#mom hoping next chapter is about those things

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 6

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: Language, mentions of complicated birth, blood

A/N: Hi, loves! Sorry for going MIA for a week, but in my defense, I gave you a heads up. 🙈 These next few weeks are unfortunately going to be like that, but I’m trying my best to proofread everything in time. I’ll also reply to everyone as soon as I can!!! Thank you for your patience and support. 🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 5 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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The gunshot cracked through the streets, cutting through the night like a bad omen. You pulled Emma close as your heart was hammering relentlessly in your chest. The silence that followed only sharpened your fear. Eyes shut tight, you forced yourself to breathe, clinging to one thought: Please, don’t let it be Russell. Not like this. Not now. Not when you saw a flicker of hope of not only escaping this nightmare, but also of maybe finally finding some closure for everything left unsaid between you.

Your whole life flashed through your mind, choppy and absurdly fast like a Charlie Chaplin-movie.  If it weren’t for the terror, you might’ve laughed at how comically swift and disjointed the images came, like a slapstick comedy, only it wasn’t funny.

Your mind drifted to those first moments, four years ago, that had changed everything. You could see those two unmistakable blue lines on the pregnancy test, clear as an August sky, no room for doubt. You could also see the way your body started to tremble at the weight of it and how you clung to your sister, Anna, who tried her best to comfort you while also nagging you to tell her what’s the matter.  

You also remembered the first time you held Emma the day she was born - well, technically the day after she was born. She had decided to make a dramatic entrance, tangling herself in her umbilical cord. You’d been knocked out cold from the emergency C-section, missing the whole thing. In hindsight, probably for the best; your nerves would’ve been shot otherwise. But when you finally held her, all that worry and exhaustion melted away as she looked up at you with those big, curious eyes, and just like that, she had you wrapped around her tiny fingers. 

You held her then, almost the same way you were holding her now, though you tried to shove that comparison to the back of your mind. 

The memory of your parents’ first meeting with her was also vivid. Your dad, who’d been all fire and brimstone about Russell – and let’s be honest, your unplanned pregnancy – had melted the second he saw Emma’s bright green eyes. You’d never seen him, the tough, no-nonsense mechanic, act so soft. It was like watching a grizzly suddenly turn into a teddy bear. Your mom, of course, was over the moon, but you expected that. She’s always been your biggest cheerleader, besides Anna. Your dad, though, was also someone you could always count on, but there was something different about your bond with him.

As these memories flashed by, it hit you like a ton of bricks: they must be out of their minds with worry. You hadn’t told them about Colter Shaw’s involvement in finding Emma, and they had no clue that calling him was basically inviting Russell into the picture, to invite him into this mess. The irony, of course, being that this very mess had started with him – even if he hadn’t exactly meant for things to spiral into a nightmare.

You can’t help but think back to how you and Russell first met – it felt like fate with a side of fries. He was sitting in a corner booth at the diner where you worked, trying to figure out the menu like it was written in hieroglyphs. That Cream t-shirt of his clung to his broad shoulders in just the right way, and the dim lighting made him look like something out of a movie. A guy who looked that good and had killer music taste? Yeah, you knew you were doomed.

At the time, you were pulling double shifts to scrape together enough to pay for the student loan you took out years ago, feeling every inch of burnout creeping in. But then there was Russell, glancing up at you with a gaze so intense it could’ve burned a hole through the laminated menu. The moment you stepped up to take his order, his eyes locked onto yours like he’d found what he was looking for… and for almost three years, they never really left.

“Y/N?” A voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. 

Your ears perked up and then the voice spoke up again.

“It’s safe. You can come out now.” 

Colter. Calm and steady, as always.

Your eyes flew open and you peeked around the tree and saw the aftermath. There was Colter, standing tall with his gun lowered, surveying the scene. And sprawled on the ground, clutching his shoulder and looking about as smug as a wet rat was Rourke, blood seeping through his fingers. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy. 

But Colter wasn’t alone. Officers from the Springland Sheriff’s Department marched in behind him with raised guns, all sporting that famous TV-cop focus. The sheriff himself was there, giving Rourke a look like he was mentally listing all the charges he’d be writing up. His men had Rourke’s goons pinned. Now that their great boss was down, they didn’t seem too keen to put on a fight. Their faces looked like they’d just been sucker-punched by surprise. 

And they weren’t the only ones.

You held Emma tight, inching out from behind the tree, eyes scanning frantically until you found Russell. He was there, standing over Rourke, right where the standoff had left them. He seemed unharmed, aside from the bruises and cuts he was already sporting.

Thank God.

He looked just as shocked as you to see his brother here, surrounded by cops. Russell wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with law enforcement – his years at Horizon as a black ops agent made him wary of trusting any man with badges. But today? He looked downright relieved to see so many uniforms. 

On the pavement, Rourke gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto whatever shred of authority he had left.

“Shaw, you little –what, you brought some friends?” His voice was strained, all his earlier swagger bleeding out along with the blood from his shoulder.

Russell shot his brother a look that could’ve covered a dozen emotions, then glanced at the walking douche with the pornstache. “Guess you should’ve checked that warehouse a little better.” 

