#deserves a raise for the rest of their life

[willowsnook]

Papaya Was Never the Problem

request: Y/N spends months crushing on Lando, only to be heartbroken when he moves on with someone else. Ready for something real, she realizes she had her eyes on the wrong McLaren driver all along—maybe it was Pato she should’ve seen from the start.

pato o’ward x reader

—----------------------------------

Your 16-year-old self would be disgusted at you if she knew that you’d be 23 and simping over a man who did not feel the same about you. But you couldn’t help it, everytime you thought it was over, Lando would pull your right back in. 

It wasn’t really even his fault, you had both agreed to keep things casual, that you weren’t looking for anything more. But somewhere along the line, it became a little blurred. You tried to take a step back, but everytime you did he pulled you right back closer. Whether it was random flowers he sent to your door, making sure that everyone knew he took your opinion the most serious out of all the McLaren strategists, or coming over to watch a movie and not hooking up. 

You felt crazy. You knew logically that you needed to cut it off but damn you just loved his attention. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case. If you weren’t there on his arm, someone else was. It was never anything serious – until it was. 

It was a race day just like any other and you were buried in data, trying to figure out what you could do between now and qualifying to ensure Lando started P1 on Sunday. You had been at it for a while now, interrupted only by the clearing of a throat. Max Fewtrell stood next to your desk, and the look on his face had you instantly stopping. He looked…guilty? 

“What’s up?” You asked, and he hesitated. 

“I need to tell you something that is going to hurt you,” he started. “But you’ve become one of my closest friends so I can’t let this go on any longer.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, heartbeat raising. 

“Lando is bringing his girlfriend ot the race tomorrow,” Max said and it felt like you had been doused with a cold bucket of water. 

“Girlfriend?” You asked, the word foreign on your tongue. 

"Yeah," Max winced. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. It's serious apparently. They've been together for a few months."

A few months. The words echoed in your mind as you tried to process what Max was telling you. All those nights, all those moments that felt like something more—they had meant nothing.

"Who is she?" The question left your lips before you could stop it.

"Some model he met at a party in Monaco." Max's hand came to rest on your shoulder. "You deserve better, Y/N. You always have."

You nodded numbly, tears threatening to spill. "Thanks for telling me."

After Max left, you sat motionless at your desk, staring at the data that suddenly seemed so meaningless. Months of your life wasted on someone who had been leading you on while building a relationship with someone else.

The next day, you kept your head down, focusing entirely on work. When you spotted Lando in the garage, you ducked out of the way, avoiding him for as long as you could. You were forced to finally see him during the pre-race briefing and you doing everything in your power to not look at him did not go unnoticed. 

“Y/n,” Lando called as everyone walked out. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, gaining the courage to look him on the eye. You knew he knew what was happening the second his eyes met yours. 

“I-I I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have told you, but we always said it was casual between us right?” 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” You asked, your sadness melting into anger. “Like what’s fucking wrong with you Lando?”

He flinched at your tone, the guilt written all over his face. “I know. I just wanted both of you as long as I could have it.”

“And then you decided that you wanted her more,” you said for him, your heart ripping in half. “Quite frankly I never want to see you again.” 

Hurt flashed across his face but you didn’t give him a chance to respond, moving past him and out the door. 

The race went horribly. Lando dropped from P2 to P10 and it was just a disaster all around. You knew it was your last race, you’d made the decision last night, before even talking to Lando. There were plenty of things you could do with an engineering degree so you weren’t worried. You could go anywhere you wanted. Away from all of this. 

Zak was in a conference room when you found him and you shut the door behind you as you walked in. He looked up at you in surprise, the doom and gloom from the race on his face. 

“Hey y/n, tough day today,” he said and you nodded. “What can I do for you?” 

“I’m going to be leaving McLaren,” you told him, trying to not let your voice waver. This was your first job and you loved the people here. Loved the work, the environment, everything. But you couldn’t stay. 

“What?” Zak veered back, shocked. “After one bad race?” 

“It’s more than one bad race,” you said quietly and in that moment he knew. He’d seen the two of you together, and wasn’t the only McLaren employee that was confused by another girl’s presence today. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted and he shook his head. 

“Y/n, you are one of the most talented young strategists we’ve come across,” he told you. “I can’t let you leave.” 

“I can’t stay Zak,” you said, exasperated. He thought for a moment before lighting up. 

“IndyCar,” he said and your eyebrows furrowed. “If you’re okay to move, let me put you on one of our IndyCar teams, probably Patos.” 

You hesitated. You were open to moving somewhere new and across an ocean was pretty far away from Lando. Plus you’d get to stay in racing, which was definitely ideal. 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you said and Zak grinned. 

“It’s settled then.” 

—-----------------------------------------

“Welcome to Indianapolis!” Your new coworker, Hannah beamed at you from outside of the Arrow-McLaren office in downtown Indy. 

“Thank you,” you said politely.

“I know we don’t go to as many glamorous places as you’re used to but Indy is pretty historic for racing,” she said. 

“Yeah, I actually grew up in Kansas City,” you told her and her eyes widened it surprise. “So I’m familiar with all of this, even if it’s been a while. “

“Sorry! They never tell me anything,” she grumbled. 

“No worries,” you told her sweetly. She led you through the lobby and to the upstairs floor, where different mechanics were working. She was around your age so you felt comfortable chatting with her, happy to have someone to be friends with in a new place. 

“Okay Tony is waiting for you in his office up there,” she told you and you thanked her before stepping into the room. 

“Ahh, y/n, pleasure to meet you,” Tony said, standing up to shake your hand. “Zak sings your praises all the time so I’m happy we got to steal you away.” 

“I’m happy to be here,” you said, sitting down across from him. 

“I’m going to put you on Pato’s team - he’s our best driver here and I think you guys will get along,” he said and you nodded. “Ah here he is, Pato! Come in here for a sec.” 

You turned as the door opened, and in walked a man you'd seen on TV but never in person. Pato O'Ward had a vibrant energy to him, his smile genuine as he entered the room. His eyes landed on you, and for a moment, you felt a flutter of something you couldn't quite place.

"Welcome to the team," he said, extending his hand. His accent was thick but endearing. "Tony has been talking about you all week."

"Has he?" You shook his hand, noticing the calluses that came from gripping a steering wheel for hours on end.

"All good things," Tony assured you. "Pato, Y/N is coming to us from the F1 team. She's one of their top strategists."

"Was," you corrected with a small smile. "I'm all IndyCar now."

"Well, their loss is our gain," Pato said, his gaze not leaving yours. You smiled shyly before turning back to Tom. 

“Well, let’s get started.”

—------------------------------------

IndyCar was a whole new puzzle to crack, but you were loving the challenge. The other strategists had welcomed you with open arms, eager to hear your ideas for the car as you headed into a race weekend. 

