ensure he'd be alright.

“Yes," Dr. Min answers carefully, "they could take up to three months to fully heal. We recommend applying ice for 20 minutes at a time, several times a day. As long as he remains stable over the next few days, he can be discharged to continue his recovery at home." He pauses, allowing you to process the information before continuing. "It's crucial that he rests. Even if he feels bursts of energy, he needs to let his body heal. Light activities like breathing exercises and short walks are fine, but he should avoid intense exercises until we give the all-clear.”

You nod thoughtfully, absorbing Dr. Min’s detailed prognosis. Taehyung’s condition sounds serious but manageable. After such a traumatic accident, it's clear he'll need months to heal. Getting him to adhere to the doctor's orders will be challenging, given his profession and active social calendar. However, if you need to be the one to remind him, you will.

“I’ll make sure he follows your recommendations,” you assure Dr. Min, your voice tinged with concern.

“I have no doubt,” Dr. Min replies with a reassuring smile. “You know, you're the first person who’s shown up for him both last night and today. Aside from that young man who came in briefly. Namjoon, right?”

“Yeah,” you respond slowly, the revelation catching you off guard. “He works as my secretary but he's also a good friend of Taehyung's. His family really hasn’t come in yet?” You circle back to Dr. Min's first point with a sense of urgency.

You wouldn't normally be this insistent on the matter; however, past conversations with Taehyung have revealed how much he cherishes his family, often sharing stories about their reunions with warmth and enthusiasm. With such a loving family, you’re taken aback that they haven’t shown up yet. Then again, his accident was sudden, and there could be various reasons for their delay. Do they even know about his accident, for that matter?

“They called, of course, but you’re the first to actually come in,” Dr. Min clarifies, his gaze thoughtful as he responds to your concern. "You must be quite an attentive boss to show this level of care for your colleague."

There's an underlying suggestiveness laced in his tone, but you're quick to brush it off, redirecting the focus to Taehyung’s condition. “It’s the least I can do, given what he’s going through,” you say, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “He’s a valuable member of our team, and I want to make sure he gets back on his feet as soon as possible.”

Dr. Min's eyes twinkle, as if holding back further commentary. “Even from a professional standpoint, not everyone would go to such lengths for a coworker. He’s fortunate to have you.”

You feel a slight flush as his subtle implications continue. “Well, I just…care about his well-being. Besides,” you glance back at Taehyung, your expression softening more than you intend, “I know he'd do the same for me.”

For a few short breaths, Dr. Min remains silent as your attention remains fixed on your colleague. “I need to check on a few other patients so I’ll leave you two alone for now," he finally says, breaking the silence. “I'll be back to check in on him again later, but if you have any questions or need anything in the meantime, the nurse is nearby."

With a nod and a soft "thank you," you watch Dr. Min exit the room, leaving you alone with Taehyung once more. After settling into a chair beside his bed, you silently observe the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic sound of his breathing is a small comfort amidst his vulnerable state. Despite everything, you're glad he's going to be okay.

As each minute passes, nurses come and go, and the hum of activity outside the room gradually fades into a background murmur. You had only planned to stay for an hour this morning, but time seems to slip away as the clock now nears 1 p.m. You had hoped Taehyung would be awake by now, but he remains still.

After a brief sigh, the thought occurs to you that you don't have to spend so many hours here, waiting for Taehyung to wake up. It's the weekend, and there are plenty of other things you could be doing instead. Dr. Min could easily call you the moment Taehyung wakes up. But something in your conscience urges you not to leave. Just give it another hour, you think. If he isn’t awake by then, you can come back tomorrow.

Suddenly, a slight movement catches your eye. Taehyung's fingers twitch, and his eyelids flutter. You nearly missed it with how lost you were in your thoughts.

Leaning forward with nervous relief, you softly call his name. It takes him a few seconds, but slowly, his eyes blink open. He turns his head slightly, gaze eventually finding yours, and you feel momentarily transfixed. It's unlike you to respond this way, but you had forgotten how piercing and comforting his eyes could be. A genuine smile immediately spreads across his face once your eyes meet, though not as boxy as usual due to his condition. Nevertheless, it's encouraging to see him awake and responsive.

“Hi," his voice is strained but recognizable. "It's...nice to see you."

“The feeling's mutual,” you respond gently. “How are you feeling?”

He shifts slightly, wincing a bit. “Like I got hit by a truck,” he mutters. “I’m sore all over.”

“You had a close call, but you’re in good hands now. Your doctor, Dr. Min, says you'll be okay, as long as you take it easy for a while. He was here earlier this morning, but he'll check in with you again soon.”

"You..." He hesitates, surprise flickering in his eyes. "You've been here since morning? What time is it now?"

"Oh, uh, it's around 1 in the afternoon," you say, gradually realizing the weight of your words. You consider whether or not to tell him the full extent of your stay. “I got here a few hours ago. Don’t worry.”

Taehyung nods slightly, a mix of gratitude and concern evident in his expression. “Thank you for being here,” he murmurs. “I wasn't sure if I'd be alone.”

A sinking feeling settles in your chest at his words, your throat tightening. Before you can ask what he means, he continues, “I must have taken a lot of your weekend from you.” His tone is apologetic, and your heart aches. Here he is, lying on a hospital bed, in pain and vulnerable, and he’s worried about inconveniencing you.

“I'm glad to be here,” you reassure gently. “I promise, you’re not alone. A lot of people care about you.”

Taehyung glances around, taking in the gifts and flowers scattered throughout the room. “From my fans, I’m guessing?” he asks, attempting to keep his tone light.

“And your colleagues too,” you reply. “We all want to see you get better." Taehyung returns his gaze to you, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Neither of you says anything, which unsettles you.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask, the question coming out more hurriedly than intended.

“I drifted in and out for most of the night. It’s hard to get comfortable,” he admits, "I think I could still hear a lot around me. It felt like someone was holding my hand for a few minutes too, but I’m not sure how much of it was real or just dreams, though.”

Oh shit. You weren't expecting that answer.

The possibility that Taehyung might have heard you talking to him last night shouldn't be that embarrassing, yet your mind races with thoughts of what he might have heard or understood in his semi-conscious state. Not only did you share more than you probably should have, but you also touched his hand to feel his pulse, and he felt it.

“Well, um, I'm sorry to hear you had a rough night. You should rest more,” you suggest, trying to compose yourself. "I should get going anyway and let you sleep.” You begin standing from your seat but don't get far before the gentlest of touches brush against your wrist. When you look at Taehyung, he quickly retracts his fingers, concerned he overstepped.

"Shit, I'm sorry, __. I didn't mean to grab at you like that," he says softly. "It's just...would you mind staying with me a little longer, please? I'd really appreciate the company."

You can hear the yearning in his request. It's clear that he doesn't want to be alone, and you don't blame him, especially after the accident he's endured. Settling back into the chair, you agree to stay a bit longer, perhaps another half hour, before heading home; you realize you haven't eaten lunch yet.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks. "We haven't talked in bit."

His question triggers a flood of thoughts, the most recent interaction with your ex-husband being one of them. Up until now, you've managed to push his drunken call out of your mind, preferring to focus on Taehyung instead. However, Jungkook's unexpected confession still throws you for a loop. It's not that you're riddled with the need for clarity on its validity, especially since you don't believe him anyway. How could he claim to love you when he also admits he doesn't understand his own feelings? On top of that, being drunk while doing so—it doesn't make sense.

No, the real question now is what happens next. How do you proceed? Will he try to reach out again? The way he asked if you still loved him before you ended the call weighs on your mind even now.

You know you'll need to discuss this with Melody during your next therapy session.

Before you spiral further, you decide to steer the conversation away from personal matters and opt for a safer topic.

"The company is doing well," you reply with a smile. "The new campaigns we've put out recently have been pretty successful. Although," you add, a hint of curiosity in your tone, "the team has missed your frequent drop-ins, especially Namjoon." If you're honest with yourself, you've missed them too.

"How is he? Namjoon?"

"He's okay, but he's been concerned for you," you answer carefully. "When we heard the news, we came to see you together, but he was quite affected. He promised to visit once you woke up."

"So," Taehyung takes a moment to process. "That was this morning, right?"

"No, actually, it was yesterday."

There's a brief, awkward silence as you sense Taehyung might be thinking the same thing you are—about your presence last night. Surprisingly, he doesn't bring it up. Instead, he eyes you curiously, biting down on his lip slightly.

"I meant to stop by last week," he admits. "But we were wrapping up the final scenes of my film shoots. The producers were eager to finish them. I'm just thankful we got them done. I wanted to spend a day riding my bike along a scenic route until... well, until all of this happened. I don't remember much, but I'm just grateful Tan wasn't with me."

"Tan?" you ask, curious now.

"Yeontan, my pomeranian," Taehyung explains with a soft smile. "He means the world to me. My parents take care of him when I'm busy with filming. I was actually planning to drive up and visit them this weekend. And, of course, bring Tan back home with me. They live pretty far from here, so it's better that I go up to them if I can."

Well, that answers the question about his parents not being here yet, you think to yourself.

As Taehyung speaks, you can see a flicker of fondness and relief in his eyes when he mentions his dog. It must have been months since he last saw him.

"I bet you miss him a lot," you comment softly, "Tan."

"I do," he admits with a slight smile, "but I know he's being well taken care of. Hopefully, I can see him soon. And my parents too."

"I understand that feeling," you reply, nodding thoughtfully. "Pets have a way of becoming family, don't they? I had a cat named Evie when I was growing up. She was a feisty little thing with green eyes, always getting into mischief. We got her from the streets and she was so slim, but it didn't take her long to beef up with all the treats we gave her. Whenever I was feeling down, she would curl up next to me, as if she knew. It's funny how they have that kind of intuition, isn't it?"

Taehyung listens intently, a small smile playing on his lips. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment at your tangent. It's one of the few times you've shared something personal about yourself that wasn't work-related. Feeling like you might have overshared, you decide to stop, assuming Taehyung isn't interested in knowing that much.

You chuckle inwardly at yourself.

Jungkook was your husband for three years, and he never seemed to care about such personal details.

I—" you start, intending to apologize, but Taehyung interrupts.

"Did you have any other pets?" he asks, curiosity piqued.

You chuckle softly, reminiscing. "Yeah, we had... uh, god, you don't want to know how many pets we had."

"Try me," his eyes become playful, yet there's a seriousness behind them, like he really wants to know. It's unfamiliar.

"Alright," you chuckle, "aside from Evie, there were three other cats. Calvin and Misha were the adventurous ones, always climbing trees, while Pip was the cuddly lap cat. Then there were two dogs: Toby, our sneaky Chihuahua, and Bella, a terrier who growled at everyone. Oh, and we had three rabbits too. Cute, but also feisty."

Taehyung laughs, "I sense a theme going on."

"What theme?"

"Well," he grins, "It seems like your household was filled with some strong main characters."

You chuckle at his joke. "Yeah, our house was never quiet, that's for sure. Each one had their own personality and quirks."

"You don't have any now though? Pets, I mean," Taehyung asks.

"Sadly, I don't," you reply with a hint of regret. "The company takes up a lot of my time, and I don't think it would be right to leave a pet alone for extended periods. I might consider getting another cat, but right now, focusing on running the company leaves me with little spare time. I miss having them around though."

Taehyung mulls over your word carefully. “If I ever get out of this hospital...maybe I—”

Before he has the chance to finish, the hospital room door opens, and Dr. Min enters, his expression serious yet composed. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, not expecting to see you still here and Taehyung awake. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he begins, glancing between you and his patient. “It’s good to see you up and looking a bit better."

Dr. Min approaches Taehyung's side, opposite to you. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

Taehyung's demeanor shifts instantly, his playful expression fading as he turns to answer. “Pretty sore, honestly,” he replies.

Dr. Min nods. “Let’s run a few checks to see how you’re doing.”

Sensing this is your cue to leave, you rise from your chair and reach out to touch Taehyung's hand. But you stop yourself short. Something about performing the physical action while he’s fully conscious instills a flutter of nerves within you. Instead, you gently tap his shoulder, causing him to meet your eyes. “I think I'll be going now, but it was nice talking to you,” you say softly. "Was there something you wanted to say earlier, though?"

He pauses for a moment before replying, his expression reminiscent of the time a few weeks ago when you declined his dinner invitation. You still don’t understand why he seemed somewhat disappointed; it's not like it was a date. He had made it clear he wanted to go out as colleagues. The only reason you declined was because you didn’t want him feeling pity for you, or the struggles that came with the divorce.

"It's okay, we'll have to save that conversation for another time," Taehyung's voice brings you back to the present. "Enjoy the rest of your day, __. Thanks again for staying with me."

"Of course," you reply, then turn to Dr. Min. "If you wouldn't mind letting me know when and if he can be discharged, I'd appreciate it. And Kim Namjoon too, since we're both nearby." Dr. Min nods in agreement. With that, you sling your bag over your shoulder and exit the room.

“He said what?!” Your best friend Jimin almost shouts through the video call, eyes wide with disbelief. You’ve just finished recounting your ex-husband's unexpected, drunken confession from the previous night. Jimin, who already holds a deep-seated grudge against Jungkook, looks livid.

“He had the nerve to say that to you? While he was drunk?” Jimin continues, his hands clenching into fists.

You nod, feeling a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “Yeah, I told him not to call my number again and he hasn't contacted me since.” As expected, he likely forgot all about it.

“Good,” Jimin declares with a fierce protectiveness, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need that kind of drama in your life, especially not from him. And if he even thinks about calling you again, just say the word, and I'll come down there and handle it personally.” He emphasizes 'personally' with such intensity that it makes you giggle for the first time tonight.

“Thanks, Jimin,” you say, a warm feeling spreading through you at his unwavering support. “I’m just trying to move on, focus on work, and other things.”

Jimin’s expression softens, and he nods firmly. “You're incredibly strong, __. Are you really okay though? It was a huge blow for him to make a confession like that and even though I dislike him, I know you still have some lingering feelings for him. I'm not a fool to believe you're unaffected.”

You take a deep breath, appreciating your best friend's perceptiveness. “It’s complicated. I’m trying so hard to move past everything, especially with Melody's help, and then he just…throws that at me. It’s like he’s trying to pull me back into his mess.”

Jimin’s eyes are filled with concern. “You don’t owe him anything. Remember that. He made his choices, and you have every right to move on without his baggage.”

“I know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “It’s just…easier said than done. But I’m working on it.”

“You’re doing great,” Jimin reassures, his voice gentle. “And you have every right to focus on yourself now. Don’t let him mess with your head.”

You nod, feeling a bit lighter with the support. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”

“I'm always here for you love,” he says, his protective demeanor softening into a warm smile. “Now, enough about that idiot. How’s everything else? Work? Taehyung? Everyone at the office is talking about his unfortunate accident, poor sucker.”

At the mention of your colleague, you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks. Did the heaters in your apartment just turn up or something?