The sheriff stepped forward, his face all business as he looked down at Rourke. “James Rourke” he said, his voice tinged with authority as he put the man in handcuffs, “you’re under arrest for kidnapping, assault, conspiracy, human trafficking, and about a dozen other charges I’ll happily review once we’re at the station. Don’t worry, We’ve got just enough time until the feds get here.”

The feds? And human trafficking?

Before you could think any further, Russell stepped closer to you and Emma, and without any hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you two. You could feel how the weight of it all fell off his shoulders as he let himself melt in this moment. He felt that this moment, right here, is going to be something he’ll always remember. You hesitated, but seeing Emma already snuggled up to him, you decided to let yourself lean in. Just a little.

As he held you both, Russell glanced up and spotted Reenie walking alongside Colter. Reenie, no doubt, was behind the intel that finally exposed Rourke. For years, Russell had suspected that Rourke was running something shady, a side hustle no one in Morello’s circle knew about. And he was right. Rourke was overseeing an entire underground trafficking network, bringing in young, vulnerable women, and doing it all without Morello’s knowledge. 

Rourke was smart enough to keep his illegal dealings separate from Morello’s empire at Horizon. If Morello had known, he would’ve shut it down immediately, but Rourke kept it quiet, carefully concealed behind the black ops company he worked for. Rourke had always been good at playing both sides. Loyal enough to keep up appearances with Morello, but greedy enough to carve out his own profits on the side. The money was too good to walk away from, and that’s why he kept it hidden so well. He’d threatened Russell to stay quiet, and for a while, Russell had listened, against his better judgment. He regretted it every day.

But the minute he tried to walk away, to cut ties, Rourke made sure he understood that there was no leaving without consequences. Technically, he was Russell’s superior.

If you wanted out, you paid the price. 

And that price had been higher than Russell ever expected.

Reenie caught his eye, her lips curving into a subtle but unmistakable smile. He gave her a quick nod – a silent thank-you he knew he could never fully repay. Not to her, and not to Colter. 

The sheriff nodded to his team, signaling them to move. Two officers stepped forward, dragging Rourke to his feet with little care for dignity. His eyes flared with anger, but the fight was gone.

“You can try to take me down, but this isn’t over” he snarled. His gaze darted to Russell, who remained let go of the two of you as he faced his ex son of a bitch boss. “You really think you’ve won? You think a few pretty words from your little sheriff buddy will save you? I have people everywhere. I’ll get out. And when I do…”

As he was led past you, Rourke’s gaze landed on you and Emma, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your skin crawl.

Russell’s voice cut through, icy and unshakable. “It’s over, James. With the mountain of evidence I’m about to gift-wrap for the feds, you’re not seeing daylight anytime this century. So get cozy with prison food – and try to make some friends.” 

“We know about your little side hustles, Rourke.” Reenie spoke up. “Made sure your bosses do now, too. This’ll stick, for good.”

“Oh, and don’t worry” Russell added with a smirk. “I’ll be sure to send a postcard from the outside.”

Rourke’s expression twisted with contempt as he was led out to the sheriff’s car with the rest of his men, who had been swiftly rounded up by the officers. As the street cleared, silence fell, broken only by the occasional shuffling as the officers began to file out, satisfied that Rourke was finally out of commission.

Colter turned back to you, his face softening as he took in the sight of Emma clinging to you. “You’re alright?” he asked as he looked between you, Russell, and your daughter. It was the first time it seemed to click for him. He had a niece.

“We’re fine” you replied, still sounding like you’d been hit by a truck. The shock was still working its way through you, and you weren’t sure if you were still breathing properly. “Colter, I– there aren’t words. Thank you. How– How did you know where we were? And what happened–”

Colter gave a small, reassuring smile. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise I will answer all of them” he said simply. “But you have other issues at hand.” he nodded towards his brother. Russell nodded next to you, and after patting his brother on the shoulder they exchanged a brief hug, awkward and stiff, like two grown men who were both allergic to affection. You couldn’t help but notice that, for a moment, they actually seemed... human. 

You didn’t know much about their connection, Russell had always kept his family history under wraps. But you weren’t blind. You could tell there was some sort of tension between them, some unspoken history – but you knew it wasn't the time or place to ask questions. Still, seeing them like this, even for a moment, was kind of... nice. You weren’t sure if it was the whole "brotherly love" thing or just the fact that they managed to put aside whatever baggage they were hauling around. Either way, it was kind of refreshing to see them looking like, well, brothers for once.

After a couple of seconds, Russell stepped back. “How did you pull this off?”

Colter shrugged, a grin slipping onto his face. “Had some favors to cash in from the Springland Sheriff’s Department. Figured they’d be interested in getting their hands on a guy like Rourke after the things Reenie uncovered about him. Turns out, I was right.”

Russell nodded, a newfound respect in his eyes. And at least he now knew where they were. Not even that far away from Idaho Falls. “Guess I owe you one. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“You owe me more than one, but we can settle that later.” Colter smirked. “The cops want to take the girls into the hospital for a medical check up. Good luck with convincing them” he smirked and with that, he strolled over to the attorney, Reenie as you recently learned. If you squinted, you could’ve sworn there was something more in the way they spoke to each other. But Colter was right. There were more pressing things to focus on than whatever unspoken story was between them.