Pato was fast, but Alex Palou was faster and it was a problem you were drowning trying to figure it out. It was late, the warm air of Riverside blowing gently through your hair as you stepped outside, eager to take a break. No one else was at the track, just you and a bunch of numbers, just like you preferred it. 

Switching to IndyCar had been a good move. Max had called you a couple of times to check in and you were honest when you told him: you were happy here. Much happier than you were back there. You’d become fast friends with Hannah, and she’d introduced you to her friends, quickly accepting you into the group. 

Working with Pato was a breeze. He was focused and driven but also fun and lighthearted. You ignored the way you caught him looking at you every once in a while. You’d seen that look before, just on a different man in a papaya suit. 

“What are you still doing here?” 

Speak of the devil, you see Pato coming up to you, a boyish smile on his face. You smile back, appreciating the way the track lights hit his face. 

“Trying to get you a win,” you said and he laughed. 

“I thought I was supposed to be doing that,” he replied and you shook your head amused, turning back to stare out at the track. 

"No, I think it's a team effort," you replied, leaning against the railing. "I'm just used to working late. It's a hard habit to break."

"You don't have to do that here," Pato said, moving to stand beside you. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you tried to ignore the warmth that spread through you at the contact.

"I want to," you admitted. "I want to prove that I belong here."

"You already have," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Everyone can see how talented you are."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. There was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you said softly. "That means a lot."

A comfortable silence fell between you as you both gazed out at the empty track. The distant sound of cicadas filled the air and you were too lost in your own thoughts to see the way Pato was looking at you.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was supposed to meet you last year in Brazil but I was told to stay away.” 

“By who?” You asked, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you turned to look at him. You sighed as you saw his face, already knowing the answer. “Lando.”

“Mhm,” Pato answered. “Is that why you came here?” 

“Yes,” you said honestly. “I needed a fresh start.” 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and you looked at him once again, his eyes on yours. “He didn’t deserve you.” 

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to him. "You don't even know me," you said softly, but there was no bite to your words.

"I know enough," Pato replied, his voice gentle. "I know you work harder than anyone else on the team. I know you care about the success of everyone around you, not just yourself. And I know that anyone who couldn't see what they had with you is an idiot."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're just saying that because I'm trying to get you a win."

"No," he said, turning to face you fully now. "I'm saying it because it's true."

The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For months, you'd been so focused on getting over Lando, on proving yourself in this new environment, that you hadn't allowed yourself any opportunity to open your heart.

“I can’t start something with you Pato,” you said sadly. “No matter how much I want to. I can’t go through it again.” 

“I don’t think you understand that it would be completely different,” he said but you didn’t say anything, just looked down at your hands. “Okay, if I have to spend the rest of the season proving that to you then I will.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

It felt like you were back in F1, watching Max lurking like a shark in the background, quickly gaining on whoever was in front of him like a shark who had seen it’s prey. Except this time the shark was Alex Palou and Pato was unfortunately the prey. Pato had led almost the whole race but Alex did what he did best: win. 

The garage was dejected, despite taking second and third and you fully expected the silent treatment from the drivers. Lando always shut down after races, always so in his head that there was no point in talking to him. Pato was quiet during the debrief but you were used to it so it didn’t bother you. 

Picking up your stuff, you headed out the door. Pato was waiting for you outside and you looked at him in surprise. You would have expected him to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. 

“Do you have plans?” He asked and you shook your head. He was still in his fireproofs, sweat and champagne stained on his face. “Get something to eat with me and talk about the race?”

“We just had a chance to talk about it, but you didn’t say much,” you countered and he rolled his eyes. 

“I just want to talk to you right now, okay? I’ll talk to the rest of the team when we’re back in Indy,” he said. 

You hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. This wasn't what you expected after a race that didn't go his way. But there was something in his eyes—an earnestness that made it impossible to say no.

"Okay," you agreed. "But you should probably change first."

He grinned, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Give me ten minutes."

True to his word, Pato emerged from the motorhome shortly after, dressed in jeans and a simple black t-shirt that hugged his frame. You tried not to stare.

"There's a little place around the corner that's pretty good," he said, leading you away from the track. "I found it last year."

The restaurant was small and unassuming, tucked away from the main streets where most of the racing crowd would go. The hostess greeted Pato by name, clearly recognizing the driver and led you to a table in the back. 

"So," you said, taking a sip of your wine. "Second place isn't bad."

"It's not first," he replied, but there wasn't any bitterness in his tone. "Palou is just... consistently good. But we're getting closer."

“We have the advantage on some of the upcoming tracks though – you’ve performed better than he has in the past.” 

Pato’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a smirk growing on his face. “Watching my old races huh?”

You rolled your eyes but a smile was evident on your face. “Doing my job.” 

The rest of dinner was spent going through the race almost lap by lap until you really just had nothing left to say. Pato paid the tab and held out his hand to you almost challenging as he got up. You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him lead you out of the restaurant. 

“Tired?” He asked, once you were outside and you nodded. “Okay let’s get you home cariño.”

You blushed at the term of endearment and he grinned widely before tugging you along to the car. The ride back to the hotel was short and he walked you back up to your room, gently pressing his lips against your cheek before saying goodbye. 

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

You chanted this to yourself as you got into your room but it was becoming hard. Pato seemed to be everything Lando was not but you had built up a lot of walls around your heart. You still didn’t know what you wanted, not sure if you could handle another situationship during a season just hoping that it could be something more in the offseason. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

There was a few weeks in between races so you packed your bags to head off to a nice vacation during your free time. Hannah had begged you to join her and her friends so you found yourself on the sunny beaches of Punta Mita, baking in the Mexican sun. By day three of the vacation your skin had a nice glow to it and you decided you never wanted to go home. 

You were sitting on loungers outside with your friends watching the sunset, a margarita in your hands when you saw a familiar face sitting at another lounge area, his eyes trained on you. Your head snapped towards Hannah who looked over your shoulder then smirked. 

“Did you know he was going to be here?” You asked. 

“I swear I didn’t, but I’m definitely not complaining,” she said with a smirk and you groaned. Soon enough, Pato was walking over with his friends, asking if they could join you all. The seat you were sitting on was definitely big enough for two so you begrudgingly scooted over as Pato plopped down next to you. His arm rested behind you on the back of the lounger and he gave you a small smile. 

“Hola hermosa,” he said cheekily and you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. 

“Are you stalking me Pato O’Ward?” You said and he let his head dip backwards, laughing. 

“Oof, using my full name, does that mean I’m in trouble?” He asked. 

“Maybe,” you teased. 