“He’s slowly recovering," you answer. "I saw him this morning and we talked for a bit. He’s... he’s been through a lot.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, “You saw him yesterday too, right? And if my memory serves, you were at the hospital with him until the afternoon. I remember I texted you to see if you were free to call earlier than planned. Something you'd like to tell me?” A teasing grin suddenly spreads across his face, and you shake your head, knowing exactly what he's insinuating. It's like talking to Dr. Min all over again.

“Seriously, Chim, no, it's not like that," you deny instantly, heart racing a little. "He's been my company endorser for a little over six months now, and he’s been nothing but kind to me. With everything he’s been through, I just want to make sure he'll be okay. I feel somewhat responsible for him. Maybe I'm crazy.”

“Responsibility, huh?” Jimin smirks, unconvinced of your denial. “Sure. Because ‘responsibility’ usually makes people blush.”

You wave off his suspicions, a nervous chuckle escaping you. “I’m not, so if you wouldn't mind ceasing your teasing, that'd be great."

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you ask me, it sounds like more than just responsibility. Taehyung seems like a sweet guy, and you care about him. And I sense he feels the same way about you. Don't think I forgot about his little dinner request weeks back.”

You chuckle, brushing off his suspicions. “Oh, come on, enough. Believing that Kim Taehyung has any kind of interest in me is like believing that Jungkook loves me. It’s unfathomable. Taehyung's a colleague, that’s all.”

“Okay, excuse me? Unfathomable?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Someone help! My best friend is selling themselves short, again. __, you’re amazing, and anyone, including Taehyung, would be lucky to have you. That ex-husband of yours was an idiot, but just because he couldn't see what he had doesn’t mean others can’t.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but Jimin’s words hit a soft spot. “Chim, you're sweet, but I'm just saying that Taehyung is on a completely different level. I’m just me... a 30-year-old divorcee with a half-decent startup.” Those alone are enough to have any man steer clear of you.

“Stop this, __. You're much more than that, and it's pretty damn incredible,” Jimin insists, his voice firm. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. That’s not something to brush off. Taehyung sees that. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

You sigh, feeling a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “I appreciate it, Chim. But let’s just drop it, please?”

“Alright, I won't push it," he concedes gently, "just know I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” you reply, feeling a warmth in your heart. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably explode from all that bottled-up stress,” he jokes, making you laugh again. “But seriously, you’re doing great. Just keep taking it one step at a time, and call me if you need anything!”

As the call ends, you’re left with a lot to think about. Jimin’s words echo in your mind, and for a brief second, you find yourself wondering if maybe your best friend is right—that perhaps you do care about your colleague more than you’re willing to admit.

Well, either way, it doesn't matter; you've got enough on your plate as it is.

Starting with the stack of papers laid out on the coffee table, work you brought home that's awaiting your attention. It's a critical deal for your startup, one that could secure much-needed funding and propel your business to the next level.

Sighing softly, you reach for your laptop and open the latest project proposal.

You start your Sunday as you always do, with a book in hand, heading to your favorite café. It’s a ritual that’s been with you since your teenage years, and today, you feel a desperate need for its familiar comfort. After wrapping up the project proposal late into the night, your brain craved a break.

Entering the quaint café, you’re greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversation. Finding a cozy spot by the large window, you settle in for a day of reading, occasionally looking up to observe people passing by outside.

Hours slip away unnoticed in the serene atmosphere, lost in the pages of your book. Somewhere along the way, mid-sentence, your thoughts subconsciously drift to a conversation with Taehyung weeks before his accident—the day of your six-month anniversary.

You remember how he mentioned his interest in books that day, leaving you curious about what he enjoys reading. You imagine he might be into classic authors like Charles Dickens or Oscar Wilde. Then again, you might be mistaken.

Refocusing on your book, you manage to read another paragraph before thoughts of Taehyung intrude again. Did he have any company today? You quietly hope Namjoon paid him a visit. "Okay, __, calm down," you tell yourself, "Taehyung will be fine, and Namjoon definitely would have visited him now that he's awake." With a determined effort, you return to your book.

It isn't until the sun begins its descent that you decide it's time to pack up your things and head home. Passing by the hospital on your way, a sense of restlessness tugs at you once more. Should you stop and see Taehyung, even if only for a few minutes? The thought lingers, but then you recall Dr. Min's pending update on his discharge status. Maybe it's best to wait for his confirmation.

You continue driving, but the concern refuses to leave your mind. Eventually, you make a decisive turn, heading back towards the hospital. It wouldn't be as lengthy as last time—just a quick visit to check on how he's doing.

When you arrive at the hospital, you hesitate for a moment outside the entrance. It's Sunday evening, and visiting hours are likely limited. You check your phone quickly to see if Dr. Min has sent any updates, but there's nothing new.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to go in anyway.

Taehyung is awake when the nurse leads you to his room, casually flipping through a magazine. He looks up, his expression softening into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping inside. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I hope it's okay."

"It's more than okay," he replies warmly, setting the magazine aside. "I'm happy to see you."

You nod, feeling relieved that he isn't disturbed by your presence.

"Though, in all honesty," he continues, "I didn't expect you back today."

"I just wanted to check on you and make sure you're okay," you admit quietly, taking a seat nearby. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm better, just a bit sore still," he says sincerely, his gaze meeting yours. "What about you? How's your Sunday been?"

"Quiet," you respond with a small smile. "Spent most of it reading at a café, and then decided to stop by here."

"Really?" His interest piqued, he asks, "Which one? Sometimes I do the same thing when I have some free time. Or, I'll read at the beach too. It's relaxing."

"Well, have you tried the one on Willow Street? I've been a regular there since I was 16."

"No... I'm not familiar with that one," he admits, "I usually go to the one on 5th."

"5th? You know, I don't recall a café on 5th, unless..." you pause, realization dawning, "oh no," you blurt out unintentionally.

"What?" Taehyung's eyes twinkle with amusement at your spontaneous reaction. "Have you been?"

You hesitate to answer, not wanting to risk offending him.

"Yes..."

"And?" Crap, you were hoping he wouldn't ask for details.

"Um... it's okay," you reply simply.

"What? Just okay?" Taehyung exclaims, feigning offense. "Their coffee and tea are decent, and they have those comfy armchairs by the window."

"I know, but there's just something about it," you reply with a playful shrug. "Maybe it's the lighting, or maybe I'm just picky."

"Fair enough," he chuckles. "Maybe I'll check out this Willow Street café sometime. You've been going there for years, so it must be good."

"Well, I highly recommend it." You can't help but feel a bit smug, though you try to keep a straight face. It's just nice to have someone take your suggestion seriously. "You'll have to tell me your review of the place if you go."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully in reply, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of admiration. You look away, pretending to straighten your jacket. Why is he staring like that? You're not used to being looked at without some sense of hostility.

Just as you begin to feel a bit awkward, the door swings open, and a nurse peeks inside.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says kindly, "but visiting hours are over for the evening."

You glance at your watch, surprised at how quickly time has flown. "Oh, okay," you reply, a touch disappointed. "I'll be heading out then, thank you."

Once the nurse leaves, you direct your focus back to Taehyung. He smiles understandingly, sitting up a bit straighter. "Thanks for stopping by," he says warmly.

"Yeah, of course," you reply, gathering your things. "Did Dr. Min mention having you discharged any time soon?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing yet. Might be here for a couple more days."

You nod, feeling sympathy for his extended stay. "Well, take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Taehyung assures you with a grateful smile. He watches as you make your way to the door, but just before you can twist the metal knob, he speaks up agian. "Uhm...if you have time tomorrow, I wouldn't mind if you came in again. It was nice to...chat."

For the first time, Taehyung seems to stumble over his words. As someone who's naturally charismatic, not to mention a skilled actor, there's a hint of nervousness in his voice.

When you turn your head to glance back at him, his smile has faded, replaced by a hopeful look, hands gently clutching the blankets.

"Sure," you agree to his innocent request, somehow unable to resist. "I'll try to stop in tomorrow if I can."

His boxy smile returns instantly as he bids you one final goodnight.

As you walk out of the room, that same smile lingers in your mind—you're glad you decided to come by.

In the days that follow, you find yourself at Taehyung's hospital bed every evening after work. Initially fulfilling his wishes, you gradually realize you've grown fond of his company. Taehyung turns out to be easy to talk to, a good listener who encourages questions you wouldn't normally ask within office walls. Here you are again, immersed in yet another spontaneous conversation that neither of you minds.

"So, what's it really like?" you inquire, curiosity lacing your voice. "Being an actor? And what about kissing strangers? I've heard some co-stars end up together after playing an onscreen couple for so long."

Taehyung chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Being an actor is both exhilarating and challenging," he begins, reflecting on his experiences. "Kissing scenes... well, they're not as glamorous as they seem on screen. There are a lot of technical aspects to consider, like camera angles and timing. As for getting involved with co-stars outside of filming, I wouldn't be familiar with that. I prefer to keep those lines pretty separate."

You listen intently, fascinated by his insights into a world so different from your own. But one thing sticks out to you—how does he handle kissing scenes if he were to be in a relationship? Wouldn't that get complicated?

"I often wonder what I'd do if I had a partner," Taehyung muses suddenly, his voice thoughtful, as if sensing your unspoken question. "About the kiss scenes, I mean. I haven't actually dated for a while." Really? You think, he cant be serious...

"I'd imagine they'd be understanding since it's part of the job," you offer, trying to match his contemplative tone.

"Is that how you'd respond?" Taehyung's question catches you off guard.

"Me?" you ask, feeling slightly dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I'm just curious. Would you be okay with that?"

"Uhm... well, honestly, probably not," you admit, feeling a bit awkward. "I think I'd have a hard time wrapping my mind around it. I'd kind of feel like I was sharing my partner. I don't want to share like that."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, you mentally chastise yourself. You definitely said too much.

To your surprise, Taehyung merely gives a small smile in response. "I think I'd feel the same," he says softly.

The subject ends there, as the conversation soon shifts to his latest project instead—a romantic comedy series titled with a playful nod to a four-leaf clover.

"You know, I've never seen a four-leaf clover in my life," you admit with a slight chuckle.

Taehyung laughs softly, his eyes brightening. "Really? They're supposed to bring good luck, you know."

"Good luck, huh? I guess I've never had the pleasure," you replied with a grin.

"Well, then it's settled," he declared with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll find one for you once I'm out of here," he promises warmly.

You smile, exchanging a silent moment before hitting him with your next question. "Do you watch your own shows or movies?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Taehyung's expression shifts subtly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Honestly, I don't," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "I guess I've always felt a bit awkward seeing myself on screen. It's strange, right?"

You reassure him with a smile. "It's not so far-fetched, but I don't think there's anything to be embarrassed about. You're talented, Taehyung. I'm sure your performances are amazing."

Taehyung nods thoughtfully but then quirks an eyebrow at you. "But have you actually seen any of my work? It's a little cheesy."

You hesitate, feeling a touch sheepish. "Honestly, no," you confess. "I've never watched any of your shows or movies. But I will!"

A flicker of déjà vu crosses Taehyung's face, his expression turning thoughtful. "That's funny," he murmurs. "I feel like I've heard those exact words before, recently."

You chuckle nervously, trying to lighten the mood. He can't be referring to that night you spoke to him while he was asleep, right? "Maybe it's just a sign that I need to catch up on all the great acting I've been missing out on," you quip, hoping to diffuse any awkwardness.

Taehyung grins, his playful demeanor returning. "Well, I'll hold you to that. You'll have to give me your honest review."

"Deal," you agree with a nod. "So, as much as I hate to cut this short, I think I'm going to have to get going now."

"I understand, it's past 6:30 pm. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," you reply warmly. "Get some rest."

By Thursday afternoon, you finally receive the long-awaited call from Dr. Min, informing you that Taehyung will be discharged the next morning. You're relieved that Taehyung is healthy enough to continue his recovery at home. Seeing him yesterday, he looked the best he's been since his accident. However, a small part of you feels annoyed that Dr. Min didn't call you—he called Namjoon instead.

It was an ordinary afternoon when your secretary's phone rang. Namjoon was crouched over at his desk, concentrating on a number of spreadsheets just moments before. You remember leaping over to him as soon as you heard the words, "he's ready for discharge tomorrow," leave his lips.

It's now Friday morning, and you're standing in front of your secretary's desk.

"So, you're off to pick up Taehyung now?" you ask, as casually as you can. You do your best to ignore the lingering irritation growing inside you.

"Yeah," your secretary finally replies, glancing up from his screen. "I'll drive over to the hospital in about half an hour."

"Okay." You nod, biting your tongue. So what if Namjoon gets to pick him up instead of you? It's fine, you should get over it.

It's just a little odd that Dr. Min chose to call Namjoon instead of you though. You know for a fact you've been much more involved with Taehyung's well-being than he has.

Of course, Taehyung and Namjoon are good friends, but your secretary has only gone to see him twice over the past week his buddy's been in the hospital. You've been there every day, so wouldn't it make sense that you be called first?

Evidently not.

Namjoon will be taking Taehyung home, and you likely won't be seeing him at all today. In fact, you're not even sure when you'll see him next. Technically, you have his address stored away in an HR file, but you're no creep. And you most certainly are not about to show up at his place unannounced.

It's not like Taehyung has texted you today either. Not even a quick update on his condition.

"Um..." Namjoon starts, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "Is there something else you wanted to say? I feel like you're kinda hovering over me now, to be quite honest."

"Oh, sorry," you respond, stepping back a bit. You didn't realize you were staring at him, wordless, for longer than normal. "Nothing else. Drive safe."

As if seeing right through you, Namjoon's expression softens. "If you want to see how Taehyung is, you can just text him. I'm sure he'll respond to you."

"No, it's okay," you quickly dismiss the suggestion. You don't want to bombard a man who's just getting out of the hospital with your texts. You'll leave him alone to rest.

Namjoon gives you a knowing look, eyeing your slightly hesitant state. "I'm serious, boss. Text him. You've been at his side this entire week, so if there's anyone who'd be more deserving of knowing what's up, it’d be you."

Deserving? That's a bit far, is it not? Yes, you've been visiting him, but it's not like you saved his life or anything. It's not that big of a deal. You just wanted to...make sure he was okay.

"I—When did you decide to call me boss again?" you switch subjects, but Namjoon remains unaffected.

"Text him," Namjoon says for the final time before reaching for his keys in his desk drawer. "I gotta get going, but I'll be back after I drop Tae off."

"Tae?" You haven't heard him called that before.

"Yeah, it's kinda a pet name. Sorry, I started calling him that once we became friends, so it slips out here and there. It's like second nature now."

"Got it," you nod, a bit disappointed. Maybe you weren't as close to Taehyung as you thought. "Make sure he gets home okay," you finish.

"I will." Namjoon gets up from his desk and heads out of the office. You turn around and return to your own office once he's out of sight.