The cool night air hit you like a shock as you exhaled deeply, letting the chilly wind breeze through your body. It was over. Really, truly over. You turned to Russell, overwhelmed with a mix of gratitude, relief and unresolved tension. You both stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with the silence between you. It was the first time you were face-to-face with reality, without the distraction of searching for Emma or pretending not to notice the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t want to“ he began, holding up a hand before you could get a word in. “But you and Emma need to check into the hospital. Just to be sure she’s okay, no hidden bumps or bruises.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t try to be a hero. Do it for her, if not for yourself. And…maybe a little for me, too” His eyes softened as he looked at you both. “I need to know you’re safe. After everything that just went down, I don’t think I could handle one more surprise tonight.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on him. It wasn’t the usual tough-guy act, but something raw and real.

With a sigh, you nodded. “Fine. But only because you’re looking at me like you’re about to pass out on the spot.” You paused, giving him a pointed look. “But only on one condition. You come with us.”

Russell blinked, clearly thrown off by your request. He probably expected you to give him some kind of cold shoulder routine, maybe even throw in a few snide comments for good measure. But no, instead, here you were, asking him to join you and Emma at the hospital. Progress? Maybe. Or maybe you were just too tired to argue anymore. Either way, the surprise was written all over his face.

Still, he smiled faintly as a reluctant agreement when he glanced at Emma standing next to you. She was staring up at him, her little face so adorably and comically pleading, showing that she was clearly not ready to let him go. Goddamn puppy eyes, he thought. And they were working. “Guess I don’t have much choice, huh?”

You gave him a look that was part teasing, part serious. “Not really.”

A few deputies had gathered around, ready to escort you to Springland Hospital. Russell glanced at them briefly, then let out a small amused smile. 

As the three of you made your way toward the cars, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. Things weren’t magically fixed between you and Russell, far from it. There was still so much left unsaid, so much tension hanging in the air between you two. But maybe, this was a step in the right direction.

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Anna had been pacing for what felt like a century. Two days of no news, no word, no nothing. First, Emma vanished. Then you. Anna knew you better than anyone, that sister-sense always worked well between you, so she could feel the weight of your usual nervous, anxious energy magnified tenfold. After Emma went missing, it was only natural that her thoughts veered to the worst-case scenario – what if you had done something… irreversible?

She’d been on the phone with your parents non-stop, but no one knew a damn thing. They have been just as on the edge. You just disappeared, leaving no trace behind. And Anna? She wasn’t about to leave your house. No way. Someone had to be here, in case you both randomly showed up like nothing happened.

It had been two days. Two days of staring at the door, waiting for it to open, praying you and Emma would walk in, hand in hand, ready to explain what the hell just happened.

Her thoughts stopped, a glimmer of hope flashing through her chest as she heard the sound of keys rattling at the door. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It had to be you. No one else had a key besides her and your parents.

With a mix of joy and anger ready to spill out in one messy confession, Anna hurried over to the door, ready to throw herself at you, hugging you tight and probably swearing at you for disappearing without a word.

But when the door swung open, it wasn’t you standing there.

No, it was him. The one face she swore she’d punch the next time she saw him.

“What the actual hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her words laced with enough venom to make anyone think twice about speaking.

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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 7)

Finally, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. “Stay” you said quietly. “We still have a lot to figure out, but... I’d like you to stay. At least until she wakes up.”

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And they’re finally out of the trenches! It took some time, but don’t worry, the journey isn’t over yet. The next chapter is one of my personal favorites (I mean, check out the sneak peek!).

Chapter 7 coming soon….

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[angy-grrr]

it’s not ooc bc ochako parallels all might’s savior heroism thru the manga -some of her more important moments, like when she screamed at civilians to let Deku in, are direct parallels-, and Izuku does strive to be like that. This is a discussion about her being a hero, not about romance. Also you think clueless Midoriya the nerd is confessing by saying you are my hero when he sees All Might as his hero too and already denied romantic feelings for wanting to be like that when he rejected Himiko? Heroism is the furthest thing from romance he could think of, and that’s how he was able to reject Toga without getting all nervous and embarrassed. That’s his comfort platonic place.

#mha429

Izuku to Ochaco in this chap: "you're my hero!"

Izuku to Katsuki +200 chaps prior: "All Might was my hero but you were the one actually in my life!"

I don't want to see anyone complaining about "OOC" stuff anymore in takes/fics/arts when Horikoshi himself is mischaracterizing his own characters!!!! (/half-joke tho)

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 14.8k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: I've been thoroughly enjoying your asks and replies about this story (sorry I can’t get to each one!) I see that a lot can relate to what OC's going through and I'm sending you hugs! 🤗 Again, I appreciate your love and excitement. And uh... Golden JK in that white tank. YUP. 🤭 Hoping you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

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

The spring in your step tightens the closer you get to Jungkook’s penthouse the next Monday. Walking here to start another week, there’s a mix of emotions you’re carrying with you. 

You got to spend a proper weekend. On Friday, you made yourself some cold noodles and then watched a movie with Jimin and Soomin on video call, who’d said they’ll be visiting you in a week. You took the train to Daegu on Saturday, went to the park, then stayed in to enjoy Min-woo’s cooking and the girls’ stories about school and their youth clubs. You then buried yourself in your mother’s embrace as you told her about your week. You didn’t want to say too much, not wanting her to worry that her daughter isn’t being treated well at her job, but you suppose you said enough. 