“I’d love to see what the punishment is,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your chest. Your face flamed which only made his smirk deepen. He pulled you in closer to his side and you panicked, feeling yours and his friend’s knowing eyes. 

“Pato, everyone can see us,” you whispered. 

“Kind of the point cariño,” he replied, letting his hand fall to rest on your upper arm, tracing the skin with his finger. You started to say something else but he jumped into a conversation with his friend next to him. 

You couldn't help but feel conflicted as you sat nestled against Pato's side, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The sun was setting over the ocean, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks, and despite your internal protests, this felt... right.

After a couple more rounds of drinks, the group decided to head to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Pato's hand found the small of your back as you walked, guiding you through the crowded beachfront. The gesture was small, but intentional. Public. A statement.

"You're not being very subtle," you murmured as you reached the restaurant.

"I'm not trying to be," he replied, his eyes meeting yours. "I told you I would prove that I'm different."

At dinner, Pato insisted on sitting next to you, his leg occasionally brushing against yours under the table. The conversation flowed easily, most of his friends having been around a lot of his racing so they could keep up with you and Hannah. When it died down, most of the group decided to turn in for the night but you weren’t ready to retire just yet. 

“Walk with me?” You asked Pato and he nodded, slipping his hand into yours as you headed down the shoreline. Being with Pato was easy. You were never stressed, never waiting for the second ball to drop. 

He walked you back to the resort, stopping before the staircase that led up to your floor. You turend to him in confusion but were cut off by his lips against yours. They moved slowly and you found yourself moving against him, bringing your hand up to cup his face. His rested on your waist, holding you close to him. 

You pulled away after a bit, biting your lip as you stared at him. 

“What are you thinking cariño?” He asked. 

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, or the way his voice sounded like honey under the moonlight, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I like you,” you admitted, eyes dropping to the sand. “But I’m not sure I want to do this again, just be someone there for your convenience not able to commit during the season. I’ve already done that before.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, one you almost regretted the second you said it. But Pato didn't say anything right away. His expression shifted, the playfulness draining from his face, replaced by something sharper—something that almost looked like hurt.

“Wow,” he finally said, his voice low. “You really think that little of me?”

Your eyes widened, head snapping up. “Pato, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You meant it. And maybe that’s on me—maybe I was too forward, maybe I made this all feel too easy. But I’m not him, Y/N.”

He took a step back, still looking at you like you’d just slapped him.

“I’ve never once treated you like an option. I never played games. I’ve shown up, I’ve been honest, and I’ve waited—for you to see me, to trust me. And I would’ve kept waiting if you needed more time.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it cut you to your core.

“I’m not asking you to be mine right now,” he added. “I’m not asking you to give me anything you’re not ready for. But I am asking you to stop treating me like a placeholder for your past.”

Your throat tightened, your own eyes stinging with tears you didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pato nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll wait for you as long as you need, Y/N. But only if you’re willing to believe I’m worth waiting for too.”

And then he turned, starting to walk back toward the resort, leaving you with your bare feet in the sand and your heart unraveling in your hands.

—----------------------------------

You didn’t hear from Pato for the rest of the break and you tried to not think about the silence. It was hard to not compare him to Lando but it felt like you were right back in it. Big fight, usually a misunderstanding, and then he wouldn’t look at you and you’d pretend it didn’t hurt. 

That’s why you were dreading the return to the office, you knew he was going to be there today and you weren’t ready for the silent treatment in person. Hannah gave you a sympathetic look when she saw you, having heard everything that happened when you both travelled home. You spent the first half of the day at your computer, analyzing some data before deciding to get up to grab some coffee. 

Rounding the corner you ran straight into someone, your sorrys were cut off by two arms wrapping around you, pulling you into their chest. 

“Hola hermosa,” Pato whispered into your ear and you relaxed into him, letting your guard down. You couldn’t help the tears starting to gather in your eyes as he pulled away. “Oh cariño, what’s wrong?” 

You tried blinking away the tears, but one fell and was quickly swiped away by his fingers. 

"I thought you were going to be mad at me," you admitted, voice shaky. "I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore."

Pato's face softened, understanding replacing his initial concern. "Is that what he would have done? Gone silent on you?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," Pato said gently, tilting your chin up. "I meant what I said on the beach. I'm not him. I was hurt, yes. I needed space to think, but I wasn't going to throw away what we have because of one fight."

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "For comparing you to him. For not trusting that you're different."

"I know," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "And I'm sorry I walked away. I should have stayed, talked it through."

The admittance that he could have done something differently didn’t go unnoticed by you and you started to say something else when someone called out your name. 

“Y/n!”

You turned around to see Zak Brown coming down the hallway and your face broke out into a massive smile. 

“Zak,” you greeted and he pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet. 

“Oh how I’ve missed you,” your old boss said. “I hope you’ve been keeping up with the F1 races, I need your advice.”

“Of course you do,” you teased. Zak reached out to shake Pato’s hand before Pato excused himself to head to lunch. 

You walked with Zak to the conference room, chatting about the previous F1 races and what he was thinking. 

“I saw you and Pato,” he said as you reached the doors and you froze before deflating. 

“Just hopping from one driver to the next aren’t I?” You asked quietly. “I know what you’re going to say.” 

Zak looked at you carefully, “Lando didn’t deserve you, everyone knew that. But Pato’s different. He looks at you like you’re his whole world so what I was going to say is that I’m happy for you.”

You looked up at him in shock. "You think so?" you asked, a note of vulnerability in your voice that you rarely let anyone hear.

"Y/N, I've known Pato for years now," Zak said, leaning against the doorframe. "That man has always been passionate about racing, about winning. But I've never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you."

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words.

"Besides," Zak continued with a knowing smile, "I didn't transfer you here just because you needed to get away from Lando. I sent you here because I thought you'd be brilliant with this team. And maybe, just maybe, I thought you and Pato might hit it off."

"You were playing matchmaker?" You laughed incredulously.

"Call it an executive decision," he winked. "Now, about these race strategies..."

The meeting with Zak flew by, and by the time you emerged from the conference room, it was late afternoon. You checked your phone to find a text from Pato.

Dinner tonight? My place. I'll cook.

After stopping by your own place to change into something comfier, you headed to Pato’s. He smiled as he opened the door when you knocked, stepping aside to let you in. 

“It smells amazing,” you commented. You knew you were no longer going to enjoy your family’s white people taco nights after just one glance at what was cooking in the kitchen. 

Pato grinned, stepping back over to the stove to stir something in a pan. “It’s my mom’s recipe,” he said. “I figured if I was going to earn your forgiveness, I should start with food.”

You laughed softly, walking toward the kitchen island. “You already have my forgiveness,” you said, watching the way he moved so confidently around the kitchen, barefoot and in a soft black t-shirt. “But if you want to impress me, this is definitely the right way to do it.”