While Namjoon is out, his phone rings incessantly. You find yourself getting up from your desk multiple times to take calls. By the afternoon, you're exhausted from the constant interruptions.

Maybe you should consider giving the poor man a raise.

Before the thought fully develops, his phone rings again. You don't even bother checking the caller ID anymore; you simply pick up the phone and answer in your sweetest voice.

"__? I thought I’d be hearing Namjoon first... hey," his voice is hesitant. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"Jungkook," you reply cautiously, instantly recognizing his voice. "Why are you calling my work phone?"

"I... I didn't know how else to reach you. Can I come in or can you come into the parking lot? I have something to give you."

You pause, feeling a rush of unease. You haven’t spoken to Jungkook since last Friday when he called you out of the blue. Honestly, you hoped you wouldn’t hear from him, especially after telling him not to call again. It's strange that he keeps finding ways to show up unexpectedly.

"What is it you need to give me, Jungkook?" you ask bluntly, "I'm very busy."

There’s a brief silence on the other end before he answers, "It’s... It’s something personal. I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Please, can you just come down for a moment?"

You weigh your options, torn between curiosity and apprehension. His unpredictability lately has left you unsure of what to expect. "Jungkook, I really don’t think—"

"Please," he interrupts, his voice sounding more urgent. "I promise it won’t take long."

Taking a deep breath, you decide to handle this with as much grace as you can muster. "Fine. I’ll be down in a minute."

You end the call and sit back, trying to steady your thoughts. His sudden request feels odd, and part of you worries about what he might say or do next. As you make your way to the parking lot, you mentally prepare yourself for another potentially difficult encounter.

When you arrive, Jungkook stands near his car, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His usual confident demeanor seems replaced by a sense of unease.

"Hey," he starts, his voice tentative, "thanks for agreeing to meet."

You give a brief nod, keeping your tone neutral. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting yours. "I wanted to apologize," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for calling you up drunk."

You feel a flicker of irritation. This is what he wanted to give you? An apology that's seven days late? You figured he would have just forgone the apology by now.

"Why now?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, a defense mechanism you've developed. "It's been a week. I’m not sure if you realize that or not though."

"I know," he says quickly, his eyes earnest. "I wanted to come sooner, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or just never hear from me again."

You scoff slightly, "Well, for the first time, you are completely right. I don't want to see you, Jungkook." You try to keep your voice steady, but the raw edges of your emotions bleed through. There’s no point sugarcoating it at this stage; he’ll just keep pushing your boundaries if you don’t become firm with him.

He winces at your words, nodding slowly. "You have every right to feel that way. I messed up, big time. I just wanted you to know that I'm truly sorry. You deserve someone who isn't as screwed up as I am. But I still mean everything I said that night. I do love you. It took me until now to realize that, apparently."

You sigh, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Love? Now? After everything? Somehow, it feels more like a burden than anything.

"Jungkook, love isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card," you say slowly, your voice somewhat shaky. "It's not something you can just throw out there to fix things. Not only did you divorce me, but you also led me to believe we could actually be something. All those weeks of you being attentive and showing up for me after I shared my feelings made me believe that you were honestly trying to make our marriage work, that you were committed. You lied to me, discarded me, and now that I'm not around, you suddenly miss me? No, I'm sorry. You broke my trust, and that's not something you can just apologize away."

You pause, feeling the weight of your words settle in the tense air between you and Jungkook.

He looks down, nodding again. "I get it. I really do. And I don't expect you to forgive me or anything. I just wanted you to know that I understand how much I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I understand if you hate me."

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to stir inside. "Jungkook," you begin carefully, meeting his eyes. "What happened between us was painful. You calling me drunk last week was also painful. I'm sorry about the challenges you had with your parents, but it's no excuse to put that on others. If you need someone to discuss personal matters with, I suggest you see a professional."

You pause, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I don't hate you, okay? I'm not that cold-hearted. There's still part of me that I think might always hold space for you, but I can't just forget everything. I need to move on, and that means you can't keep calling me at random times. It’s not fair to either of us. I appreciate the apology, but I don't think we can go much further."

He nods solemnly, understanding your stance. "Okay," Jungkook replies softly, his voice filled with a sadness you hadn’t expected. "I understand. I'll respect your wishes and leave you alone. Take care of yourself, okay? I...I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me," he says, his eyes earnest. "And... I'm really sorry for everything."

He begins to back away toward his car, and as he does, it hits you—it’s over.

"Take care, Jungkook," you say gently. "Don't overwork yourself, alright? Stay healthy."

He looks at you, forcing a smile. "You know I can't do that. It isn't in my blood." He sings the last part, referencing a song you both used to joke about, and you let out a small chuckle despite yourself.

"God, Jeon, I thought you'd stop with that song by now." you say, shaking your head.

"Nah," he replies, shaking his head with a faint grin as he opens his car door. "I'm taking it to my grave. I'll see you later, __."

You know the last part is a lie, an empty promise to soften the blow. Still, you respond, "Yeah, see you."

With that, you part ways in the parking lot, each going your separate ways. As you walk back to your office, the weight of the finality settles in. It's all over, you think, feeling the sting of a single tear trailing down your cheek. Unbeknownst to you, a similar tear streams down Jungkook's face as he drives away, each tear falling for completely different reasons.

Two weeks pass, and Jungkook keeps his word. He hasn’t called, texted, or shown up at your work. It’s as if he’s become a stranger, someone you once knew but is now part of a distant past.

Your days begin to regain a sense of normalcy. The emotional weight of the past few months slowly starts to lift, allowing you to refocus on your work and personal well-being. The company demands your attention, and you dive into projects, meetings, and strategies with a renewed energy.

Yet, despite the return to routine, there's a persistent sense of something missing. You haven’t talked to Taehyung at all since he got discharged from the hospital. You haven’t seen him either, and the silence pulls at you more each day.

Every time you try to get information about him from Namjoon, he gives you the same response: "Just text him. Don’t overthink it; he’ll be glad to hear from you." Once, you sensed that Namjoon wanted to say more but stopped himself short, making the excuse that it wasn’t for him to say. Whatever that meant.

You’re on your way home from running errands when the thought enters your mind for the umpteenth time: should you text Taehyung?

You’re torn between respecting his privacy and wanting to check in on him. He hasn’t reached out, so maybe he’s trying to distance himself or just needs time to recover alone, now that he’s in the comfort of his own home. On the other hand, you can’t shake the feeling that checking in would be the right thing to do.

As you approach your apartment building, you pull over into a quiet parking spot, letting your car idle. Gripping your phone, you take a deep breath and finally decide to text him.

You: Hey, Taehyung. I hope you’re doing well. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling. Let me know if you need anything. We still miss you at the office!

You stare at the message for a moment before hitting send. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as you wait. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he doesn't want to hear from you?

You end up deleting the message entirely.

Forget it, you think, if he wanted to hear from you he would have texted by now, right? Just leave it alone. You said you'd support him while he was in the hospital and you did. Now he needs his space to finish healing. He'll reach out when he's ready.

Your phone buzzes the next minute, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glance at it, half hoping that Taehyung was secretly telepathic. But it isn’t from him. Instead, it’s a notification from a friend inviting you to a small get-together this coming weekend.

Smiling, you accept the invitation.

Turns out your friend's get-together was a singles mixer. Unsurprisingly, you weren't approached much, if at all. It seemed the men were either too nervous, still associating you with your ex-husband, or not quite into accomplished women. That didn't stop them from ogling you, though, as your friend insisted that you dress for the affair. You didn't choose anything flashy, but it was certainly flattering.

Leaving without a phone number didn't bother you, though. At thirty years old, most of the people were younger than you, including your friend who was a couple of years younger. Plus, you found your mind often wandering to the one man you hadn't heard from in nearly three weeks—Kim Taehyung. Should you stop overthinking and finally listen to Namjoon's suggestion? Maybe it's time to contact him.

Lost in thought on your drive home, you snap back to reality when you slam on the brakes at a sudden red light. Damn, you hadn't noticed it change so quickly. Shaking off any lingering daze, you refocus and spot a man crossing the street ahead, a little dog trotting beside him on a leash.

"Taehyung," you whisper to yourself. "What is he doing out here, especially on this slipper—shit!"

Your heart skips a beat as Taehyung stumbles on the ice, struggling to keep his balance. Concerned, you pull up to the side of the road as soon as the light turns green, parking quickly and jumping out of your car to rush over to him. He leans against a brick building, his dog, Tan, yelping at your approach. Cute little guy, but you're focus is on Taehyung.

"Damn," he mutters, trying to steady himself. His eyes widen when he catches sight of you. "__, I—" he begins.

"What are you doing, Kim Taehyung?" you scold gently. "Are you trying to hurt yourself again?"

Taehyung meets your gaze, his Gucci scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. "No," he replies earnestly. "I just needed some fresh air. It's been nearly three weeks since I was discharged, and Dr. Min said short walks with Tan are okay now. My parents were here for a while, but they left this weekend."

His explanation sinks in as you take in his appearance. Despite the chill in the air, he looks better than the last time you saw him. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the cold, and there's a determination in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You should be more careful," you reply softly, stepping closer to him. Tan, sensing the shift in attention, continues to bark happily, tail wagging. "Are you okay? My car is right here, if you need me to take you home or anything."

Taehyung nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know, I know. Sorry for worrying you." He gestures to Tan, who is now circling around your legs in excitement. "Tan here doesn't seem to mind the ice at all, and surprisingly, he doesn't mind you either."

You chuckle softly, crouching down to pet the little dog. "Is he usually this friendly?"

"Not at first, no," Taehyung replies, his tone lighter now. He glances down at you, his eyes softening. "I'm glad I ran into you, though. It's been...a while."

You nod, standing to your feet. "It has. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"I am," he affirms, his gaze steady on yours. "Thanks to you, mostly. You were there for me when I needed it the most."

"Oh, come on," you say, waving off the comment. "I didn't do that much."

Taehyung's smile widens, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You did more than you realize."

You feel a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at his words, but you maintain eye contact, appreciating the warmth in his gaze. The longer you stand there, staring at each other, the uneasier you feel. Perhaps you shouldn't ask the question that's been on your mind, but it slips out before you can stop it.

"Why didn't you call?" you ask, surprising both yourself and Taehyung as he simultaneously voices the exact same question.

Taken aback by the simultaneous question, you both chuckle nervously, breaking the tension. Taehyung scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

"I thought about it every day," he admits, his voice quiet but sincere. "But I wasn't sure if you wanted to hear from me. I already took so much of your time, and I didn't want to ask more from you. So, I asked Namjoon to pick me up from the hospital. I thought maybe it would be better for me to wait for you to reach out and focus on recovering."

You nod, understanding flooding your expression. "I felt quite similar. I thought maybe you asked Namjoon because he's your friend. I didn't want to hound you when you just got released from the hospital, so I decided to let you recover in peace. I guess in the end, I was also waiting for you to reach out with an update of some kind."

Taehyung takes a few seconds to fully absorb your words before replying. "I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes reflecting genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was avoiding you. I would have been more than happy with you picking me up instead of Namjoon. I realize that I should have at least reached out to update you instead of going silent. I'd like to think of you as my friend too. But I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I just didn't want to burden you." His gaze becomes downcast as he stares at the ground beneath him.

You're unsure where you find the courage, but you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, gently lifting his face so he meets your eyes. You have to stand on your tiptoes a bit, which he finds endearing.

"I’d like to consider you my friend too, and that means you shouldn't worry about burdening me anymore, Tae," you say softly, your touch lingering momentarily on his face, caught up in the moment. When you realize what you've done, you pull back slightly, flustered. "Um… sorry, I didn't mean to call you that."

"It's okay," he responds, his voice gentle. "I don't mind. You can call me Tae from now on if you'd like. Also, you're not a burden either, you never were to me."

You're speechless for a second before replying. "So, friends then?" you ask. "No more mixed signals and reaching out when we want?"

"I mean, I’d like that as long as you do too," he confirms with a warm smile, though his eyes say there's more that he's left unsaid. You don't notice, however.

"Text me whenever you have something on your mind," he continues.

"I will," you promise. “You too.”

"Definitely.” Taehyung pauses, glancing down at Tan who's decided to lay down by his feet. "So, I was going to take a walk with Tan at the park nearby. Any chance you'd like to join me?" His gaze shifts back to you, hopeful yet uncertain.

"I'd like that," you reply genuinely. "But we're taking my car over, so you don't break a hip on this ice, old man."

Taehyung's mouth gapes open as he shakes his head. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm only two years older than you. Two!"

It's surreal.

How much you and Taehyung have started becoming friends, that is.

Almost two months have already passed, and it feels like just yesterday you were merely colleagues, you his boss.

Saturdays have become your day with Taehyung now. While part of you insists it's to prevent him from slipping on the ice again, deep down, you both know there's more to it now that he's almost fully recovered from his injuries.

Each weekend, you find yourselves exploring different parks and streets, swapping childhood stories, and sharing laughter over the dumbest things. Today, however, would be different. With rain threatening to drench the city, Taehyung suggested a change of plans—a cozy movie day indoors. Little did he know, you had a surprise in store for him.

You dash up to the front door, a bag of homemade food in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

Taehyung opens the door with a grin, holding his own umbrella. "Hey! Perfect timing," he chuckles, taking the umbrella from you and gesturing inside. "Come in. It's freezing out there today."

You step inside, shaking off the raindrops and removing your shoes. The warmth of his home envelopes you, a comforting contrast to the chilly rain outside.

"I brought something," you announce, holding up the bag. "Guess what it is?"

Taehyung looks at you curiously, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Hmm," he muses, pretending to ponder. "Knowing you, it's probably my favorite spicy chicken wings from that place near your office."

"Very close, Tae. Except these chicken wings were made by your favorite person in the whole world," you tease, handing him the bag with a grin.

Taehyung's eyes lit up as he takes the bag from you. "No way," he says, a mix of disbelief and excitement in his voice. "You made them yourself? You're the best, __. Seriously."

"It's the least I could do," you reply with a smile, following him into the living room where the TV flickers. "Besides, it's pouring out there. Movie day with good food seems like the perfect plan."

"Absolutely," he agrees, setting the food down on the coffee table. "I was thinking we could start with that new action flick I heard about."

"Aww, but I thought you said we could watch one of your movies instead?" you argue playfully, sinking into the couch. Tan bounds over, wagging his tail in excitement at the prospect of company. You scratch behind his ears while Taehyung sets up the movie.

"What? I don't remember saying that. Was I drunk that day?" he jokes.

"Well... maybe?" you tease back.

"I told you, __, I don't like watching my own films. It's weird, and half the time it's me kissing the female lead. You're going to need to watch those on your own time," he quips, his tone more serious than intended. The truth is, he really would rather not be there when you watch him kiss his co-stars.

"Alright, alright, getting aggressive over there," you chuckle, not seeing the faint rosy tint that's crept up on his cheeks. "We'll watch the action movie."