“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from everything,” she’d told you softly. “All I can do is just give you hugs and say words of encouragement that might not even mean much.”

“And you still are, mom. I look forward to being with you because of those hugs. But more than that, you were strong enough to protect me from the bad guys,” you’d assured her. “Jungkook is many things but he’s not a terrible person. I can handle him.”

And you meant it. He may be hot-tempered sometimes but he’s not evil. But just because he made you go home early last Friday, it also doesn’t mean he’s suddenly redeemed in your mind. Sure, he didn’t email you at all over the weekend unlike last time, but he also still didn’t apologize to you nor show remorse. 

Perhaps that small nod after he called you telling you that you could go home was his way of saying sorry, or maybe it just isn’t in his vocabulary. You wonder if Hoseok had told him off but even then, it’s a pretty quick change, if you could call it that. 

Regardless, you felt like a human being again these past few days; you just wish Jungkook woke up on the right side of the bed this morning and doesn’t find a reason to complain about you. 

Unlocking the door, you’re surprised to hear silence - there are no grunts and deep breaths nor the sound of leather hitting leather from his morning workout. You scan the floor before walking around - a habit you’ve developed after finding that laced underwear last week - and then peep into the door on the right, only to find untouched equipment and no other traces of him. 

You’re in the living room when you hear another door close, prompting you to turn around and see a woman appearing from the hallway on the other side of the penthouse. Her hair’s a bit disheveled and she’s wearing one of Jungkook’s coats that you saw in his closet. 

“Uh, who are you?” The woman scoffs, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised now. 

Taken aback, you just stare at her, until you realize she’s not wearing anything underneath so you look away.

You try to make sense of who she is and how you could get out of this situation. You know for a fact that Jungkook doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least that’s what Lucas had told you, but who knows what Jungkook’s been up to since he got back? There was that red laced underwear from last week after all. Maybe he does sleep around like what Do-hyun said. Maybe this woman just doesn’t know Jungkook has a female assistant. Maybe he’s—

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says, sounding more annoyed now. 

“Oh. Uh, I’m Mr. Jeon’s—”

“She’s my assistant,” Jungkook answers, catching you off guard, given that you hadn’t noticed him walk in. 

He’s not in his usual workout attire, although him in a white tank top and gray sweatpants with mussed hair somehow seems more overwhelming than him in nothing but gym shorts. You glance at him as he stands next to the woman, whose face suddenly lights up. Not wanting to look at her, you shift your gaze towards the ceiling, trying hard not to look awkward as you’re rooted in place. 

The woman looks at you from head to toe and you feel her judging you, assessing you, while Jungkook stands there, yawning and combing his hair with his fingers.

“Just your assistant?” She asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah. What else would she be?” Jungkook answers nonchalantly. Looking at you, he nods ever so slightly that you almost miss it, another hint of acknowledgement you’d seen last Friday. “Just eggs on toast. And coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you say, exhaling the breath you were holding and then walking to the kitchen to start on his breakfast. 

“I don’t know, another one of your girls? I see you with a new one every time,” she huffs, sounding bitter, but Jungkook doesn’t sound amused.

“What are you still doing here?” He asks, walking to where you are then taking the glass of water you prepare for him. “I called a service for you last night.”

“I was too tired,” she says, and you don’t miss the sultry tone of her voice now. “You tired me out, Jungkook. I could barely get off the bed.”

“And why are you still here?” He asks, clearly not having it with her teasing. 

“Because I’m still tired,” she smirks, having followed him to the kitchen. 

You feel tense once more; you definitely don’t want to be part of this conversation in any way nor be privy to it, especially given what obviously happened between them last night. And especially not with Jungkook looking and sounding the way he does this early Monday morning.

“And I was thirsty,” she continues. 

He sets his glass down and opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water that he hands over to her. 

“Ugh, how romantic,” she rolls her eyes, finishing it in a few gulps. 

“I have to go to work,” he tells her, frustrated that she’s being stubborn about not leaving when he no longer seems to want her around. 

“Actual work, or, you know, work?” She says, gesturing towards you.

You make the mistake of looking at her smug face, the insinuation not lost on you. It’s insane how she can just make claims like that, and you feel that just like you, Jungkook’s getting pissed.

“Can you just leave?” He says much more sternly now. “I can’t start my day with you still here.”

“Ooh, how rude,” she giggles. “Should’ve expected you’d be like that even outside of bed. I like that.”

She walks back to the room, leaving you and Jungkook on your own. You continue to work on his eggs while he stands by the counter, rubbing his temples. You’re unsure if it’s because of her or from last night’s alcohol, but you get aspirin and also a bottle of energy drink and set them in front of him before returning to preparing his meal. 

The woman comes back shortly in last night’s attire then walks towards Jungkook.

“I’m leaving,” she announces, tilting his chin so he would face her. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”

Jungkook turns away and does not respond, leaving her to laugh as if there’s a joke that only she’s in on.

“Going all quiet on me now, huh?” She says. “You weren’t like that last night. I can still hear your moans, actually. Fuck, they sounded so good and so loud.”