“Good to know,” he said with a wink. “Because I plan to keep trying.”

Dinner was relaxed, the two of you sitting across from each other at his kitchen table, a bottle of wine between you. He kept your cheeks warm with compliments and your stomach sore from laughing. It was comfortable—easy in a way that didn’t scare you anymore.

After the dishes were done (you washed, he dried), Pato grabbed a blanket and led you out to the small balcony that overlooked downtown Indy. The sun had long set, but the glow of the city lights made everything feel soft and quiet.

You curled your legs beneath you as you settled onto the outdoor couch, Pato sitting next to you and draping the blanket over both your laps.

“It’s kind of wild,” you said after a few minutes, your voice low. “That I ended up here. That it took me going through all of that mess just to realize the right person was someone I hadn’t even met yet.”

Pato turned to look at you, his profile lit up by the warm patio light. “I hate that he made you feel like you were hard to love,” he said quietly. “Because being with you? It feels like the easiest thing in the world.”

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest as you met his gaze. “I was so scared of getting it wrong again.”

“You didn’t,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just hadn’t found the right person to get it right with.”

A beat passed between you before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “Are we really doing this?” you whispered.

Pato smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “We’ve been doing this for a while now, haven’t we?”

You kissed him again, slower this time—deeper. It didn’t feel like a maybe or a placeholder or a temporary distraction. It felt like a beginning. When you finally pulled away, Pato rested his hand against your cheek.

“So,” he said, eyes dancing, “do I get to call you mine now?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours again. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you walked into that office.”

And under the stars, wrapped in his arms, you finally believed it.

[mercvry-glow]

Oh, to be Pope’s girl—waiting up for him on long nights after jobs gone bad, cradling his head against your chest while he holds onto you tighter than he probably should, whispering sweet nothings to him early in the morning before the scorching California sun rises. Raising Lena together because no one else in his family stepped up, slipping into the rhythm of a life that feels like family.

That easy feeling of being loved.

And you want that love to grow, to flourish, because he deserves that. Deserves more than the shitty hand of cards he was dealt by life. So truly you can’t help but wonder what he'll say when you tell him you want to give him a few more curly-haired babies to fill out the rest of your house 😚

[sqgeism]

Hello!! I love love your writing! Can I request a married!Rex x reader fic with him as a girl daddy, what kind of husband he is, and the two of them navigating their married life with him having to go out for hero duties often and the non-superpowered reader taking responsibility for their family in the meantime? Reader can be f! Or gender neutral. Thank you!!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 | rex sloan 'splode' x female reader

love mail — thank you anonnie!!! ure so sweet :'] loosely based on how my father raised me #ilovemydad!! my favorite trope ever <3 girldad rex agenda spreads

first week after the birth was a wreck, but not for the reasons you think. instead of being worried about the baby, you were worried about rex. he sits by the cradle every night, watching his baby girl, just admiring her. doesn't even realize it's four in the morning and you've got to drag him back into bed.

he doesn't mean to. but oh my goodness, he does. that little lady has your husband under a spell and you don't mind, needing some time to recover as he takes care of the baby. but just because he's got the baby, doesn't mean he neglects you. he makes you meals, tidies the house, and makes sure that your already exhausted body doesn't have to work hard until you're okay again.

rex is a good husband, he is. just because he's a hero doesn't mean he isn't a father. when he actually has to go to work, and you take care of the baby while he's gone, he makes sure to at least check in when he has the chance. "do you need me to buy anything?" is a call you often get when he's on his way home, take-out or ingredients in hand for dinner.

and every night, without fail, rex makes sure to play with his little girl till she grows tired. when he can't, it'll be in morning up to the time he has to leave for work. it warms your heart to see him so.. present, even if he's juggling so many responsibilities. he was so rough around the edges back then, so sarcastic and foul mouthed. but he's.. softened. his love is kinder, becoming such a dear. definitely not a knight in shining armor, but a loving husband in a 'kiss the cook' apron. which can be seen as arguably better.

rex finds himself a little dependent on you for sleep. he can't sleep without your kisses to his eyelids, making sure they stay shut. but sometimes he'll intentionally fight sleep, forcing his eyes to open just to hear you laugh and kiss him more, trying to get him to rest. he loves this, a life so domestic. a life he never thought he deserved.

until he met you. love seemed so foreign to him, yet you opened his heart gently — and he knew he was a goner.

he'd be with you till his last breath. and love you even beyond death, for nothing could stop his soul from needing yours.

[drabblesandsnippets]

A Future Waiting to Bloom

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: (2.2k) TW: Early miscarriage. An unexpected pregnancy leads to you and Bucky dreaming of a future that never comes to be.

A/N: I know miscarriage is a sensitive topic, but I’ve always written to help me process things in my life and I thought I would share, just in case anyone else needs a story like this. As always, please take care of yourself 🩶

Warnings: TW: Early miscarriage/’chemical pregnancy’. Established relationship. Soft and sweet Bucky. (Brief, vague references to Bucky’s foray into politics.) Fluff. Angst (with a hopeful ending). Mention of menstrual cycle, pregnancy symptoms, pregnancy tests, baby clothes, cramps, spotting.

The cold air whips around Bucky the moment he steps outside, remnants of winter still lingering in the air. Just another reason to add to his growing list of why he shouldn’t go. As if you’re incapable of staying warm without him. 

He certainly is.

With a resigned growl of frustration, he shoves his bag into the backseat of the car and closes the door with a slam, hard enough to make the hinges groan in protest. 

Yep, he’s handling this spectacularly.

Within seconds, he’s back inside the warmth of your shared residence for one more hug. One more kiss. One more moment of holding you close in order to ground himself in your comforting scent.

Then he’ll be able to make it out the door for his flight. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he buries his face in your hair, mumbling another plea for just a few more seconds. Minutes. Hours, if you’ll let him.

Your gentle reminder that it’s only for a couple days does nothing to deter him, Bucky refusing to loosen his tight embrace, even as you laugh softly against his chest, his strong arms keeping you from leaving him. As if that’s even a possibility. 

You’re struggling just as much as he is - tears guaranteed the second he’s driving away - but you refuse to give him yet another excuse to cling to. 

While separation is never easy, nothing compares to how proud you are of the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with. And you’ll be damned if you let him talk himself out of taking this next step, not with how important this is to him.

“It’s just politics,” you state matter-of-factly, giving Bucky a playful smile as your fingers soothe the tension from his neck. “Piece of cake. Nothing you can’t handle.” 

At his raised eyebrows, you double down, telling him, “Can’t be any worse than Sam’s birthday party.” A twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips and you add, “Four hours of karaoke, remember?”