As the opening scenes roll, you can't help but steal glances at Taehyung. Despite the seriousness of his recent health issues, he seems more at ease today, a genuine smile gracing his face as he takes a seat beside you. It feels good to see him like this, relaxed and feeling more like himself.

Halfway through the movie, he nudges you gently. "Thanks for coming over today," he says softly, his gaze warm as it meets yours. "And for the food, of course."

"You don't have to thank me," you reply sincerely, nudging him back with a smile. "I'm happy to do it."

Unexpectedly, Taehyung reaches for the TV remote, pausing the scene playing in front of you. "Hey, __," he says, turning to face you, a hint of nervousness in his eyes as they shift from side to side.

"What is it, Tae?" You feel a slight unease, sensing tension. He's once again just staring into your eyes, wordless.

"Do you..." he starts but stops short, his voice trailing off.

"Yes?" You search his face for clues as to what he's trying to say.

"Would you want to go to a party with my family?" he finally asks, his words coming out in a rush. "My parents are hosting to celebrate my recovery, but really it's just an excuse to get the family together."

"So, a family reunion?" Your voice drops slightly, a mix of surprise and...disappointment? Why had you been expecting something different?

"I mean, yes, sort of. You don't have to if you don't want to," he adds quickly, almost anxiously. "I know it might be uncomfortable for you, but you've been here for me during so much of my recovery. It would mean a lot to have you there. My parents want to meet you too."

"Um... well, I've never been to a family function before," you admit hesitantly.

"You haven't?" Taehyung looks genuinely surprised.

You shake your head. "My family's never been one to do those types of things."

"Well, consider yourself part of my family then. Come with me, __. They'll love you."

"I-I don't know about that," you say softly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. "How can you be so sure that they'll like me?"

"Because I do," he urges gently, "and if I like you, so will they."

You're taken aback by his words, unsure how to respond. Surely he means this in a platonic way. Despite growing closer, you and Taehyung are just friends, setting aside any previous suspicions of romantic interest. Maybe if circumstances were different—if you weren't divorced—then maybe you could entertain the idea.

For now, you'll leave that side of him alone and simply be his friend. You feel a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

"Okay," you finally say, nodding your head. "I'll come. When is it?"

"They want to do it next weekend, weather permitting. We can carpool if you'd like, or you can take your own car," he offers.

"I'll think about it," you reply, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Great." Taehyung flashes a boxy grin. "Thank you, I was so nervous to ask."

"Of course," you say, offering a tight-lipped smile. Taehyung unpauses the movie, and you return your attention to the TV screen. Minutes following your phone buzzes and a text message from Jimin appears on your screen.

Chim 🐥: __! Hate to be bringing this up, but have you seen the news about Jungkook? Looks like he's preparing to step down as CEO. Did you know about this?"

What? You had no clue.

a/n: If you are mad at me, well....I'm sorry but pls blame jk instead. But I am hoping you enjoyed! 🥰 vote jjk or kth

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imperatorrrrr · 16 days ago

Text

I can’t sleep. I have work in less than eight hours, but I can’t sleep.

Nothing is determined yet. There’s still a path to victory for Harris.

But.

If Harris loses, I want everyone to remember that multiple things can be true at once.

- there is vast amounts of voter suppression and gerrymandering in this country. the electoral college is doing exactly what it was designed to do. oppressing the vote.

- there is a misogyny problem not only in this country but in the world. Harris is a woman. it matters.

- there is a racism problem not only in this country but in the world. Harris is a black and South Asian woman. it matters.

- the Democrats abandoned their base to appeal to and appease Republicans and it failed

- all of the gains in Georgia were lost because no one built on all that grassroots organizing that took place in 2020 and leading up to the last election

- the genocide in Palestine is a major issue and the way the Democrats chose to handle it hurt them.

- it is so incredibly telling that Missouri voted to overturn an abortion ban, increasing the minimum wage, and voted down a raise for law enforcement, but didn’t vote for Harris.

- leftist policies got votes.

- the Democrats had eight years to figure out how to defeat Trump, four of which they spent in power, and they didn’t do that. Instead they moved even more right.

- it is not the fault of Arab Americans and Muslims who didn’t vote for Harris because her administration is actively killing their families.

- the Republicans saw where their party was headed and matched them and followed them. the Democrats, meanwhile, tried to move the party even more right, and prioritized Republican outreach. the Democrats turned their backs on their own base.

- voting for Jill Stein is a horrible decision because her VP pick is a transphobe and is anti-abortion and she was endorsed by the fucking KKK. people are right to be mad at folks that voted for Stein because she isn’t an actual good candidate.

- we must discuss how the decline in literacy in this country has aided in the increase of support for Trump.

- look to the Democratic candidate and the Democratic machine to see what they messed up. because they messed up a lot. and they were warned at least a year in advance of how things would go.

- think about the rejuvenation this country felt when Biden stepped down and Harris was announced. think about the Walz pick. the “weird” campaign. and then think about how instead of running with this new excitement that was felt Harris went on tour with Cheney.

- bringing out Clinton and Obama to lecture Arab Americans whose families are being killed by weapons being sent from the United States instead of sitting down and listening to an entire voting bloc

- and still the amount of people voting for Trump is absolutely terrifying and sickening

multiple. things. can. be. true. at. once.

but again, there’s still votes to count. it really isn’t over.

and please remember.

the world will be here tomorrow. so should your resolve.

#Text #Politics #US Politics #Election 2024 #US Election #2024 Election #Kamala Harris #anyway I am actually going to bed now

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bucktommyscones · 3 months ago

Text

Devout

for Day 1 of @bucktommypositivityweek - Things they love about each other.

bucktommy - Words: 675 - Rating: M - Complete

Buck wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck as Tommy buries his face in Buck’s shoulder. He takes a deep, deep breath and says, “Wow.” He can feel the vibrations of Tommy’s laugh. “A ringing endorsement.” “Oh, always,” Buck says emphatically and when Tommy goes to move off of him, he tightens his hold, wraps his legs around Tommy’s hips again, and holds on. He loves this. He loves everything about Tommy, but this... It’s the way he got to come to Tommy’s house, which feels far more like home than his loft ever has. It’s the way Tommy was excited to see him, it’s the way he fills him, covers him, kisses him, and touches him...it’s almost sublime. Every aspect of their relationship is something to be savored. Buck knows that he has had great sex before, but this, what he has with Tommy is true intimacy. Someone he can make love to and laugh with all in the same time span. The thing is, he hasn’t told Tommy any of this. Not yet. It’s only been four months and he’s spent a hell of a lot of time wondering just when he can tell Tommy all of this, tell him that he loves him, but he’s got him in his arms and well, he can’t hold it in anymore. “I’m not crushing you?” Tommy mumbles against him and Buck runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “No,” he says softly. “Hey, can I tell you something?” Tommy leans far enough back to look him in the eye. “Of course. Everything okay?” “Oh yeah,” Buck insists, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him. He’s still got his legs wrapped around Tommy’s hips so he can’t go far. “Everything’s great, I just...I...I love this, you know? I love coming to your place and knowing you’re here. I love the way you kiss me hello. I love the way you got me out of my clothes like I’m something precious-” “-you are,” Tommy insists gently. Buck smiles. “I love the way you kissed every single part of me like you couldn’t get enough-” “-I can’t-” “I can’t get enough of you either, but my point is, uh, if that wasn’t quite clear is that I love you. Like, I’m ridiculously head-over-heals for you.” Tommy's smile is soft, but bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes and scrunching his nose in a way Buck always finds totally irresistible. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Buck says, remembering a night four months ago when they said those words when Tommy was looking for confirmation and found his courage and more when Buck kissed him back. “Evan,” Tommy whispers, searching Buck’s face, like he’s looking for confirmation then too and Buck hopes he’s giving it. He knows he is when Tommy leans forward and up and kisses his birthmark. “I love you too,” Tommy says simply. Like it’s not even something he has to think about. “Hmm,” Buck breathes. “Know what else I love?” Tommy chuckles, fond and happy. “What?” Without any warning, Buck braces himself and flips them over so that he’s on top. He buries his face in Tommy’s neck, sucks a bruise there. “I really, really love the way you say my name,” he whispers lowly into Tommy’s ear, gratified when Tommy shivers against him. “Wanna see how often I can get you to say it tonight?” “Please,” Tommy whispers and Buck won’t deny him anything. He moves down Tommy’s body, kissing every piece of skin he sees. When he gets to his goal, he hears it, deep and guttural, like a prayer. ”Evan.”

#911 #bucktommy #fic #my fic #bucktommypositivity week

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ohtobeleah · 2 months ago

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Day Five: [Breathe For Me]

Summary: The love of Jake’s life is plagued with chronic migraines after an unfortunate work place accident. But when a migraine feels wrong? Does Jakes initial response cost him his most priceless wife?

Warnings: Reader Death. Mentions of brain Injury. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Overstimulation. Migraines

Word. Count: 1.1k

Whumptober Prompts Day Five: Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When we’re hurt, our bodies send signals to form blood clots directly at the injury, to help stop any bleeding. It’s our body’s system of checks and balances. It’s a system that’s supposed to save our lives. Or so we hope.

“Jake–” It started as a headache, the throbbing pressure in your temples was only a warning of what was to come. Next, the little black dots in your vision appeared. Again, another warning of the storm that was right around the corner. No amount of pharmaceuticals or home remedies could help aid you in expelling the all-consuming migraine that was inevitably pending inside your mind.

The full body aches, the sinus pressure, the sensitivity to light. The nausea, head spins, and intense head pain which made it feel like your brain was about to explode from your ears, made you want to die.

“I can’t take this anymore,” You groaned out in pain as Jake pressed a warm damp washcloth to your forehead as you hugged your knees in the bath. He sat just behind you, offering you only the comfort you wanted when you needed it the most. “Somethings wrong.”

“Dr. Snowdon said this would be a complication from the surgery honey,” Jake cooed as he felt you shift in the water. He watched and shifted as you let your back fall against his chest as you sat between his legs. Warm, soapy water lapped at your stomach as you stretched out your legs. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

There had been an accident at work, one that no one saw coming. That’s the very definition of an accident though, isn’t it? Something you don’t see coming. Something that wasn’t intentional. Something that couldn't have been avoided.

You worked admin in the office department at Miramar, a usually safe office environment that makes your situation all the more accidental. Three people lost their lives, two people were injured. You were one of the two who lived to tell the tale of the office fire from hell. The fire that broke out after the old ass printer blew itself up. The office fire that caused an explosion that sent you flying across the building. The office fire that caused you to crack your skull on the corner of the wall you flew into.

The office fire that nearly took the love of Jake Seresin’s life.

“It’s not your fault Jake–” You nearly sobbed as you tried to focus on his gentle touch, instead of the overbearing, all-consuming pain of your head trying to tear itself apart. “It just sucks this is how my life is now.”

Jake pressed the washcloth a little harder against your forehead, hoping if anything, a little counterpressure would help alongside the warmth of the cloth.

“I know it’s not my fault, honey–” Jake cooed as he worked his magic, helping to soothe your pounding head the best he could. “But it’s so hard seeing you like this.”

Sometimes our body’s signals get messed up. And our failsafe goes haywire. Instead of making clots, our body destroys them. And the thing that’s supposed to help us? Only hurts us more.

Which means we start to bleed. And everything shuts down.

“You’re the love of my life Y/n, I hate seeing you in so much pain.” You didn’t respond, you simply laid there in the warm embrace of your husband’s touch. Your guiding light in life, and in the next.

It stayed like this for a while longer, the comfortable silence filled the bathroom as Jake worked to try and bring you some sort of comfort through your pain. He’d been with you every step of the way, so he wasn’t about to leave you now. But what Jake wasn’t expecting was for you to leave him.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Jake asked softly as he dipped the washcloth back into the warm water. At first when you didn’t respond, Jake assumed that you were just sleeping. He thought perhaps you’d found a moment of solace between the throbbing aches. “Y/n?” But when you didn’t respond when he gently tried to wake you? Jake’s heartbeat began to race with pure, unedited panic. “Hey, baby? Come on now you gotta wake up for me.”

“No, no, no, no, no–don’t you dare do this to me!” the poet Octavio Paz once wrote, ‘The Mexican is familiar with death. Jokes about it. Caresses it. Sleeps with it. Celebrates it.’ Jake Seresin was about to relate to those who had walked alongside death and his many unfortunate souls.

“Y/n, Honey open your eyes!” Jake cried as he dragged your lifeless body from the tub. In Jake’s eyes, death wasn't something to be celebrated. It’s avoided at all costs. You couldn’t die on him like this. You weren’t ever supposed to die before him at all. You promised him that. “Come on baby don’t do this, you’re alright,” Jake pleaded as he tried to bring you back, his compressions were hard enough to break your ribs. “No, no, no–I need you here,” Jake didn’t know it at the moment, but it would haunt him for the rest of his life. You had died in his arms, you had told him something was wrong. It would soon come to light that it had been an aneurysm that took you too soon. A complication from your brain injury.

“Wake up honey, please don’t you dare do this to me,” When death comes, it’s clinical, almost routine. But still with all the practice that doctors and nurses alike have under their scrubs, even surgeons are surprised by death. For Jake, he’d known for many years his career could lead him to an early, untimely grave. But he never expected you to be the first to leave. “I need you,” It was a painful, all-consuming cry that escaped Jake as he realised his efforts were futile. He held you close as he cried and mourned your now soulless state. “Y/n, no–no don’t leave me, please–”

Every religion, every country, every culture, death means something different to all of us. We all have different ideas about how to honour the dead. Different ideas on how to greave. Different ways of moving on. Jake Seresin wasn’t an expert by any means, but now he had the unfortunate experience of losing the person he loved the most.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

#ailesswhumptober2024 #ailesswhumptober #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin whump #jake seresin angst

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kingkunigami · 10 months ago

Text

— Shidou Ryusei

Masterlist.

So what if he played dirty to get here, can you really blame him? When the reward is the biggest trophy there is—

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, spanking, no prep, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, cum eating, cum swapping.

Pairing: Shidou Ryusei x f!reader.

Word Count: 2.0k.

A man who’s reputation preceded him, rumours swirling about the numerous exploits he was involved in that had to be covered up. Non-disclosures paired with hush money meant the internet was buzzing with convoluted theories about what Shidou Ryusei got up to when he was off the pitch.

But no one really knew the truth— for a man that was seemingly so dangerous and depraved, he was always focused on the win. Trophies and titles are only so important when they’re earned, the thrill of the chase almost more exciting than the prize itself.

Not this time, though— this time the prize was well and truly worth the chase. Leaving a line of deflated men hunched over out in the locker rooms as he stalked towards the room you were waiting in, ignoring every word that Ego tried to say to him as he pushed the door open. Slamming it shut behind him as he took in the sight of you sitting so quietly at the foot of the bed, towering over you as though ready to consume you whole.