You almost hit your finger as you slice the apple, clearly not expecting for this stranger to say something so intimate, knowing there’s another person in the room with them. You don’t know if she wants to intimidate you for whatever reason or maybe just make you feel uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it’s working, as you’re unable to focus on the task at hand now. 

Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, and it’s what prompts her to finally say goodbye. 

“Fine, I’ll leave now,” she whines. “But that was an amazing first time. I hope it won’t be the last.”

Her giggle annoys you for some reason, even more when you mistakenly look her way. Her smug face unnerves you as she holds your gaze while she says, “I’ll see you again, okay? I’ll make sure you’ll scream my name next time,” the words obviously directed at Jungkook. 

She finally exits the penthouse but she doesn’t take the tension with her because in this large apartment with you and him, you feel a little too hot, a little too alert, yet somehow a little too curious.

Jungkook groans now as he finishes his energy drink, and he doesn’t know what he’s more frustrated about - the fact that the woman whose name he doesn’t remember didn’t go home, or that you’d found out about it in the most embarrassing way and he’d done nothing to stop her attempts at making you feel uncomfortable because that’s definitely what she was doing. 

He doesn’t know how it affected you but even he can tell that it wouldn’t have been good. Not that he’s ashamed of his lifestyle but it’s different when you, of all people, get to see what that looks like. You did see the laced underwear on his kitchen floor last week, and he knows you definitely tried to pretend you hadn’t. Perhaps the image of arrogant, playboy Jungkook just solidified in your head and the fact that maybe that’s what you think of him is making him feel uneasy. 

Not that he cares about what you think - he definitely does not - but he just doesn’t want that to affect how you would treat him in a professional sense, as if he’s some reckless man who works too hard and parties much harder, even if that’s kind of what he does. 

The hangover doesn’t help at all; he shouldn’t have chugged that wine while the woman was giving him head, which was amazing, he reminds himself. He just knows he won’t be seeing her again after this morning because she’d been stubborn and shameless, and definitely not because of how she spoke to you and the insinuations she made.

“Mr. Jeon, your breakfast is ready,” you inform him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He takes a seat on the table and you sit next to him, taking out your iPad to start your rundown of last Friday’s meeting and this week’s schedule. 

“So—”

“Wait, give me a minute,” he stops you, and he realizes just how little sleep he actually got and he’s gonna have to push through today’s busy schedule despite feeling physically out of it. 

“Okay, sir,” you say softly.

He munches on his toast with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, his gaze falls on you, sitting upright on the chair looking clean and proper in your blush blouse and beige skirt. You seem to be reviewing the reports from last week, your eyebrows scrunched as you scribble on the screen. He knows you took the hours-long trip to and from Daegu over the weekend; the visit, just like any, must have been tiring. Yet you come to his place everyday without fail, ready to do what he needs you to do, and he doesn’t even know if you’ve had anything to eat yet. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He asks.

“E-excuse me?”

“Breakfast. Have you had it?”

“O-oh. Yes, I had some crackers and fruit on the way. I ate on the bus,” you respond.

He remembers your address from your staff profile. You live about 40 minutes from him, almost double if you commute. You come at 6:30 everyday, so he can only imagine what it’s like for you every morning. 

“Why don’t you drive?”

“I don’t have a car, sir.”

“Shouldn’t that be part of your contract? Or a benefit of some sort?”

“It isn’t. I believe only the CEO’s assistant does,” you respond. 

“Bitna has a company car.”

“Ms. Jung requested that when she was still President.”

“Then I’ll request one for you. It's… it’s too early. And you can’t always be assured of public transportation. There could be delays. Or an emergency that would require you to drive.”

Of course, he’d want you to get a car so that you’re more accessible to him. Just when you thought there’s actually a bit of his heart working this time, he reminds you why there isn’t.

“That’s true, but nothing has happened so far. And there are other options should there be,” you say. “I also don’t know how to drive so there is no need, Mr. Jeon. I leave my apartment early enough to make sure I get here on time, and I’ll let you know if I will be late.”

Jungkook just hums, even if there’s more he wants to know. What about late nights? What if there’s a storm? Well, he does know - he did see you miss out on taxis and then just walk last Tuesday; he wonders how you got home then, and how many hours of sleep you had after all that. 

He lets it go; it’s too early to think about this.

“Good. We can run through the minutes now,” he says.

So you do, stating the points and confirming your actions for each one and then noting down his as well. You try to focus, and you’re able to for the most part, but it’s not easy when he sits just a few feet away from you, with his bare arms propped on the table that’s just hard to look away from. 

You’ve always liked tattoos on other people, and the art on his right arm looks so delicate and personal; you wonder what someone like him would value enough to ink permanently on his skin. Even his untouched arm is mesmerizing, toned like every other part of him, with beauty marks that you spot as well. It doesn’t help that his slightly long hair keeps falling over his eyes, prompting him to comb them with his fingers every time. 

What also doesn’t help are the woman’s words from earlier, as she’d managed to make you think of Jungkook in a very different way, given her descriptions of how he’d been last night. You don’t know what she intended by doing that, but you didn’t miss her insinuations about your relations with him, which are definitely far from the truth. Learning that he’s rough and loud in bed is also knowledge that you could’ve done without. Somehow, he sounds like how he looks - expressive of negative emotions, and the type to drain the other person. 