“Don’t remind me,” he huffs, closing the distance once again to nuzzle your neck. “I still have nightmares.” 

This time his laughter mixes with yours and he smiles against your jaw, soon kissing a path towards your inviting mouth, desperate for one more taste of you. 

And when his soft murmur of appreciation ghosts over your lips, thanking you for loving him the way he needs, he doesn’t miss the way you cling to him. The way your heart syncs with his. 

The way you feel like home. 

It’s more than he ever thought he’d have - more than he deserves - and it’s exactly what finally kicks his ass into gear, giving him the strength to actually leave. 

With one more lingering hug and deep kiss that steals your breath away, he’s professing his love for you, hammering home how lucky he is to have you.

You hold the tears at bay, even as you return the sentiment, shouting one last ‘I love you’ from the porch, your arms wrapped around you to stave off the sudden burst of cold.

Only once his car disappears from view do you finally give in to the emotions, the urge to cry intensified by your impending period. 

You only give yourself a few seconds of cathartic release before you’re pulling yourself together, determined to make the most of the next couple of days instead of calling in sick to work and moping around the house. No matter how tempting that plan seems.

------

By afternoon, you’re rethinking everything, your eyes drooping the longer you stare at your computer screen, trying to juggle several tasks instead of taking a nap.

The only thing keeping you even remotely conscious is Bucky’s constant updates, his texts ranging from ‘Plane landed. Miss you.’ to ‘There’s a mirror in the shower. Can we get one?’

With your mental state already under siege by your hormones, you spend the rest of the day fighting off tears and aching for his touch. And berating yourself for acting like a military wife whose husband just got shipped off to war. 

The surge of pride you feel for him brings more tears to your eyes and you throw yourself into bed, a ridiculous sob erupting when his scent suddenly overwhelms you.

Bucky’s a few hours away, carving out a new path for himself. A new way to help the same world that tried to cast him aside.

Because that’s who he is - who he’s always been - and god, how you wish you could be there. To be a fly on the wall to witness his passion to make things better, to bring light to the things others try to keep in the dark.

Within seconds, you’re clutching his pillow to your chest, trying to remind yourself that it won’t always be this hard, that you won’t always be this emotional.

Hell, by the time Bucky gets home, your period will have started and this whole thing can be a funny anecdote to share over wine and much-needed snuggling.

------

The city is wide awake by the time you roll out of bed the next morning, blaming your lack of energy on the hours spent tossing and turning. And the few sporadic late-night conversations with Bucky when things felt too lonely.

Problem is, while he might not need much sleep, you’re barely functioning, hovering over your laptop for half an hour before deciding to call it and use one of your sick days. It doesn’t feel like a lie, your body desperate for more rest, the occasional twinge of a cramp encouraging you to take it easy.

The brilliant idea of tricking your body into submission comes in the form of superstition - take a pregnancy test and your period will show up just to spite you. It’s worked every time before.

But, with every new text from Bucky, you’re starting to entertain the idea of a quick nap, followed by a short flight to DC in order to surprise him at his hotel.

The only thing stopping you is the dread of getting your period while you're dealing with airport security or, worse, getting stuck in traffic. 

And then your whole world tilts.

Disappointment blooms briefly when it still doesn’t make an appearance during what always feels like the longest three minutes of waiting for the results.

It leaves you frustrated, yet innocently hopeful that it’ll show up within the next couple of hours. 

Doubt overwhelms any other emotion for several minutes, your shaky hands fumbling with another pregnancy test, already assuring yourself that the last was faulty.

This new one will confirm your suspicions, the mantra repeating right up until the faint second line joins the first just like before. 

Your first inhale brings life into the hope building in your gut. On the exhale, you’re laughing, all of your symptoms becoming glaringly obvious. You should have known.

This time when the ground shifts beneath you, your knees nearly give out. Your lungs cease to work. Your heart pounds in your ears. A terrifyingly beautiful future plays out behind your eyes.

This is actually happening.

You need to tell Bucky.

Of all the million thoughts racing through your head, that one remains the loudest and it’s hard to ignore the guilt gnawing at you for doing this without him.

It doesn’t feel fair that you get to live in this reality without him, but it’d be equally unjust to irrevocably change his life with a phone call.

So you wait. You pace. You agonize over every little detail. From how to tell Bucky, to what life will look like a year from now. Five years. Twenty.

Eventually, the tendrils of hope start to take hold, steadying you even as your worry and anxiety whisper of danger.

Neither of you are prepared, your shared moments of vulnerability echoing in your mind, the mirrored palpable fear of bringing a child into this world overriding the dreams neither of you dared voice.

Now you get to. 

Now you get to prove to Bucky that he was made for this. That whatever doubt you harbored wasn’t a reflection of him. If anything, knowing how amazing of a father he’ll be is one of the things keeping you from swirling into a panic attack.

------

Your plan starts small.

A gift bag with the pregnancy tests.

Then, a tiny motorcycle jacket resembling his that you just couldn't resist. You’re already imagining Bucky holding his helmet up to complete the outfit, a goofy smile plastered across his face as you snap a picture.

A couple hours before he walks in the door, you’re adding the last minute addition, butterflies swarming in your belly as you imagine his reaction to the onesie hiding inside, the words “My daddy is my hero!” etched across the front.

It builds slowly. Surprised recognition at the tests. A glance at you for assurance that this is really happening before he’s diving back in. A ghost of a smile that communicates more than he’s capable of verbalizing right now.

At the first touch of the faux leather against his skin, Bucky’s willing his heart to slow enough to allow himself to stay right here with you, to let himself believe in a future he thought was closed off to him. To imagine himself in a role he no longer gave credence to. 

The onesie completely breaks him open. 

Hero. Daddy. Two titles that you swear he can proudly hold. A monster who used to-.

Your soft utterance of his name catches him before he can fall into the familiar well of guilt, bringing him back to the fragile edge he teeters during moments like this.

“This isn’t something you have to earn, baby,” you whisper, reaching out to trace your fingers over the words, purposefully drawing Bucky’s attention back to the statement that’s trying to unravel him. “You just get to be.”

Just like that, you piece him back together. Like you always do. His jagged edges never once managing to scar you in the process. 

“You’re allowed to be excited,” you promise, your own glassy eyes meeting his, full of unshed tears. “Even if you’re scared… ‘cause, honestly, I’m terrified, but I-.”

“I want this too,” he finishes with you, a tentative smile finally taking hold, one hand gripping the onesie, the other pulling you closer. “I’m already thinking of baby names. Is that crazy?”

You laugh, meeting him in a teary kiss before confessing, “I’ve been picturing having to send them off on their first day of school, so…”

“You think I’m letting them outta my sight?” Bucky grins with a shake of his head. “Homeschool all the way, sweetheart. At least ‘til they’re 18.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You have plenty of time to figure it out.