“So this is what all the fuss was about, huh?” Shidou scoffed, shamelessly leaning forward to hook an index finger between the cups of your lacy bra. Tugging at the thin string as your breasts bounced from the motion, magenta eyes focused on your bare skin as the same maniacal grin that he wears on the field appeared, “No wonder those bozo’s are practically begging for penalties now.”

Shidou wouldn’t admit the lengths he went to in order to be the next one to have you. The desire and drive the other members of the program now had evident to everyone around, the way they all played the game now far more calculated and tenacious. Every man stepping up their game for a chance of claiming you next, which meant that Shidou had to adapt. And now that he was here in the room with you, he’d admit it was worth the yellow card he’d received after shouldering Isagi as he was about to score. The poor fucker trying to jog off a hurt ankle for the rest of the match, while Shidou managed to intercept the penalty given and knocked his own goal into the top left corner.

“Don’t worry, Isagi,” Shidou called across the pitch as the players made their way towards the locker rooms. Holding up his fingers in a peace sign towards Isagi after before moving them to his lips to stick his tongue out between them in a lewd gesture— a reminder to his rival of what reward awaited Shidou tonight, and left the poor striker fucking his fist in the showers at the thought of it, “I’ll tell you how she tastes.”

You could smell him, a virile musk that shrouded his form and clung to his football shirt that made your thighs shudder. Clearly, he hadn’t even bothered to shower after the game before finding his way here to you— deciding this matter was of far higher importance as he shrugged his damp shirt up and over his head.

“Aww, don’t worry,” He cooed as he noticed the way your eyes widened at his bold movement, voice oozing with faux sympathy, “I’ll be gentle.”

Shidou broke off into a laugh after, as though he couldn’t even believe his lie long enough to endorse it. Catching you by surprise as he wrapped a palm around your thigh to flip you over, pulling a surprised squeal from your lips as he took in the view of your round ass.

“Shit, that ass is fuckin’ eating your panties, huh?” He was so crass, the words had an intense heat rushing to your face as he smacked a large palm down on your right cheek hard. Splaying all of his fingers for maximum impact as he palmed your cheek after, letting the meat of it mould around his fingers as he shook roughly, “Can’t wait to make it bounce.”

You cried out when he spanked you the second time, the dull ache from the first now ebbing to a sting as he gave the other cheek the same attention. The sensitive skin darkening from his ministrations as he pushed his hips forward, feeling his naked length now perched between the curve of your ass. When had he even—

You turned your head back to see his football shorts left bunched around his thighs, barely enough to free his hard cock. And although he hadn’t been as big as you’d anticipated him to be, nothing could seemingly be as big as his ego. The length definitely made up for his size, forking veins scattered along him as they melded into a bulging, swollen tip.

“Like what you see, babe? And unlike these other losers, I know how to use it too—” He sneered, wrapping a palm around himself to give a teasing pump before slapping the tip of it against your ass, leaving a silvery line of pre against your skin, “On your knees.”

Shidou slapped the side of your thigh as he leaned back on his calves, watching in amusement as you assembled the position. Bracing yourself on your palms as you kneeled, legs on either side of him as he reached out to run his fingers along the crotch of your panties. A guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest at the sensation, feeling how wet the material was before he’d even really toyed with you.

“Does he make you get yourself wet before, or is this all for me?” Shidou smirked, pinching your labia between his thumb and forefinger as he toyed with your folds, “It’s all because of me, ain’t it?”

Knew it, he murmured beneath his breath as he continued to play with you like a toddler with a new toy at Christmas. Rough hands prodding at you as he did as he pleased, thumbing your clit to pull more pretty moans from between your lips before tugging your panties to the side. Grinning as he watched the glistening strings of your slick stick to the fabric and break off against your skin as your tight hole fluttered around nothing. He pushed his middle finger forward, prodding it against your hole to feel how tight you were. Biting down on his bottom lip as he dragged the calloused pad along your inner walls, watching in amusement as you tried to push back into his touch.

“I thought I’d have to prep you or some shit, but looks like this pretty pussy’s practically begging for me, ain’t she?” He snorted, moving into position as he took himself in a rough fist. Lining himself up with your drooling slit as he dragged his leaky tip through your folds, coating himself in you as he slowly began to push forward, “So fuckin’ easy.”

“Oh,” You exhaled, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you as you felt Shidou push into your tight sex, unbothered about the slight resistance as he rolled his hips.

“Shit,” Shidou grunted, “No wonder those fuckers are actually trying now, you got this perfect angel cunt.”

Shindou was ruthless as he started a brutal pace, hands splayed against your ass as he spread your cheeks apart to watch his cock disappear inside your wet heat. Creamy rings of your slick circling his length as his balls slapped against your clit with each rough thrust. Your arms became weak trying to keep up with the force of his movements, shaking before you collapsed onto your forearms. Changing the angle of his thrusts as he moved to curl over your body, one of his hands now pressed to the sheets beside you while the other curled into the back of your bra. Roughly holding the clasp as the wires dug into your chest, pink eyes watching the swell of your ass ripple with the force of his thrusts.

“Shit, baby. You’re tryin’ to get me to cum fast, ain’tcha?” He trailed off into a groan as he felt your walls clench around him from his tone.

You couldn’t keep your head up, your forehead now against the sheets as he fucked you hard and fast. The tip of his long cock so deep inside you that it gave your cervix a bruising kiss with each forward motion, certain that you’d feel his cum in your guts if he came inside.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. The pleasure numbing the pain as your cunt cried out for relief, the euphoria swirling inside you as you teetered on the edge of your climax. Embarrassed at the pathetic whines that you couldn’t stop from spilling from your throat as Shidou fucked into your pliant body, overcome by pleasure.

“Oh fuck, baby. That’s it— cum on my cock.” You felt lightheaded as the pleasure finally consumed you whole, crying out in pleasure as your climax crashed down around you. Toes curling as your arms and legs gave way, collapsing onto your stomach as your walls pulsed around him.

Shidou didn’t miss a beat as he followed you down onto the mattress, his cock still buried firmly inside you as he pressed the muscular weight of his body on top of you. Chasing his own pleasure as your cunt continued to pulse around him, trying to milk him of his own release.

“That was so hot,” He grunted, chapped lips pressing wet kisses against the curve of your neck as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin, “Sound so pretty when you cum— I bet the whole locker room heard ya.”

He was relentless as he chased his own pleasure, the change in position had you even tighter as Shidou felt his balls tighten in anticipation, giving a few more rough ruts of his hips against the curve of your ass as he came undone. Coating your walls with ropes of white, hot cum as he emptied himself inside you.

“Fu-uck,” He grunted, his sweaty chest tacking to your back as he nuzzled your neck. Surrounding you completely with the scent of him as he stayed buried inside you for a few moments, cherishing the sensation of your walls continuing to clench around him in the tremours of your climax before he finally pulled out.

Smirking in satisfaction at the way your slick and his cum left messy strings along the length of his cock, glistening in the fluorescent lights of the room as he spread your cheeks apart to see your stretched hole.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” He scoffed, pulling your hips up as he pushed his tongue inside you. Tasting the bitter mixture of his spend laced with the flavour of you as he slurped lecherously at your throbbing cunt, sucking the mixture out if you and into his mouth.

You groaned as he moved to hold the back of your head with his strong palm, fingers digging into the base of your skull at the root of your hair as he tugged your head back. His other hand pulling at your jaw to tug your mouth open as he pressed his lips against yours, letting the debauched combination of your releases trickle into your mouth as he spat. The bitter taste hit your tongue as your eyes rolled back, his fingers moving lower to wrap around your neck as he urged you to swallow. Magenta eyes focused on you with the same depraved smirk on his face as he felt your throat bob, swallowing everything he’d given you.

“God, you’re a bigger freak than me.” He shook his head, leaning forward to give your glossed lips a languid lick before pulling back and making a scene of smacking his lips, “Maybe I’ll let those other fuckers clean you off my cock— see what they’re missing.”

If Shidou had risked a red card to get a chance with you today, before he’d even had you, you dread to think what he would do to get another taste. Stuffing his cock back inside his shorts as he pulled them back up, scratching at his chest as he gave himself a final look at your spent body lax against the messy sheets. Knowing that every single man inside Blue Lock would be jealous of him and the stench of you that permeated from him when he walked back into the room. That Shidou Ryusei currently held the biggest prize in the program.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And he intended to hold onto that trophy.

#tw:dubcon #trigger:dubcon #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #shidou x reader #shidou x you #shidou ryuusei x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou smut #ryuusei Shidou smut #blue lock x you #Shidou smut

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sheisjoeschateau · 10 months ago

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper. It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly.

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though. He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all.

And the way that Harrington looks at you? Especially when you’re not looking… Holy shit.

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust.

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

.................

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy. Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored. He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful. He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love.

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this. You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door.

***

thanks for reading :) comment to be added to my tag list for this series.

tags: @erastourvip @xprloki @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #murray bauman #enemies to lovers trope #they're in love your honor #Murray is a schemer #sorry stancy

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callalillywrites · 2 months ago

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His Scarred Omega Part 4

Part 3 / Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Word Count: ~1900

Summary: Bucky celebrates his first Halloween with his daughter and Omega.

Warnings: insecure Omega, flirty Bucky, flirty Jake, sappy-happy Bucky

A/N: I wrote this story really fast as I mentioned above. It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

With Halloween growing ever closer, Bucky invites Omega and Gracie to a friend’s place for a family-friendly party. Jake’s assured Bucky his niece would be there, someone Gracie’s own age as well as some others to keep them from being too bored. Steve also promises there will be plenty of homes they can trick-or-treat from, giving Gracie something else to look forward to.

Bucky can’t help taking several pictures of Gracie in her costume. (Omega managed to divert her away from the Harley Quinn costume and into something a bit more kid appropriate.)

He also snaps a couple of Omega when she isn’t looking to save on his phone.

Gracie’s now going as cute little witch. Her blue eyes are sparkling with a bit of help from her mischievous nature, so like his own, and some eyeshadow that Omega helps her put on. The costume’s light-up abilities really sold themselves when Omega presented it to Gracie as did Bucky’s endorsement of the costume.

“You look beautiful, sweet girl,” he assures her when she does a final spin for him.

“What about Auntie? She looks nice, too, doesn’t she?”

Bucky glances at Omega and nods. His lips quirk into a small grin as he takes in the Greek goddess dress she’s put on. She’s added a few golden adornments she’s made to complete her look along with some golden accent makeup that makes her face glow.

“No, I think nice isn’t the right word, sweet girl. I think the word we need for this moment is beautiful or maybe breathtaking. What do you think?”

Omega’s cheeks are heating at his praise though she’s shaking her head at him even as a smile makes her that much more stunning in his eyes.

Gracie eventually breaks through the spell casting around them as she agrees with Bucky.

Omega is doing her best not to let Bucky’s flirting get to her. There’s no way in the world he can ever be interested in her, not after everything with Dot. Besides, she knows he’s just being nice to keep himself in her good graces where Gracie is concerned.

She can tell he’s gearing up to ask for a weekend with Gracie that includes an overnight at his place. As much as Omega isn’t sure she’s ready for that, she also knows that Bucky and Gracie are growing closer to one another. It’s only natural he wants more time with his daughter, especially with so much time he’s already lost with her.

To get them back on safer ground, Omega steers the conversation back on track by saying, “I think Bucky looks quite the pirate, don’t you, Gracie? Looks like he could take over a ship in the harbor and sail away any moment.”

Bucky grins at that. “I’d never sail anywhere without my best girls at my side. Gonna need someone to make sure I don’t get seasick, you know.”

“Somehow, I doubt you get seasick. Those legs of yours look sturdy enough to handle even the roughest seas.”

It hits Omega a second later what she’s said, her cheeks heating further with the tips of her ears and neck joining in, too.

Bucky, thankfully, doesn’t comment further on her obvious embarrassment, but then, the weird connection they share between them tells her he’s quite flattered at her appreciation of his legs. Neither of them still have a clue why this connection exists between them, but they have slowly come to accept it over the last couple of weeks.

Soon enough, they’re heading towards Jake’s home with Steve and Angel.

Gracie doesn’t stop asking questions about his friends and Jake’s niece. Her hope of gaining a new friend is quite palpable as she’s been struggling in school to accomplish the same. Then again, it’s harder to make friends when you’re dumped in a new school after the start of the year.

Bucky’s certain she’ll find her footing soon enough as she’s only been in the school a couple of weeks.

He’s been checking in with her teacher about how she’s doing, something he’s been able to do since Omega added him to Gracie’s file. Sure, he’s only added as an emergency contact, but he’s hoping that will change to full guardianship soon enough alongside Omega’s name.

According to her teacher, she’s settling in well enough though she’s still a bit on the quieter side. She’s quite helpful though she does tend to stick to herself rather than branch out, but her teacher is seeing some signs that Gracie is adjusting and reaching out to her classmates, giving Bucky the assurance she’ll be fine.

When Jake’s home comes into view, Bucky can’t help the small smile curling the corners of his lips as he glances at both Gracie and Omega. He can’t wait to show off his daughter to his friends and her sweet Omega aunt.

Angel meets him at the door and immediately smiles at Omega and Gracie.

“Oh, there’s our guests of honor. It’s so nice to see you both again. Come in. Come in. Jake is so eager to meet you both. Plus, his niece just got here and is already bored with us grownups. Would you like to meet her, Gracie?”

Gracie grins at Angel and takes her hand without hesitation.

Bucky motions Omega in after him and manages to lean in to say softly, “You really are breathtaking, Precious.”

Omega doesn’t get the chance to say anything as Steve and Jake converge on them.

Jake earns a deep growl from Bucky when he dares to awkwardly flirt with Omega after their introductions. Rather than be scared though, Jake just shoots Bucky a cheeky grin while holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

“Only fair since you flirted with mine when you first met her.”

Omega arches a brow at Bucky then. “So, you have flirted with Angel then?”

“Only to mess with this dork. Angel will never have eyes for another alpha but him.”

Before Omega can get away, he wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her close enough so he can whisper, “Besides, there’s only one omega that has my undivided attention these days.”

“You don’t have to say things you don’t mean, Bucky. Gracie’s already half in love with you as her dad. You don’t have to keep flattering me to win her over.”

The guarded look in Omega’s eyes has Bucky pulling her closer. His free hand cups her cheek, his thumb running over her cheekbone.

“What if I’m trying to win you over, too? What do I need to say or do for you to realize I think you’re the most wonderful, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Precious?”

Omega doesn’t know what to say to that. As much as she wants to believe Bucky, she also can’t help wondering if he’s done this with Dot or any number of other omegas in the years they’ve lost touch.

Besides that, she knows she’s not like other omegas. She’s definitely no Dot. She’s never pretended to be. Maybe that’s why it’d been so easy for her future alpha to claim Dot while she’d been working hard for their future and Gracie’s. Doesn’t mean the betrayal doesn’t hurt any less though.