He also sounds like the guys you’ve slept with.

The thought alarms you. These are things you shouldn’t be thinking about your boss, about the man who pays you, about the one who makes you miss meals and buses and who makes you angry because of how he treats you. 

You try to dispel these ideas by coughing - the loud sound helps, and you also want to distract yourself from how distracted you are at your task because somehow he keeps getting more and more attractive after every glance. 

He stands up, and just when you thought he’d be angry after your disruption, he surprises you by placing a glass of water in front of you.

“You can drink, you know? You can make yourself a cup of coffee. You can even cook yourself breakfast if it’s just crackers you eat in the morning,” he says. 

Yes, you think to yourself. You’ve been wanting to try his coffee because of the fancy machine but breakfast sounds… too domestic. 

“Thank you, but I’m okay. I mean, the snacks fill me up just fine.”

“It’s not proper breakfast, though,” he argues. 

“With all due respect, sir, eating takes time away from all the things I have to do. I manage just fine.”

Expecting an annoyed expression from him because you did just imply that you do too much, you instead see the tiniest hint of guilt on his face, as if he actually feels bad that you’re unable to take care of yourself because of him. 

“You’re not a servant, Ms. Cho. You’re not disallowed to do basic things just because of your job.”

“You have standards, Mr. Jeon,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You don’t expect to see his face fall a little, and you’re surprised that you seem to care. “I need to meet them, and I’m still familiarizing myself with how you want things done, and that takes time. I don’t mean to imply that you treat me like a servant because you don’t. I just… I want to be able to do things right and I’m still learning.”

The words hit Jungkook. He knows he’d been too critical during these first weeks, and that’s more because he’s unable to manage the initial attraction that he’s trying so hard to temper. He could’ve gone on correcting you constructively, with no need for harshness the way he did with Lucas when he started. 

You’ve also been doing this for a few years. You’ve been working for the VP’s office longer than he has - you know the people and the processes more, yet you’re the one claiming you need to learn and do things right. Even he thinks his father, whom he never thought was the best at looking out for his people, wouldn’t be angry at those below him for irrational reasons. Somehow he thinks he’s worse than his old man now. 

But the word sorry isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d rarely ever said it, and the only reason he’d heard it a lot growing up was because people caused his inconvenience, and not because they’d hurt his feelings. He doesn’t know what that’s like - forgiving and wanting to be forgiven. They’re foreign to him, but somehow those are what you’re making him want to know. 

“I—”

“Can we move on, Mr. Jeon?” You interrupt him. “You have a scheduled check-in with your father before the 8:30 team meeting.”

“Right, that’s today,” Jungkook says, letting go of any form of apology he could muster. 

He nods then stands up to head to his bathroom, and you follow shortly after to arrange his outfits for the week. You clean up in the kitchen after and wait for him to come out, with you reflexively walking up to him to fix his tie and make sure all the creases on his clothes are fixed. 

Jungkook tries to remain still as you, like everyday, make sure he looks proper. It always took him a long time to get ready because he used to do all this on his own, but with you taking on the unofficial stylist role - which he admits you do a great job at - he’s relieved of that added stress of looking the part of a Vice President. It just also means that every morning, he has to look unaffected as you stand close to him like this, with you tightening his tie and your fingers grazing his clothed chest.

You smell like roses. It feels warm and nostalgic, like it’s familiar but also something new. It’s refreshing on you, and it wafts through his nose and paralyzes him a little. He tries to hold his breath like always, only briefly glancing at your focused eyes as you make sure he looks impeccable. 

He’s caught off guard when you look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t react, but he does linger and surprisingly, so do you. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how to. He just hopes you feel it somehow with how he looks at you; he’d like to think you do, as you gently bow and step back, taking your things to go down. 

You go through his schedule while in the car, noting his dinner meetings and that the food tasting for next month’s event with the art industry professionals that you’re both organizing has been moved to next week, freeing up his Thursday lunch hour.

“I’ll schedule my visit at Taehyung’s tailor shop that day then,” Jungkook states. “I’ll have a few suits done.”

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you reply, adjusting his calendar. 

He doesn’t say anything after. He takes his leather notebook and sketches like he often does, looking out his window only a few times as he’s engrossed in his drawings. Even with all that he is, you can’t deny Jungkook’s talent. You only know he took an architecture course but you don’t know if he actually practices it. 

You start to wonder if Jungkook wanted that to be his profession but couldn’t pursue it because he’s expected to manage the company with his cousin. You wonder if he’d always been into drawing and the arts, if it was an outlet the way reading picture books was for you; you’d wanted to become an illustrator but your mother couldn’t afford drawing classes and that profession just didn’t seem like it could sustain you financially. You wonder what Jungkook thinks when he sketches and what his subjects are, if he feels at peace the way he looks, if he hopes he could just spend his days doing this. 

The seeming warmth in your thoughts about this man concerns you, prompting you to turn away from his direction and stare out the window instead. You remind yourself that this is the same person who’d made the past two weeks miserable for you; he doesn’t deserve warmth from you in any form, even if, for the briefest moment earlier after you fixed his tie, that’s what you gave him. You learned that he’s quite mesmerizing when he doesn’t talk or when he isn’t scowling. You also learned you’re quite quick to fall into it when you let your guard down a little. 