------

For 52 glorious hours, you get to exist in a world full of possibilities. A world where Bucky begins to believe that his luck didn’t just end with you. That, despite everything, he’s allowed to have more. To want more.

His already attentive nature somehow multiplies, eager to wait on you hand and foot, insisting on a nap whenever a yawn overtakes you.

Several times you find yourself curled up on the couch with your head in his lap, his vibranium hand stroking lazy circles along your back, while scrolling with his other, researching everything from pregnancy symptoms to baby gear. And trying to figure out what the big deal is with gender reveals.

Bucky’s halfway through memorizing swaddling techniques when the first cramp hits, a flicker of worry etching itself along your brow. 

For a while, you manage to convince each other it’s totally normal. Common, even. Everyone says so. Even the doctor as you schedule an appointment anyway. 

When the spotting starts, Bucky still clings to hope, refusing to believe the universe would dangle this just to rip it away before it could ever really begin. Fuck the statistics.

But, deep down, you already know.

There was always a part of you that knew you tempted fate by taking that test. If you had waited, let nature take its course, you probably would have never known. You would have spared you both this heartache.

When the guilt starts to drown you, Bucky quiets your needless apologies, holding you together as sobs wrack your body.

As easy as it would be to blame himself - his past, his karma, hell, maybe his genes - he chooses a different path instead. One he’s not used to taking, but you’ve done a damn good job of lighting the way for him.

“I’m glad we knew,” he assures you, his gentle hands cradling your wet cheeks, encouraging you to stay right here with him. “Even if it wasn’t meant to be, I wouldn’t change anything about this, do you hear me?”

And that’s more than enough.

At your teary nod, one of his own slips past his lashes, but his smile never wavers. “You’ve given me the greatest gift, sweetheart,” he whispers, closing the distance to rest his forehead against yours, grounding you with him.

“You showed me that I’m allowed to hope. Freely. Without guilt. Like maybe I get to want things again.” 

The healing will take time. The world won’t look as bright for a while. The baby clothes will start to gather dust on the dresser. But it’s all perfectly okay. 

Because you're together, and you already have everything you need to begin writing the next chapter.

Main Masterlist

Banners by @cafekitsune

[terriblegam2r]

I saw what you did there Andy and Danai and/or costume department.

“It must have been something else then” ❤️

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Unhinged Power Move (ft. Marriage, Ra’s al Ghul, and an Uncomfortable Batfamily)

No one really understood how it started. One moment, Tim Drake was Red Robin—tired, overworked, and fueled by caffeine. The next, he was dropping a bombshell in the middle of a routine debrief:

“Oh, by the way, I married Ra’s al Ghul.”

The room froze.

Dick’s dumbbell hit the floor. Jason choked on his beer. Damian’s sword slipped from his hand. Bruce, staring at Tim like he’d grown a second head, barely managed a strangled, “Tim. What did you do?”

Tim took a sip of his coffee, utterly unfazed. “It’s a power move.”

Jason, wheezing with laughter: “Oh my god. You married Ra’s out of spite? Replacement, I’ve never been prouder.”

Tim smirked. “Something like that.”

-----------

It wasn’t really spite.

Ra’s had been obsessed with him for years. The offers of succession, the constant attempts to lure him to the League—it was never-ending. Tim was tired. Tired of being hunted, tired of the games. So, one day, he called Ra’s’ bluff. If Ra’s wanted him so badly, he’d have to deal with all that came with it. Including Tim’s unrelenting need for control.

Ra’s agreed.

And just like that, Tim Drake became the most terrifying in-law the batfamily had ever seen.

-----------

Talia didn’t know what to think at first.

She’d seen it all before—people manipulated by Ra’s, twisted into tools for his will. But Tim? He didn’t play by those rules. He sat at Ra’s’ desk, sifting through League reports like they were Gotham case files. He didn’t bark orders; he made suggestions. And then, the soup happened.

Talia returned from a mission, bruised and exhausted. Tim, barely looking up from his paperwork, said, “Sit. You’re hurt.”

She scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s soup.”

Talia stared. “Why?”

Tim shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

It became a routine. She’d return from missions, and Tim would be there. Not with judgment. Not with manipulation. Just quiet support. He listened. He offered advice. He treated her like a person, not a pawn.

Somehow, they started having regular bonding time. Shopping trips. Quiet conversations on the balcony. Tim became a person Talia could trust—a concept she hadn’t believed possible.

-----------

Damian was losing his mind.

“Drake!” he hissed, cornering Tim in the Batcave. “You’ve… corrupted my mother!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Corrupted? She’s thriving.”

“She smiles at you!”

“I’m very charming.”

Damian’s finger trembled as he pointed. “This makes you… my grandmother.”

Tim smirked. “Respect your elders, grandson.”

“I REFUSE!”

-----------

Bruce was spiraling.

“Tim, this is dangerous.”

“Relax,” Tim replied, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You married one of our greatest enemies!”

“Think of it as an undercover op,” Tim said, voice calm and unyielding. “I’m playing the long game.”

Jason, from the sidelines, grinned. “He’s playing 4D chess, and you’re still on checkers.”

-----------

The Real Chaos?

Tim didn’t marry Ra’s to make him happy. Hell no. If anything, it made Tim sick to his stomach knowing Ra’s was smug about it. But if putting up with Ra’s al Ghul meant protecting Talia, stabilizing the League, and giving Damian a family that didn’t break apart at the seams?

He’d endure.

Because Talia was healing. Damian’s mother was smiling. And Ra’s… well, Ra’s thought he’d won.

But the real winner? Tim Drake.

Gotham’s most unhinged vigilante had just become the League of Assassins’ terrifying step-parent. And honestly? It suited him.

-----------

Damian, whispering to Alfred: “I need… therapy.” Alfred: “We all do, Master Damian. We all do.”

[honey-bird10]

SHJ ACCIDENTALLY (????) PROPOSED TO HYJ ON HIS BIRTHDAY ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

[lolabearwrites]

My happy, ideal ending: the star-touched elves become the final boss of the series and the gang team up with Aaravos to take them down (somehow) then Aaravos can bring Leola back with the last quasar diamond, and they can go back to the stars happily ever after

[zackcharine]

I need to try harder to get out of bed but augh

[hueseok]

it was always you.

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

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

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

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

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

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

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

“Any questions?”

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

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

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

More than half of the class raises their hands.

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

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

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

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

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

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

You wince.

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

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

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

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An apology?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I can make space for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

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

“Okay.”

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

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

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

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

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”

“Yes.”

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

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

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

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

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Precisely.”

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

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

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

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

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s no need, Kook.”