Can she trust another alpha to not hurt her again? Can she trust Bucky?

She’s still waiting for him to decide he’s done enough to claim Gracie through the courts and sever any connections she has with Gracie. It’s something she’s seen happen before, and she can’t handle the thought of losing the last member of her family.

It takes her a moment longer than it should’ve to feel and recognize the deep rumble pouring out of Bucky and into her. His hold on her tightens as he does his best to soothe the dark thoughts swirling within her.

This darn connection between them is proving quite maddening. It’s giving her hope where she shouldn’t have any. Bucky, for all intents and purposes, will forever belong to Dot because of Gracie. It’s a futile hope for Omega to think that she can ever compete with Dot’s memory or believe she can wriggle into his heart where she wouldn’t mind being.

It’s all his fault, too.

The constant flowers every weekend he spends with her and Gracie. Doing his best to spoil her as much as he does Gracie on their outings. He’s never failed to buy her something wherever they go, especially something she eyes while they’re there. He never fails to defer to her judgment where Gracie is concerned, too, wanting to make sure he never oversteps.

And hundreds of other tiny things he’s done for her and Gracie since they bumped into him that day.

In just these few short weeks, he’s managed to turn her crush into something so much deeper, and she’s not sure she can or wants to be mad about it.

“Will you and Gracie come back to my place tonight? I have something I want to show you.”

“All our stuff is back home,” she whispers, the only excuse she can latch onto to deny him.

He simply smiles against her skin. She can feel it as he presses the softest kiss to her hair that she’s ever experienced in her life. It’s enough to weaken her resolve and her knees.

“I’ve been preparing for this, Precious. You and Gracie will have everything you need for a single night away.”

“I’ll consider it,” she says before Steve comes to check on them at Angel’s behest.

The rest of the evening, Omega manages to keep Bucky at arm’s length for her sanity. She spends as much time as she can helping Angel out between serving up food and keeping the few kiddos out of trouble.

Gracie and Jake’s niece end up hitting it off so well that both are already begging for sleepovers and other playdates together.

True to Steve’s word, the neighborhood ends up being one of the best trick-or-treating locations with almost all the houses offering candy to the kids traveling between the houses. Some even go so far as to offer up some small but creative haunted houses for the kids to shriek and laugh their way through.

It’s in one of these that Bucky finally gets the chance to have Omega at his side once again. His hand remains firmly interlaced with hers as they see all the spooky sights, tightening in the few instances where a jump scare lands successfully. Hearing Omega’s small yelps and her other hand wrapping around his arm puffs him up in ways he never thought to feel again. It’s definitely intoxicating and something he wants to experience over and over again.

When they finally return to Jake’s home, Gracie can barely keep her eyes open.

Bucky’s carrying her while Omega has her sack of candy.

“You have fun, sweet girl?”

Gracie nods against his neck, a huge yawn escaping. “Do we have to go home?”

“Yeah, we do, but I promise you’ll see your new friend again soon. Auntie and I’ll make sure of it.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she says as sleep claims her.

Bucky’s knees nearly buckle as tears of pure joy blur his vision. He brings his hand up to rub at her back as he whispers back, “I love you, too, my sweet girl. Always and forever.”

*****

Verse Masterlist / Main Masterlist

#alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #omega reader #a/b/o verse #a/b/o dynamics #x female reader #his scarred omega #alpha jake jensen #beta steve rogers

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onceonafullmoon · 10 months ago

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Convos With Rin

Rin x Gn! Reader

No warnings! Just pure fluff, also you can ignore the last 2 lines if you want to read this as platonic!

Aka: maladaptive daydreams by yours truly that I cleaned up and formatted. Part 2 here

“Sometimes I wonder if the idealized, romanticized version of relationships I’ve built up in my head are subconsciously affecting my navigation in reality.”

“What?” Rin asks, rolling over from where he lies on his bed to look at you, his teal eyes switching from his phone to glance over at you.

“Sorry, that was word vomit.” You say waving a hand dismissively before speaking again. “It’s just… I mean that I wonder if my expectations of romantic relationships have been distorted because of all the media I consume. And I wonder if that would ruin any chance I have of a healthy relationship.”

You absentmindedly start fiddling with your fingers as you speak.

“Like, for example dating sims, every love interest is over possessive and jealous, and that’s fine, cause it’s a fantasy. And obviously it’s not endorsed in real life, because if you date someone who foams at the mouth every time you look at another man, you’ll have issues. But… sometimes I wonder if I’ll think back to those dumb games when I’m in a relationship and choose something unhealthy for myself.”

A comfortable silence lapses after your ramblings and you wait patiently for your best friend's response.

“…you sure do think a lot more than I expected.” He says after a while and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Wow thanks.” You drone out. “You know what? I’d rather you have just flipped me off and called me a dumbass than whatever attempt of a compliment that was.”

“Didn’t mean it like that, I meant that I’d never once thought about that.” He says cooly, in a way that makes you unfairly jealous of his demeanor.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not surprised. Your brain is composed of 50% football and the other half is basic motor skills. I doubt you’ve even thought of anything outside of that.”

“…not true.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Somewhere, squeezed between the cracks of those key areas, is your vast knowledge of horror trivia.” You joke, your eyes darting over his sprawled form.

“…” He hesitates to respond before muttering out. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What’d you mean then?”

“…nothing, never mind.”

“Oh boo, you whore.” You scoff, sitting up in his desk chair to devote your attention to him. “Come on tell meeee! I tell you everything… well, almost everything but— nonetheless…”

He glares but you simply smile at him before waiting eagerly for him to finally loosen his tongue and spill whatever he has locked away from you.

And maybe deep down he knows that there’s no winning against you because he ends up opening his mouth to speak.

“I…I think about romance sometimes.” He eventually admits, his eyes darting back to his phone in embarrassment.

“Oho?” You straighten up further, a goading grin on your face much to his annoyance. “Our little Rinrin is growing up!”

“Fuck you, this is why I don’t tell you shit.”

“Aww come on, I won’t tease you anymore I promise! Please tell me more!” You practically beg, looking at him with prying eyes.

“This is lame.” Rin scoffs.

“You’re lame! Romance is perfectly natural. Anyways, is this a crush? A passing fantasy?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I live vicariously through my friends’ love lives, now spillll!” You say, dragging out the last syllable deliberately to piss him off.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?” You say a pout on your lips.

“Because you’re annoying and you’re only asking to make fun of me.”

“What? Me?” You gasp out in faux surprise. “Never, could I ever make fun of you, after all you’re my dearest most important–”

“Save it.” He cuts you off, content to ignore you now, engrossed in his phone.

“Kill joy… I’ll get it out of you one of these days.” You say darkly before leaning back to sulk in his chair.

“Over my dead body.” He mutters, but if you looked over to him again, you’d see the tell tale way his gaze fell back to you.

Unfortunately for you, Rin’s crush would stay a secret for just a little while longer.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi brothers emotional constipation ftw

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bazpango · 3 months ago

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A lawlight fan fiction where the NPA’s benefits package includes—mandatory—counselling sessions (their job is emotionally taxing) but they can’t use them because it’s too much of a risk to the task force’s objective in catching Kira:

Matsuda waltzes in with a stack of notebooks under his arm. “I read in Good Housekeeping that journaling lowers stress!” L groans. Soichiro—desperate for any crumb of autonomy in this investigation—fully endorsed the idea.

Light freaks. If anyone finds the Death Note and they hire a graphologist, the first samples they’ll want to compare will be his—if L has anything to say about it. He has to be careful. This will be a burdensome paper trail. With a second (well, third) notebook to keep track of, the mental load is at risk of becoming dangerously heavy—for even the best of liars.

Every morning and evening the team journals for thirty minutes; they are locked away in a safe at all other times. It becomes a sort of ritual for clocking in and out of work.

Light is meticulous. Holding his pen off-kilter to throw off the curves and edges of his penmanship. He takes to journaling like he’s penning the world’s most mundane, most detailed, most virtuous autobiography.

L’s notes on the other hand are borderline illegible. Each entry is merely one or two sentences at most. Sometimes just a word, or a string of numbers.

Strawberries too tart today, taste terrible

He is Kira

1600. 50? …

Misa Light-kun’s girlfriend

Watari. HQ. microwave mud cake?

Light-kun did not kiss Misa back

L feels it, something quiet and scheming in the man sitting beside him. He tugs on his tie. It’s something new, since they’ve started journaling.

Weeks go by. One night, he tiptoes down to HQ hoping to break into the safe and confirm his suspicions; to his surprise he opens the door to find Light seated on one of the couches, flipping through his journal and scrunching his nose at it. “Light?” Caught you. “You aren’t to be here after curfew. Especially not with that.”

“You’re one to talk.” Light’s eyes scan L and then flicker to the coffee table, where his own journal sits invitingly. L’s been got, and what’s worse, Light knows it. He always knows. L wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

“Yes, but.” L perches on the opposite sofa. “There’s no reason for you to be reading my journal. I’m not a suspect in this investigation.”

There’s plenty reason, and they both know it. If Kira can anticipate L’s hunches, he can misdirect. It’s a poor bluff, but still it’s one that Light can’t cop to.

“I suppose your right,” Light says, lips tightening into a line. He locks eyes with L and closes the journal softly, tossing it on the coffee table. L scratches at his wrist, where the handcuff used to be. Questioning if this opportunity would be wasted by fighting fire with fire.

“Perhaps my journal offered some insight. I was thinking the same about yours,” L mutters, “…Kira is my white whale, I suppose.”

“But I’m not Kira.”

“Yes, you keep saying that.”

Light crosses one leg over the other. “And Captain Ahab isn’t someone to aspire to. I’d be careful Ryuuzaki,” he warns; sounding perfectly concerned as a friend ought to be, “or the task force might begin to question your aptitude. You’re beginning to sound obsessed.”

Snide bastard.

“And what of you, Light?”

Light stiffens. So begins the spar.

“Do you shed the work day off in the shower with ease? Is your sleep dreamless, or do you comb through evidence you might have missed? You are tasked to help us hunt down the most prolific serial killer to ever walk this Earth, and…” he raises a thumb to his teeth, “surely that can’t be accomplished between the hours of 9 to 5, even for someone as brilliant as yourself.”

He’s monologuing now. Leaning forward. Dangling the fish hook and begging that Light takes the bait.

“That would be a most incredible feat for any man,” L says. He’s got Light right where he wants him, wide eyed and stubbornly still. Careful not to reveal any tells, which is one in and of itself. “But you don’t see yourself as one, do you?”

Light scoffs. “What are you asking, Ryuuzaki?”

It’s a ruse. Light always knows exactly what he’s saying, and does this stupid little dance with him anyway because he knows he can. L normally quite enjoys it, but tonight he’s had it and he isn’t sure why. He stands, only to step across the coffee table and plant his foot on one side of Light, the other soon to follow on the other side. Light instinctively recoils until his back is flush with the back cushion. It isn’t quite straddling, because L is still quite hunched overtop of him. But it is an intimidating closeness. Obsessive, even.

“I’m asking,” L mutters, eyes darting back and forth between Light’s, “if you think yourself God, or man.”

He’s still an immovable force, a statue underneath him. But there’s a flush of pink to his cheeks. So, you are human after all.

“This is ridiculous!” Light huffs, wiggling, and for the first time there’s a tinge of urgency to it. “You’re not getting a false confession out of me, pulling a stunt like this.”

“That is not my intention.”

“Then what is?”

“Have I not made that clear?” L asks, and the patronizing tone gives Light significant pause. L looks at the wetness of Light’s lower lip and bites that thumb between his teeth. “…Or have you just tricked me into thinking you’re smarter than you actually are?”

Light, ego bruised and bested, smashes their lips together. He plays dirty, and spars with him until their lips are swollen and there is a tinny, metallic flavour on both their tongues.

God, man, monster. Whichever he is, L likes the taste.

#do you see the vision here like I don’t have the friggin energy to write a long fic but like #literally two geniuses weaponizing therapeutic language in couples counselling like I am smitten #death note #lawlight #bazpangofic #Lawlight Get Therapy Journals

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moonrisecoeur · 11 months ago

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apathy — leon kennedy

author’s note: this is so horribly self-indulgent self-centered self-serving, it might as well not even be x reader and literally just leon x moon i’m so sorry. this is angsty smutty nonsense for anyone who wanted more feelings and less horniness out of gratitude. i do not apologize for any comparisons of the reader being like the moon.

wc: 3.3k

content: switchy/sub!leon x switchy/dom!reader, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, afab reader, re4r leon, scratching and bruising, hickeys, masochist!leon agenda, reader’s got a lot of feelings, mention of edging and denial, mentions of food

warning: this is not dark content, but reader is lowkey toxic. please be aware that i don’t endorse treating your partner like this. mention of using a knife on him once.

notes:

“i will begin to despise you if i let you in.”

“and i will adore every moment of your resentment.”

“i won’t get better. i won’t change for you. this is what you’re stuck with.”

“it’s okay, i like you as you are.”

—

“i promise that you don’t want me,” you had said once. leon didn’t really know what to do with that statement. it was a promise, but you would have already broken it a million times over; that is how badly he wants you.

he knows what you really meant. it wasn’t some promise you had no way of keeping. it was a warning, a cautionary tale. wanting you would not be good for him, plain and simple. though, sometimes, plain and simple isn’t always as such. sometimes it’s much, much more complex than meets the eye.

he recalls the moment in his apartment as clear as day. you had said, “look. i want you. i very clearly do, this is not… me denying that fact. what i am trying to say is that you do not want me. i don’t care what you think you know. what you think you want. you don’t want to have me.”

he took a while to think about what you had said. it wasn’t a choice he had, to pick you or to pick freedom. it wasn’t one or the other. you didn’t let him pick you, because he would have, you knew it, he knew it. he would give you anything.

his biggest problem is he never knew why. you made yourself very clear, you wanted him, and this, you had him, but you refused to let him have you.

“you don’t want me,” you said, but he does.

you try to block him out, to avoid him, even as he tries and pushes you for answers, to know why, why you don’t let him have you, why you insist he can’t want you.

he keeps pushing, keeps chasing you. in a way, it’s nice. you like being chased, being wanted, desired. the only problem is that it’s leon. if it was anyone else, anyone less moral and perfect and everything the world needs desperately and does not deserve, then maybe you would be more okay with letting this all happen.

but leon doesn’t deserve how you’ll inevitably treat him, using your power over him to do whatever you please, using him for every last drop of pleasure he has to offer you, and then leaving him when you’re done. he would be the most delightful treat, but you abstain simply out of guilt from how perfect the man is.

you don’t know if you could ever forgive yourself for ruining leon, making him recover from the misery that would be your love.

—

“you know i’m not good for you,” you whisper to him, “i love you and love you and love you until you can’t breathe with how filled to the brim you are with my affection and adoration and then i leave you alone to… do whatever it is you do while i want to be alone,” you tell him, more like lecture him, as he stands there. he’s trying to get closer you and you won’t let him, both figuratively and literally. he tries to reach out for your hand but you pull back.