You groan internally. There’s a lot you don’t know about him and you don’t really care to know more; what you know is enough to put you off anyway. And so these moments of weakness - of curiosity, of concern -  should not happen again. 

Except, they do happen, over an hour later after Jungkook returns to his room from his check-in with his father. He sits on his chair, his eyes closed and jaws clenched, unmoving for a good few minutes, and you watch from your seat, wondering what transpired that’s got him this disturbed. 

It happens again an hour later. He moved the team meeting to the afternoon and he’s now furiously typing on his desktop, making calls, sketching, making calls again, then sitting still with his eyes closed once more. Hoseok walks in, merely nodding at you, then enters the room and speaks with the younger man. Jungkook closes the blinds, and you’re left to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors and what’s got him angry and frustrated.

You take your chance at finding out when Hoseok emerges, asking him if everything’s okay, if Jungkook is okay.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hoseok says, a half smile on display, something you’re only a tad familiar with. “He’ll manage.”

He rushes out, saying he has a meeting to get to, and you nod, glancing at the closed door and blocked window, wondering what troubles Jungkook is handling on his own. If it’s personal, it’s clearly not your business. But if it’s work-related, then it is. You’re there to make things easier for him, after all. You also don’t want to be surprised and be bombarded by new tasks just in case, so it’s better to know if there’s something you can help in resolving things as well.

You walk in his room then place the ginger lemon tea on his desk, a common home remedy for hangovers, just in case last night’s events are still affecting him. You inform him that you’ve sent the reports already for his sign-off, and he responds that he’ll get to them tomorrow.

Glancing at his drink, he halts his typing to look at you. 

“Do I look hungover to you?” He asks pointedly.

It’s clearly not what you meant, but you suppose the insinuation isn’t what he needs right now. You want to be swallowed by the ground. He was already calm towards you, civil even, and now there’s another reason for him to be upset at you. You wanted to avoid any possibility of that as much as possible, and now you’re here, at the verge of being told off again, just because your stupid brain decided to care the tiniest bit.

“I, uh, no, Mr. Jeon,” you stutter. “I just…”

You don’t have a reason. Clearly, you can’t tell him that he hasn’t seemed okay all morning - whatever that means - and that just in case it’s last night’s alcohol affecting him, there’s a cure. You stare back at him with worry, but instead of challenging or questioning you, he just sits back with his eyes closed again and dismisses you. 

“You may leave,” he instructs. 

“What about lunch, sir?” You ask. 

You’d never cared before, why the change now? 

“I’m fine,” he responds. “Call me when the meeting’s about to start.”

Your stubborn self takes the box of biscuits from the coffee table and places it in front of him. You’re pushing it, you think, but there’s a meeting he’ll be leading and he can’t be unfocused; when he is, it’s all the worse for you. 

He doesn’t react and you walk out. When you enter an hour later to call him, you spot the empty cup and the crumbs on the saucer, and you can’t help the tiny smile that you make internally.

It’s short-lived though, as that whole afternoon, he acts unusually - he barely makes comments at updates, he doesn’t make eye contact, and doesn’t ask further questions. He just nods when you say you’re heading out at 6PM, giving you no added tasks to keep you from leaving.

You enter his penthouse the next morning to the banging of leather hitting leather, prompting you to jerk from the loud sounds. He’s grunting and panting heavily, and you just know that whatever it was that transpired yesterday, he’s releasing all his emotions right now, through this. 

He exits the gym and walks to the counter where you are, finishing the water you laid for him in three gulps. 

“Do you need that tended to?” You ask. 

He looks surprised. You gesture towards his hands and he looks at his bruised knuckles; he really let it all out this morning, it seems. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. 

You didn’t think those two words from him would ever make you feel discouraged, but one thing you’ve come to learn about Jungkook is that he easily expresses his anger and frustration towards other people. It’s when he keeps things in that they seem more serious, and you wonder what words he heard yesterday that might have made him this closed off, this quiet, this much more distant.

But fortunately, your feeling of worry fades with each day that passes, as he slowly returns to his normal self after - the focus, the perpetually serious look, the attention to detail, the sketching on his notebook. Perhaps Jungkook just needed a particular kind of release and he’s maybe handling things better now. 

For his sake and yours, you wish the issue has been resolved, otherwise another blow up might happen and that wouldn’t be good for your newfound dynamic that’s a lot more civil than anything. 

It’s Thursday when you get a call at 5 in the morning, just as you’ve woken up to get ready for work, and Mr. Ri’s voice greets you on the other end.

“Hi, ___. How are you this morning?”

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you yawn, curious as to why he’s checking up on you this early. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he hums. “I was instructed by Mr. Jeon to pick you up today.”

“Why would CEO Jeon ask that?” You wonder, as you sleepily walk to the bathroom to wash up.

“He didn’t. Jungkook did.”

You stop on your tracks. You don’t recall being informed about this, nor do you know of any particular reason why you should be at his place so soon.