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

So, you allow him.

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

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

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

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

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

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

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

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

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

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

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

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

“Misunderstand what?”

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

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

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

“You should be.” You grumble.

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

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

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

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

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

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

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

You blushed.

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

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

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

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

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

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

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

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

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

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

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

You cackled. “Deal.”

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

****

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

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

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

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

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

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

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

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

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

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

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

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

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hang up and glance at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

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

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

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

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

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

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

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

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

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

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

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

“Let me do it,” he says.

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

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

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

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

“____—”

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

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

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

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

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

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

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

“Four months, I think.”

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

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

“You must really like him then.”

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

“Does he treat you well?”

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

“What’s with it?”

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

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

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

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

“But I’m not your brother.”

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

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

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

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

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

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

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

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

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

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

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

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

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

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

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

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

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

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

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

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

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[prisonhannibal]

I’m posting this at 8:30pm Gaza time. As of posting, the start of the ceasefire is twelve hours away. The people of Gaza are looking forward to it with hope, but also worrying about if it will last and what is next for them. Ghada’s (@ghadaanqar1) family is one of these families. Finally, for the first time in months they will have a nights rest without hearing bombs. But where will they go now? They’ve lost their house, their income, their schools and hospitals are bombed. The future is still uncertain.

With the ceasefire, they will have some time to rest, but they still need our help. Please don’t let the news make you think they don’t need us anymore. With this hope, and this chance at life, it’s our responsibility to continue to help them move forward and finally get to real safety and rebuild their lives. With a ceasefire, aid will be more easily accessible and the borders will reopen, so it’s extremely important that we get the family the funds they need to be able to leave now that it’s so close.

Any donation will help Ghada and the whole family. Both small and big donations add up to a sum that will change their lives. Your donation can be what helps these children play again and go back to school to achieve their dreams. They have dreams and goals just like you did, and they have so many years ahead of them that they deserve to spend living those dreams.

You can donate to help them here. They currently have €11,840 raised out of 20,000. Please help them get to 15,000 within the next days 🇵🇸🙏🏼

@rickybabyboy @valtsv @komsomolka @hotvampireadjacent @r0zeclawz @marxism-transgenderism @teaboot @3000s @ot3 @90-ghost @apas-95 95 @pitbolshevik @punkitt-is-here @b0tster @vampiricvenus @ankle-beez @tamamita @omegaversereloaded @sawasawako @feluka @postanagramgenerator @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @spacebeyonce @neechees @evillesbianvillainarchive @beserkerjewel @tpwrtrmnky @beetledrink @spaghettioverdose @specialmouse @tlirsgender @grox @minmos @paparoach @jackalopescruff @slimetony @boobieteriat @liberalsarecool @charlott2n @juney-blues @aflo @skunkes

[a-shade-of-blue]

Hi everyone. Mohammed Khalil (@ahmed0khalil) has asked me to share his story, and I’m writing on his behalf. Mohammed created the donation campaign for his little brother 6-year-old Ahmed, and he aims to raise funds to evacuate his family of 8. You can see in his blog how much he loves and worries for 6-year-old Ahmed. Mohammed is only 19 years old. This is not normal. He should have been in school, not begging for our attention to try and raise enough funds so that they can buy food, water, medicine, and a chance to evacuate to safety.

In Gaza, where the sounds of bombing blend with the cries of children, Mohammed and Ahmed's family experienced days they never imagined they would endure. Mohammed (19) and Ahmed (6) have four other siblings: Fathi, Aya, Anas and Abdullah. Aya (21) is a uni nursing student and Anas (15) is also a school student. Neither of them can study anymore with the current genocide. This war is especially hard on Fathi (23), who is blind and suffering from coronary artery disease, Abdullah (11) who is autistic and does not understand what is happening, and Ahmed (6), a small child who had barely started kindergarten before his education came to a halt.

The destruction that struck the area left them with no place to live. The sounds of explosions fill the horizon, and the homes that once sheltered them have become piles of rubble. They suddenly found themselves outside their home, homeless.

The bombing not only destroyed their home, but also severely injured Mohammed. Mohammed was sitting at the entrance of the school his family was sheltering in when three bombs were dropped in front of him. The bombs destroyed a residential tower in front of Mohammed. Dust filled the air and the resulting rubble and shrapnel fell on Mohammed, injuring him in the leg. Mohammed was so severely wounded that he could not walk, and he had to lie there, hurt and bleeding, for 2 hours before the Palestinian Red Crescent came and carried him to the hospital.

The bombing shattered the glass in the school Mohammed and his family was staying at, but thankfully the children sustained no serious injuries. Soon after, they were asked to evacuate the school immediately as there were news that the IOF were going to bomb the Abbas prison near it. And so even though Mohammed was wounded, he could not rest and wait for his leg to heal, but had to leave again with his family.

Now they are living in a small tent in a refugee camp. Mohammed told me that they had to bathe in polluted water and the place smelled of sewage and corpses. Camp life was difficult not only because of the scarcity of food, the infectious disease, and the polluted water, but also because of the psychological torture they endure. Looking at all the devastation, and how the world seems indifferent to their suffering, Mohammed told me that they, including young innocent 6-year-old Ahmed, had begun to lose hope for a better future.

Internet is unstable and often lacking in the refugee camp. Mohammed is using the precious time when Internet is available to tell me his story. I hope you will not turn away their calls for help. They urgently need donations to provide for shelter, food, and medicine, as well as to evacuate out of Gaza. Donations are coming in really slowly for Mohammed’s campaign, and I beg all of you, please, don't turn a blind eye to his story. 

Mohammed’s campaign has been shared by 90-ghost and I’ve also been talking extensively with him. He is a very nice person and he just really wants to help his family survive. Please, please, help Mohammed evacuate himself, his 5 siblings and his parents! Little 6-year-old Ahmed does not deserve to live in fear of falling bombs every day, and neither does Mohammed and the rest of his family. 

Really low funds! Only €1,185 raised of €50,000 target!!

Please share/reblog and donate to help a family of 8! These are children we are talking about, and my heart breaks for what they have to endure.

Please follow Mohammed and Ahmed on @ahmed0khalil to get updates on their situation!

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[theconcealedweapon]

You live with your parents? Then you're a loser. Also, if they abuse you or if you have trauma from them abusing you in the past, you must sit back and take it.

You go above and beyond at work and be the best possible employee? You're rewarded with more work and maybe a tiny raise. You deserve your pitiful wage because you agreed to it.

You go to school to learn more skills so you can get a better job in the future? Then you deserve to suffer under debt for the rest of your life for making such a poor financial decision.

You steal? Then you're a dangerous thug and you always will be.

You sell drugs to make extra income? Then you're the scum of the earth and you're singlehandedly responsible for every single drug-related death that happens.