“i’ll leave you alone. you hate people who do that,” you murmur that last part, and leon notes to himself that someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t remember his propensity to dislike the people who have left him alone before.

“that’s… fine. i know you’re introverted and… you need alone time, i get it,” he tries to reason, even with his own insecurities, “i’ll be okay.”

“no, you don’t understand, i am terrible. i will crave you and ache for you and need you and still know i am not a torture that you deserve,” you’re glaring at him with an anger that isn’t real, it is more out of desperation, “if i can know i am awful, why can’t you?”

“call me ignorant if you want, i don’t care. i want the worst of you,” he says, reaching out again. you take a step back, but he takes two forward, and his presence is never one you’ve been known to resist, “let me have y—”

“i will hurt you!” you tell him, but you give in just slightly. you bring your hands to his waist, too gentle for your previous statement to make sense. he thinks you’re lying, anything to push him away. you’re too soft on him to be so cruel.

“you know i’m a masochist,” he still laughs. he holds you back as you reach out for him, your soft, teary eyes vaguely make out a smile from his pretty lips. what a terrible time to be joking, leon.

“that’s not funny, leon,” you whisper.

“never said it was,” he feels tears prickling at his eyes too. he wonders how you could be so cold and uncaring if you’re crying for him right now. he wonders if maybe, just maybe, you’re not selfish like you say you are. you’re just a girl who has only ever had to look out for herself.

“i will hate you,” you bite your lip, nervous. he’s winning, “i will do terrible things to you.”

“i will love you just as much to balance that out. and there is no crime you could commit against me that i would not forgive you for. not that you… would need or want my forgiveness.”

moments pass where your hands are digging in trenches into his skin, knowing you’ll never be able to let him go if this goes on any longer. he holds onto your hips, afraid you’ll leave if he lets go.

he aches to break the silence, but you won’t believe anything he says anyway. he’d tell you he saw the good in you, the girl who was nice and cared about others, and you would have the displeasure of telling him it’s all a facade.

“i will begin to despise you if i let you in, you realize that, right?”

“and i will adore every moment of your resentment,” he smiles softly, sadly, like it's all he wants. like he’d take the sweet fragments of you over any other full person. of course he would. they wouldn’t be you.

you dig your fingers into his skin, rough but not painful, aching to take him but still nervous that he doesn’t really know what he’s signing up for, “i won’t get better. i won’t change for you. this is what you’re stuck with.”

“it’s okay, i like you as you are,” he says, his voice as gentle as ever. leon has always been gentle, kind, soft. god you just want all of him to yourself. you are everything he is not, possessive and selfish and cruel, but he loves it. he wants the worst of you.

give me the devil as my lover and i’ll serve her forever, his heart calls.

you can’t help the urge to give in, to let him win, let yourself take what you want by letting him win. you can’t help tightening your grip on his waist, pulling him in for a full hug that he reciprocates, big arms wrapping around your shoulders like he could shield you from the world. even if you were the monster you say you are.

words fail him, but he’d give you anything. he’d let you do anything, take his breath, his soul, his sanity, his life.

you say you’re a monster? prove it.

—

you do just that.

he’s not saying you’re dramatic… but you’re not the evil monster you’re painting yourself out to be. you’re a little apathetic sometimes, but aren’t we all?

he gets why you think you’re some monster. you can be selfish. you’re a loner at heart, and that just doesn’t work out well with the whole ‘relationship’ thing. you’re possessive despite not giving him attention, no one else can either. you want him all to yourself even when you don’t want him at all. sometimes he wonders why, but he doesn’t question you. you’re not even possessive most of the time, if anything, you just want his attention.

you said you’re mean and cruel and you warned him that you wouldn’t change, but he just doesn’t believe it. you’re the ‘stop to help old ladies cross the street’ type of caring. you’re the ‘hand on his shoulder to get him out of someone else’s way’ type of caring. you’re the person who stays behind as everyone else walks ahead when someone’s tying their shoe. you care. you’re kind. you don’t see it.

you, and everyone else in this world, mistakes apathy for cruelty. it’s like, you don’t care about what people have to say? you must be the devil incarnate.

1. wrong. you not being interested in people around you isn’t something you can control. sometimes people are just boring.

2. he thinks the devil (you!) is hot.

and you feel too deeply, too ashamed about everything to be as apathetic towards the world as you think you are. leon looks at you and sees how you care. it’s different, but it’s not wrong. he knows you don’t care about the stories people tell you, you don’t remember pieces of their lives or their birthdays. you don’t care when they share those fragments of themselves, vulnerable and desperate for reassurance you’re not going to give them.

you don’t care. and you hate that you don’t care, but hating your apathy doesn’t make it go away. it doesn’t cancel out the cruelty you think you are. and that is the epitome of it all. you care so badly about how much you don’t really.

leon holds you close as you cling to him, arms wrapped around his torso as you curl your head into his chest as you lay on the bed, cold feet hanging off the edge of the mattress like the evil monster underneath would come to take you away. maybe it should, you muse. maybe then i could forgive myself for being so wrong.

and for stealing leon away from the world. someone so perfect. not actually perfection, because things are less likable when there’s nothing to critique about them. it is only when something is flawed in many ways that loving it so deeply is possible. it is easy to love something perfect. it is rewarding to love something imperfect and raw and human and real.

but in an ironic way, it is easy to love leon. he’s so loving and kind, you wonder why he’d ever want you because you’re very much not easy to love, but to leon? maybe you are.

so when his hands cradle your head against his chest, his body enveloping yours like a thick fog settling over you, you let him. and you wonder why he could love someone so wrong. to him, your flaws are a million times more prominent. and that means he could only love you deeper.

—

if you’re a bad friend, then you’re a worse lover. your body aches for his just like him for yours and you give him nothing and take everything. you take and take and take until he’s exhausted, but the worst (best?) part is leon only wants to give and give until you push his head away from you, until you force him to stop.

your body takes him like he’s the only drug you’ve ever craved, carving sweet nothings into his wrist and thighs and shoulders with your fingertip, though he’s sure you imagine doing so with a blade encompassing your hand. he shivers at the thought. maybe he wants it too.

you shatter him to pieces with every touch, picking up the broken pieces of the mess you’ve made of him. you keep them close, treasuring every kiss you place on his neck, every touch on his waist, the way his cock fills you up so perfectly.

he loves that you just take whatever you want from him. no warning, no concern for him. you know he wants to be used for your every desire, every need. he’s yours to drain of life like a vampire sucking the life out of its helpless victim.

you tell him what to do, order him around viciously, and he has no choice but to obey. what’s he going to do? try and tell you what to do? dominance has never been his forte, he’s too awkward, too shy. besides, if he even tried to tell you you’re a ‘good girl’ right now, you’d probably slap him.

to be fair, he’d probably like it, like the sting of your palm against his cheek, like the burning feeling afterwards, like the red mark on his face in the aftermath. he still won’t do it, for your sake. call that self-sacrifice.

you dig your nails into his skin, into his chest, his waist, his thighs, until small little crescent moons cover his entire body, leaving the mark of the moon that you were in his sky.

if he was the sun, you were the moon. he shines and shines and shines and you take his sunshine and keep it as your own. he lets you because it makes you brighter, happier, lighter, god you’ve seemed so much happier these days. ever since you gave in and let yourself be loved by him, he’s made your life nothing but brighter. doesn’t make you feel bad for your incredibly chronic case of general apathy, just makes it easier to not feel like a monster on the daily, which is appreciated. you worried so much about how cruel and selfish you would be to him and he’s been nothing but joyous since.

when you’re not pressing your nails into him, you’re gripping him so tightly that you just might bruise him. it’s alright if you do, he’s always liked it rough. his body is a clean canvas that’s yours to depict your destruction upon. by the end, he's heaving, skin red and irritated from scratching and bruised up all on his neck and thighs. your mouth is insatiable when it comes to his neck, the vampire comparison must have really been accurate.

he likes that you’re selfish, that making him orgasm was never your goal. sure, you’re not going to deny him, though maybe you would, now that he thinks about it. okay, try that again, you weren’t trying to deny him this time, but that doesn’t mean you cared if he did cum. if anything, you did it for your own selfish wants, getting to watch him fall apart so helplessly.

you took care of yourself, because that’s all you know how to do.

his heart still aches when he sees tears welling up in your pretty eyes, switching positions so he could hold you close as you ride him, his hands rubbing circles into your back, “i got you, pretty girl. just breathe.” and that’s it.

he knows if he keeps talking, you’ll get uncomfortable, and you’ll run away. like a wild animal that might get scared off at any moment, he treads cautiously and treats every moment of you in his arms with the utmost value. you come undone just a few moments after him, and you ride out your orgasm even as he bites back whimpers of pain. he’s sensitive and tense, sure, but you’re still grinding down on him, using him for every last drop of pleasure, and he’s not in any position to stop you.

you collapse onto him, as if fully giving in to that feeling that says to trust him. to hold him close. to love him endlessly for putting up with your constant bullshit.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers as you lay together on the bed, his fingertips brushing through your hair. he’s painfully gently, so much more so than you are with him. (you’d feel bad if he wasn’t moaning so loudly every time you hurt him.)

you hum, hand rubbing his side, up and down motions following the curve of his torso, enjoying the way he groans in discomfort, “i warned you that i was mean,” you say, enjoying the way he laughs.

he’s so bright and lively with you, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve brought out something in him that was hidden away too. more youthful, free of the problems bestowed upon him by the events of his early 20s. he’s even more beautiful than you are to him. not that he’d ever think that’s possible.

“i know, i know…” he mumbles, his hand placed on the back of your head as he pulls you in for a soft kiss, his other hand on your cheek, thumb brushing against it almost as if to wipe away tears. luckily, you were past that. you had cried enough.

you warned him that you were mean, cruel, apathetic, distant, etc, and maybe you were. or maybe you would become those things. maybe this is the high high before the low low you had talked about once. the moments where you’re perfect and loving and amazing right before your descent into resentment and cruelty.

but for now? all leon knows is you’re a helluva lover and he can't imagine a better way to sleep than in a lover’s arms. he falls asleep before you do, sleeping like a baby before you doze off.

you stay awake a little bit longer, still plagued with the thoughts of what the hell you did to deserve this man. you come to the conclusion that sometimes bad things happen to good people.

and sometimes? good things happen to bad people. leon’s love was the best thing you could ever obtain, and you refuse to let it go.

—

the next morning, he kisses your cheek as he serves you breakfast, and talks about something you don’t care about. he’s sure you’re not listening, but he doesn’t mind. he’s more just thinking out loud to himself.

you stare at the plate as you eat, off in your own world. he just waits until he can be a part of your world again, watching you intently. he likes looking at you, even like this. you’re far too beautiful for his soul to handle.

you look over at him as you notice him staring, “hm?” you groan, making a small sound to acknowledge and question his gaze.

he just shakes his head, “just like looking at you, pretty,” he smiles, and you roll your eyes. you can’t help the adoration that fills your bones at the sight of him. he’s perfect. everything to you. even if you can’t always show it, or even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

you told him you wouldn’t change for him. and he never wanted you to. there was nothing to change, you were already perfect to him. he can’t help but keep his eyes on you the whole morning before he has to leave for work.

as he does, even though it’s with a heavy heart because you look so sad that he has to go and he never wants to make you sad, he gives you his goodbye kiss. your hand finds the back of his neck and your thumb pressed on a newly tender bruise on the side of it. he winces at the touch, and you smirk. he’ll never forget how fatal you are, even in your… softer moments.

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zerokrox-blog · 2 years ago

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@steddieas-shegoes @newgrangespirals

I hope this is too your liking! I tried to make it more angry but I don’t think I quite got it. But anyway, I tried to make it as good as I could. (I literally rewrote this like 5-6 times and it still feels..not angry enough) Based on this post The silence around the table was deafening as Murray finished talking. The man looked so proud of himself, telling all and sundry about how he had gotten Nancy and Jonathan together. Nobody could move and no one breathed. Nancy and Jonathan had gone pale, and she kept looking at Steve who had gone so still and silent, hand outstretched for the mashed potatoes in front of him. His face had a weird look as if mentally calculating something and suddenly it changed to one of furious understanding and anguish that made her sit still.

Then in the silence, seemingly not realizing the can of worms he had just opened, Murray turned to Steve and Eddie, “and you know you two are cute. But the pining is getting annoying, like you could take us all out of the misery by dating or even just something! Just ask-” “How fucking dare you?” Steve’s voice was cold and low with barely suppressed rage. He straightened up glaring at Murray who finally took in the faces around him. Jonathan and Nancy’s white faces, the pure shock on Joyce and Hopper’s faces. Robin, and the kids looking uncomfortable. Eddie looked terrified. Wayne was stiff and furious.

“C’mon man, you can’t be serious?” Murray was shocked. “There is nothing wrong with me trying to get you together man! Listen, I helped get Jonathan and Nancy together as well as Hopper and Joyce. They are thriving-”

Steve held up his hand voice hardening further, “what is your problem? I was with Nancy at that time which you knew about and you facilitated her cheating on me and you think I should be happy? You think I should be grateful? Now to make matters worse you are so casual about telling people about Eddie and I without knowing if these people are safe? Are you crazy? What is your problem?”

Steve stood up, anger pouring off of him. Before Murray could say another word, Steve continued to rant, “you come here acting like some god, thinking that we all owe you shit when you barely know the people here and continue to treat us like little lab rats to get your fix! Stop trying to get people together, you're not a matchmaker! Nor are you in a relationship yourself! You barely know anything aside from cooking and maybe a few conspiracies! And you definitely don't know anyone here aside from Hop and Joyce! That isn’t enough people to be making the assumptions you’ve made. Most importantly, you are sitting here proudly, PROUDLY telling people that you helped Nancy and Jonathan get together KNOWING she was together with me! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” Steve started to walk away, but he paused just past Murray, he turned back and looked directly at him, “you don’t know me nor do you know Eddie. You don’t know him, who gave the right to demand he dance to your tune like a monkey? What if he isn’t gay? What if he actually hated me? What if he is dating someone else? Who are you to come here and force him to come out like that with no warning? Who are you to make him feel unsafe around the only people who understand him and what he went through over spring break? WHO ARE YOU TO TELL HIM IT’S OK TO CHEAT JUST BECAUSE YOU GET OFF ON HURTING TEENAGERS YOU BARELY KNOW? You disgust me.” Steve glared at Murray and snorted when the man didn’t say anything, seemingly finally realizing what he had done. “Yeah that is what I thought. I hope you know that I will not forgive you for endorsing Nancy cheating on me. I don’t forgive you for taking away my voice in trying to set Eddie and I up and telling people that he is gay without his permission. Fuck you Murray, go to hell.” He started walking away, and when Nancy reached out for him he jerked himself away. “You stay away from me. You and Jonathan stay the fuck away from me. I trusted you both and I shouldn’t have. I never told anyone half of the shit you both did to me. Stay away from me.”

Nancy retracted her hand feeling hurt.

Eddie stood up, after the shock wore off and looked coldly at Murray, he said, “Aside from literally telling everyone to give you a pat on the back for helping Nancy cheat on Steve, and making me very uncomfortable by outing me like that, I hope you will not do that to anyone else, do you understand me? He waited until he got a nod from Murray, he looked at all of the people around the table, his eyes landed squarely back on Murray and stated firmly, “I don’t care one way or the other at this point, but Steve and I have been together for several months now. We don’t and never will need you to put us together. If you have any problems with that, take it up with someone who cares.”

Murray looked pleased, “see? You two-”

Eddie gave him a sharp look. He moved after Steve who had left, tears in his eyes that nobody could see as he had entirely turned away from the table.

Eddie left the Hopper-Byers backyard and went back to the Munson’s new house. Steve beat Eddie there by several minutes and when Eddie saw him his heart cracked.

Steve was curled up on his bed, face buried in their pillows, soft sobs escaping him.

“Oh sweetheart, I am here baby.” Eddie cooed softly, slipping out of his clothes before crawling into the bed and curling around Steve.

Steve cried softly into the pillows not moving closer to Eddie the way he normally would. Eddie just held him and hummed softly into his hair, fingers slowly moving up and down his sides.

It took Steve some time to calm down, and when he did he shifted around in Eddie’s arms and caught the look on his face. “Am I bad? Am I not enough for anyone? Is that why everyone leaves or hurts me? Am I not worthy of love and a healthy relationship?” he whispered, and Eddie squeezed him closer.

“No babylove. You are worthy of love and gentleness, you are enough honey boy.” he kept his tone warm and soft, gently stroking Steve’s hair.

Steve sucked in a deep breath, and once he calmed down entirely, he mumbled, “I don’t want to see Nancy or Jonathan for a while. I am so angry at them. And I don’t quite know what to make of this situation. Nancy knew how I felt about cheating because I told her about my parents. And she fucking cheated on me!”

Eddie nodded and waited, Steve finally looked at him, and gave him a small smile. “I am sorry we were outed like that. I really-”

“Baby boy, I promise you it’s not your fault, ok? You don’t owe me an apology. It’s not your fault and you don’t apologize for something that someone else’s shitty behavior ok? We can stay away from Nancy and Jonathan until you feel comfortable seeing them again, OK?”

Steve nodded, feeling safe and secure here in Eddie’s arms. Here he was safe, he could be himself around Eddie, especially in his arms.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #murray stranger things #Nancy Wheeler #steddie ficlet #i hope this is alright!#I honestly had fun with this

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ohtobeleah · 1 month ago

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Day Twenty Two [Do Not Look Away]

Summary: After the events of Bruises, Bradley comes face to face with his new reality. You’re experiencing a physical manifestation of PTSD and Jake’s still in a coma.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Mentions of death. Mentions of Sexual assault/rape. Mentions of torture/violence. Bad medical portrayals. PTSD induced psychosis

Word Count: 2.7k

Whumptober Prompt Day Twenty-Two: Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.”

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist

In a recent experiment, scientists observed that single human cells in a petri dish will seek each other out…and adhere to each other to form new connections. When cells team up, they become stronger. They thrive and evolve and eventually become something that their single selves ever could have been alone.

“I don’t want to pry,” Bradley’s voice broke through the deafening silence that lingered between the two of you as you sat at Jake’s beside. The only other sounds that filtered through were the humming of life-saving machines and the incessant beeping of medical equipment. “I can’t even begin to relate to what you’ve both been through,” Bradley continued as you looked over to where he was standing. Right at the foot of Jake’s hospital bed.

You spent more time at Jake’s side than you did in your own hospital room. It often got you in trouble. There was even one particular time when you were still in a wheelchair, where you’d decided to take yourself down the hall to see him. It didn’t go over very well with the orderlies. Your team of doctors and nurses alike were furious with you. But they understood the burning desire to be with the one you loved. They understood and could recognise the early stages of post-traumatic stress disorder. They could see the signs of codependency.

They could see that you were more at ease by Jake Seresin’s side than you were by yourself. Once your primary doctor had signed off on it, you were essentially treated at Jake’s bedside permanently. Screw hospital policies and politics.

Rooster’s hands gripped the railing at the end of the bed with such a force you thought his grip alone might crumple the metal. But it never wavered. The metal held strong under the pressure Bradley was putting it under. Much like Jake who never gave up on you.

“But–” Bradley paused one final time before the question left his mouth forever. Once he asked he couldn’t take back such a charged question. “Was there ever a moment where you wished–” He didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was asking.

“Every day,” You interrupted as you sat perched in the world’s most unsupportive, uncomfortable hospital chair known to man. “I prayed for death more than I prayed to be rescued, Rooster.” You knew Bradley was prepared to hear you say that, he wouldn’t have bothered to ask if he didn’t already believe to some extent that you would have prayed for the sweet release of death. “But Jake kept me going even when I wanted to die.”

“I–” Even though Bradley knew that answer was coming, it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Bradley sighed as he shook his head in disbelief. “It should have been me.”

“I wouldn’t wish any of this on my worst enemy, Bradshaw,” You replied as you shivered in the cool of Jake’s bleak hospital room. Rooster saw and quickly made his way over to where spare blankets and pillows were thrown haphazardly. They sat crumpled in a pile on a forgotten chair never used by the neverending list of visitors that cycled through.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You tried to tell Bradley as he collected a spare blanket. “Rooster–”

“You know, I remember not long before the mission rolled around,” Rooster explained as he placed the blanket over you. Covering your legs enough to maintain some warmth. “Jake got obliterated one night at the Hard Deck, so much so that Penny actually got a few of us to just drag him out to the front deck by his ankles.”

You couldn’t help but to chuckle. You were mourning the loss of the version of Jake Seresin you hardly got to know before the mission. But you would have liked to bear witness to some more of his antics. However, you had tried your best to stay clear when you didn’t need to be in his direct vicinity.

“Sounds like something he’d do.” You smiled softly all the while you looked over your shoulder to where Jake lay still heavily sedated and comatosed. “I miss him so much.”

“I drove him home that night,” Bradley continued on as he made sure you were warmer than you had been moments before. “He was rambling about some woman, you know, in between when he had his head out the window of the Bronco pealing the paint off with his bile.”

Again you couldn’t help but to laugh, this time with more intention. Bradley could see it in your eyes though, you wished Jake was awake to laugh at his own stupidity with you.

“He told me about this woman, how he couldn’t stand her,” Rooster explained as a frown plastered itself across your face. “He couldn’t stand anything about her really, from her smile to the way she laughed without fear of ridicule to the way she just knew how to call him on bullshit before anyone else could,”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked with a tone laced with something you didn’t recognise. Rooster knew exactly what it was though. It was jealousy. It was the all-consuming green goblin called jealousy. Who was this other woman Jake was talking about in his drunken rambling and why was she on his mind?

“He even hated the way she ate her food, with purpose and intention.” Bradley laughed to himself as he looked down at where Jake was lying unresponsive in his hospital bed. “Mother fucker had hate confused with love though.”

“What do you mean?”

“He loves everything about you Hollywood,” Bradley sighed as he tried to keep the tears in his eyes from welling too much. It wasn’t his time to cry. No. For you, he had to be strong. “I can remember giving him so much shit for it, he was droning on about how he hated the way you always beat him at his own game.” You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising as Rooster crouched down before you. His hands were gentle atop your blanket-covered knees. “Han–Jake, loved you before he even knew he loved you.”

“What if he doesn’t wake up, Roo?” tears rolled down your face through a pained smile. It was nice to know Jake truly did love you before he saw hell’s most horrible torture performed against you. But it made the fact he wasn’t awake so much harder to handle. “What if he–”

“He will,” Bradley replied as he reached up to wipe the stray tears streaming down your cheeks. “He wouldn’t leave you behind, not after everything you’ve been through, alright?” Rooster wanted confirmation from you. He wanted you to nod. He wanted to see that you were listening to what he was actually saying. “He loves you too much to leave you now, he wouldn’t do that to you, not after fighting every day to keep you two alive.”

“I wanna be able to tell him that I love him too,” You sobbed in your chair all the while Bradley did his best to comfort you. He looked up at your own monitor. The one that told all the doctors and nurses what your heart was doing. What your stats were. You were still hooked up to IV fluids. “I just wanna hear his voice again.”

Bradley let the silence linger for a moment as he stood. He couldn’t deny how tired you looked. How weak your movement pattern was. He saw the exhaustion written in between the lines on your face. You needed to rest. You needed to sleep. But getting you to agree to head back to bed even just for an hour would be a battle Rooster wasn’t sure he’d win.

But you were the woman Jake Seresin loved. A title Bradley would never have but would envy from a viewpoint just shy of the front row. He would forever force himself to watch the man he loved love another human with all the fire and grace he had to offer. Bradley swore that he’d never look away from the gift he’d been given. The gift of witnessing his best friend fall in love. Get married. Have children perhaps. He wanted to be right there in the thick of it.

So he needed to be your person, even just for a little while. For Jake. For Hangman. For the sandy blonde with the emerald eyes across the bar. For the aviator who knew how to get on his last nerve. For the man who’d risked his life to save his. For the best friend, he never realised he’d lost and subsequently found again.

“I want you to know I suggest this with so much respect,” Bradley sighed. He tensed a little as if he was bracing for impact. “But I reckon Jake would want me to tell you to get some rest.”

You listened to what Bradley was saying. His words were something comforting amidst all the pain and suffering you’d endured. He was, if anything, a good friend. You knew that Jake would never truly regret his decision to put his life on the line to save his wingman. But it would be a decision that haunted him every night. Every morning. Every second that passed him by where he had to live in a world where he’d seen you experience the worst of what humanity had to offer.

And you understood why he was telling you to get some rest. But you couldn’t sleep when your mind would get stuck on a loop. Replaying all the hurt. The pain. The suffering. All in HD while your body tried to recover.

The mind is dark, wonderful and weird. But the last thing you wanted was your subconscious at the helm.

“No.” It was a complete sentence. No follow up required. But Rooster thought otherwise.

“Uh, I really think you should just get maybe like, a solid half an hour at the minimum?” Bradley replied as he stood with his hands resting slightly cunty on his hips. “Jake would–” Before Rooster got the chance to finish, you deadpanned him. His blood ran cold when you glared his way. A look he never wanted to be on the receiving end of ever again.

“They made Jake watch a lot of things happen to me,” Bradley had no idea where you were going with this. But he chose to listen regardless. “They made him watch them rape me, over and over again.” You paused just to listen to Jake’s heart rate monitor. The rhythmic beeping soothed your troubled heart in a way you felt ungrateful to experience. Sure Jake was in the hospital after being held as a prisoner of war…but at least he was alive.

“They forced him to watch every time, and said it was always his fault.” Bradley’s heart sank at the thought of having to go through that, let alone watch it unfold. The levels of physical and psychological torture you were describing were almost unbearable to listen to. But for you, he would. “But he never gave them what they wanted. Jake never gave up on me even when he could have.”

“Y/n–” Again Bradley tried to speak. But you kept talking over him. Just trying to get your point across.

“They forced him to hurt me, they used him against me in ways I wish I could describe to you right now,” You began to shake your head as your tears ricocheted down your heated cheeks. “‘Don’t look away. Don’t look away Seresin’–on goddamn repeat, while I was cut and used and beaten until I could barely breathe and without fail after everything was said and done he was still there.” Bradley could very much see you unraveling right before him. He didn’t recognise the look in your eye. He chose to take a few cautious steps back towards the door, giving you some space and himself some distance.

“He was there for me to crawl home to even when I couldn’t see,” Your voice softened as you looked over at Jake. Bradley saw it, the moment your eyes caught the rise and fall of Jakes chest. God, it broke his heart. All of this did.

“So no–” You hissed. “I will not be leaving his side and I will not sleep until I get to tell him that I love him and not until I get to see him wake up,” You explained for the last time. You were sick and tired of people telling you to rest. To sleep. To take care of yourself. They didn’t know what you had been through. They didn’t understand what you were going through. They didn’t understand what it was like to witness torture, to experience hell day in and day out. “Do you understand?”

Bradley didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at you with a look you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. One of sympathy. One of pity. So you snapped. “I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?” Your voice echoed down the hall as Rooster backed away even more. He placed his hands where you could see him as if he wanted you to know he wasn’t there to hurt you.

“Hollywood, take it easy.” Rooster cooed. “It’s me, Rooster.”

“Get me out of here!” You screamed all the while clawing at the wires and tubes attached to various parts of you. Your arms, chest, stomach. “Let me go!”

“NURSE!” Bradley called down the hall towards the nurse’s station. He turned his back for five seconds only to turn around to witness you trying to pull the vent from Jake’s throat. The one helping him to breathe. The life-saving piece of equipment you were now messing with. “Fuck! Y/n!”

“I’ve got you,” You cried as you tried to save Jake. Not understanding you were in the middle of a panic attack mixed with exhaustion. “I’ll save you, I’m here.”

“Hollywood!” Rooster wrapped his arms around your torso from behind. “Stop it, you’re in the hospital!”

“Let go of me!” You cried out as a handful of nurses approached Jake’s room. They saw the look of utter shock plastered across Bradley’s face. “LET ME GO!” You shouted again as you violently kicked and thrashed against Rooster as your feet left the ground.

“I don’t know what I said to set her off like this?” Explaining himself to the nurses, Bradley held you tight as you fought against him.

“JAKE!!!” You cried out in unimaginable terror.

“She’s having an attack again,” One of the nurses explained as she jabbed you with a sedative. “Anything will trigger her right now.”

Bradley listened to your screams get weaker as your body grew heavier in his embrace. He knew you were gone the second your head lulled to the side.

“She’s in a bad way, they both are.” Rooster groaned in frustration. Not at you or Jake, but at the situation as a whole. “Someone needs to be held responsible for all of this.”

“I’m just the night nurse, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” One of the nurses replied much to Roosters’ shock. He was venting more so than looking for a response. “But if I were gonna start somewhere, I’d start with having a conversation with her father.”

Rooster took that note onboard as he carried you back down the hall towards where your empty hospital bed was. A room just as bleak as Jake’s.

“I got you alright?” Bradley sighed as he laid you down, taking notice of how at peace you looked. So content. So…Sedated. “I’ve got you and I’ve got Jake.” As the nurses followed him in to fix up your machines and copious wires, Rooster took a moment to sit in his torture. Reminding himself of the promise he’d made. “Always.”

We are an extension of our cells. Just like them, we are programmed to find others…to reach out to one another and find nourishment and love. Much like our cells, we’re not meant to be alone. So once we find each other…

We try our best to hold onto what we’ve got. Even after horrific petri dish experiments.

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