You become a sex worker? Then you deserve to be raped. Raping you doesn't even count as raping a human because you're not a human.

You try to change the system so poverty stops happening? Then you're a threat to this country's principles of freedom.

You get an abortion because you know that you'd never be able to raise a child? Then you're a cold blooded murderer and should be put to death.

No matter what you do to escape poverty, people will be downright hostile toward you. People will advocate for your suffering and say that you deserve it. Yet somehow they're able to have zero hostility toward those who profit from all of this suffering.

[moonlitenha]

pt1 – i’d choose you, every time. [jay]

⸻

PAIRINGS: rich!jay x soft spoken!reader

GENRE: slight angst, fluff, cheesy and toe curling moments (reader is soft spoken)

WORD COUNT: 700 (part 2 is finally up!!)

SYNOPSIS: jay's always giving—but you just want to be held. one honest conversation leads to a moment of tears, tender kisses, and a man who finally understands how to love you.

⸻

Ever since Jay asked you out three months ago, your life had taken on this dreamy, surreal quality. Not because he was perfect—though to you, he might as well be—but because he had this habit of doing the most extravagant things for you.

Handwritten letters tucked in your bag? Adorable.

But then pairing them with a brand-new designer bag? Unnecessary.

Candle-light dinners? Romantic.

But having them at a private rooftop restaurant he rented out? A bit much.

You appreciated everything.

You really did.

But with every new gift, your heart grew a little heavier.

“Princess, look what I got you,” Jay grinned as he entered your apartment one evening, holding up a velvet jewelry box like a trophy.

You sighed softly, setting your phone down and rising from the couch.

“Jay…”

He raised a brow. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You don’t like surprises anymore?”

You walked up to him, heart pounding. This wasn’t how you wanted the night to go.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” you said gently, resting your hand on his chest. “It’s just… you don’t have to keep doing this. All the gifts and stuff.”

Jay blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?.”

“I mean, I love being with you. I love you, baby. Not your credit card.”

He laughed, unsure. “I know that..”

“Do you, though?” You bit your lip. “Because every week there’s something new. A necklace. That bracelet. The perfume. The shoes. And don’t even get me started on that custom hoodie with our initials embroidered on it.”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, maybe I went a little overboard with that one…”

You gave him a tiny smile. “I know you’re just trying to make me happy. And I love that about you. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to spend money to keep me.”

His smile faltered. “So… you’re saying you don’t want me to buy you things anymore?”

“No, I’m saying you don’t need to. I feel guilty sometimes, Jay. Like I can’t match it. I don’t want this to turn into some weird… imbalance.”

He pulled away slightly, jaw tightening. “Wow. Okay.”

“Jay…”

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “I thought I was doing something nice. My bad.”

Your heart sank. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He crossed his arms, suddenly distant.

“I was just trying to spoil my girl. That’s all. You think it’s about me buying your love?”

You stepped closer, placing both hands on his cheeks. “No, baby. That’s not what I meant. I know you love me. I feel it every day, not because of the gifts, but because of how you talk to me. How you listen. How you hold me when I’ve had a bad day. That means more to me than any fancy thing you could buy.”

Jay looked down, his voice softening. “Then why does it feel like you’re rejecting me?”

Your chest ached. “I’m not rejecting you, sweetheart. I just want you to know I love you as you are. Not what you give me. I’d still love you even if all we had was each other and takeout on the floor.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess I just wanted to give you the world,” he murmured. “You deserve that.”

“You are the world to me,” you whispered.

His lips quirked into a soft smile. “You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it,” you teased, poking his side.

“I really do,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “Okay, okay. I’ll chill with the gifts.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“But just so you know,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair, “you can’t stop me from writing you love letters.”

You giggled. “That’s totally allowed. In fact, I require them now.”

Jay grinned. “You drive a hard bargain, princess.”

“Damn right I do.”

He pulled back, his eyes sparkling with something softer now—understanding. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to earn my love back somehow. That was never the point.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know your heart. That’s why I had to say something.”

He leaned in and kissed you—slow and reassuring, a silent promise tucked into the spaces between your breaths.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispered.

“And you to me,” you said, fingers curling into his shirt. “Now let’s go order some cheap greasy takeout and cuddle like the broke couple we truly are.”

Jay laughed, the tension finally melting off his shoulders. “God, I love you.”

You grinned, pulling him toward the couch. “Then prove it—by letting me steal all your fries.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, baby.”

“And you’re lucky you have me, sugarplum.”

Jay gave you a look. “Sugarplum?”

“It’s a thing now,” you said, already curled up under the blanket. “Deal with it.”

He rolled his eyes fondly, plopping down beside you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Your ridiculous sugarplum.”

He didn’t argue with that.

⸻

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed!

[transmutationisms]

31 July: Update on Mohammed Iwais

Hey everyone, a lot of you have seen my posts about Mohammed @mohdiwais in Gaza. Since October 7, Mohammed has lost his house and his company to the IOF bombing, and he is struggling to access clean water, food, and necessary medical care. He has 9 brothers, all of whom are married and have children, and he's fundraising to help all of them get to safety and eventually rebuild their lives.

In my last post I told you about his sister, who got shot and had a massive bullet embedded in her leg:

Luckily, the operation to remove it was successful, and she is still alive. However, today Mohammed told me that her condition is getting worse due to pollution and lack of access to medications she needs. Caring for someone after surgery is hard enough without enduring a horrific genocide at the same time. Her family are desperately hoping she recovers, but they are stuck in unsafe conditions, being bombed and deprived of basic necessities by the IOF.

That's where you come in. Mohammed and his family are in an ongoing crisis, and they need your help. Since I started boosting his campaign, he's raised a few thousand more SEK, and he's extremely grateful to everyone who has donated and helped share his campaign.

However, he still has a long way to go before he reaches his goal of kr500,000 SEK, or $46,679 USD.

This is an attainable goal! But he desperately needs your help to get there.

Before October 7, his family had 37 people, including his brothers and sisters and their children. They lost more than 10 people when their house was bombed, and even laying their bodies to rest properly was not possible in the rubble. Please don't let the Iwais family lose another member. They are still here with us, and they need help urgently.

The support you have given already is amazing, both by donating and by sharing Mohammed's campaign when you can't give anything. Please keep that up. Don't look away, and don't forget about Mohammed, his family, and the horrific abuses they are enduring.

This is an ongoing crisis, and your help can make a tangible difference. Any amount helps; nothing is too small. If you've been waiting to donate to a Gazan campaign, consider this a sign and help Mohammed. Everyone deserves a decent life, and right now Mohammed is still praying just to survive.

kr31,010 SEK / 500,000

verified by @/90-ghost