“Oh, uhm, okay. I should be ready in–”

“I’ll be there in about 50 minutes,” Mr. Ri interjects. “Sleep in a bit more and have some breakfast. I’ll see you shortly.”

You try not to think about what prompted Jungkook to have you picked up, so you focus on getting ready and then whipping yourself some fried rice using the leftover seafood from last night. You won’t lie, it tastes delicious. It might be that you just haven’t had proper weekday breakfast in a while, but it could also be that you’re energized enough and not pressed for time that you’re able to make this as good as it is. 

You decide to bring some to Jungkook’s place just in case you get there late. Sure, Mr. Ri will be driving you, but you don’t know how the traffic is at this time, and this change in schedule is somewhat making you anxious. But then again, there’s always bread or cereal for him to eat; you just think that a little act of thanks wouldn’t be so bad.

Mr. Ri arrives exactly 50 minutes later and he assures you that he’ll get you to the penthouse in half an hour. You trust him of course; he’s been with the Jeons for decades and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Seated in the passenger seat, you try to figure out what about today has got your boss a little kinder than usual. 

“I arrived five minutes late yesterday,” you wonder out loud. “Is that why? He has a meeting with a local artist in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be late. That should be it. Ugh, stupid,” you groan. “I should’ve taken the first bus I saw, but it was so full and–”

“___,” Mr. Ri stops you. “Five minutes isn’t much. Plus, you always arrive 10 minutes before 6:30 and then just wait at the lobby. I don’t know why you do, you could always just go up to the penthouse when you get there, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Mr. Jeon has boundaries and clearly likes keeping his distance. Going to his penthouse before I’m supposed to be there feels like I’m intruding,” you argue.

“You’re literally his assistant, and you go to his bedroom and his closet, fix his things, prepare his meals… there’s no intrusion happening,” Mr. Ri counters. “I know the man. He’ll probably just look at you curiously then go about his routine.”

“Well, since you know him so well, then why did he have me picked up this morning?”

There’s a brief silence before the man next to you responds.

“He did note that you were late for the first time, but that wasn’t his issue,” Mr. Ri says, appeasing you before you react negatively and think that your tardiness was a big deal. “He asked if I knew how you got to Hoseok’s place before and I said you would just take the bus; it was closer to your place so it was fine. They have someone to make his breakfast, too, so you didn’t need to come early; plus, you only went every Monday.”

“What a change, huh?” You attempt to poke fun at yourself and the new arrangement you’re in. 

Not that you’re complaining; you know of other executive assistants who do much more for their bosses and what you have with Jungkook isn’t even that bad. But it is quite the shift compared to what you did for Hoseok. You’ve figured out your own routine, though. And the commute isn’t always terrible, for as long as you’re not one of the unlucky ones, given the recent incidents. 

“It’s quite the change. I don’t think he realized that until yesterday. He also asked me if I know if you eat properly in the morning. Maybe he thinks you don’t?”

“I’ve skipped meals…” you trail. “And well, I told him that I just eat crackers on the bus. Maybe he thinks I’m losing focus some days.”

“Maybe he’s just concerned.”

You snort at the absurdity of the statement. 

Mr. Ri sighs. He knows that Jungkook hasn’t been his best self since he arrived in Seoul, and especially towards you. He’s noticed the young man’s indifference, the occasional passive remark, the frustrated looks, and the tension every morning. He’s noticed your faraway eyes, too, your constant anxiety, and unusual lack of confidence in your usual tasks, given that you look to be second-guessing everything you do. 

As someone who’s worked for the Jeons for so long and who’d watched Jungkook grow up, he’s used to the detachment, but it was always because the young man often lived in his own head. There are always lots of thoughts and ideas, and lots of feelings he keeps bottled in. 

But he’s also seen Jungkook’s kindness that he doesn’t always show, the guilt and anger that restrain him from expressing his emotions, and the care that he seems to put a brake on when he shows too much of it to someone, and so it isn’t much of a surprise to him to him when the young man gave this specific instruction to pick you up, not just today but everyday moving forward.

“The news on the radio reported on the robberies and complaints of sexual harassment against female commuters last night,” Mr. Ri continues. “They attack at any hour now. I’m sure that’s why. He wants me to drive you home everyday, too.”

“Mr. Ri, that’s too much,” you protest. “That’s not part of my contract and it isn’t his responsibility.”

“Maybe, precisely why I think he’s concerned. It isn’t about making sure you’re not late to work or anything. He’s worried that something might happen to you. And I agree. It isn’t safe, ___.”

“It’s not safe for me anywhere. I just… it’s too much,” you sigh. “I don’t need this kind of service. I’m not entitled to it.”

“He’ll insist though. Will you argue with him over your own security? I mean, it’s either this or he’ll pay for your driving lessons and then request for a car for you to use.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. You don’t think you deserve it but you also can’t deny that the concern makes you feel a certain kind of way for him; gratitude, for one, and something else you can’t exactly name. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Good. It’s about time he makes it up to you,” he chuckles. “Boy’s been a brat these past weeks. I wanted to just knock some sense into him.”

“Hmm, not like I expected any less,” you huff. “He just looked grumpy or disinterested during the times I’ve seen him before. Unhappy people like that aren’t always the kindest. Has he always been that way?”

“I wouldn’t say he has. I mean, he just wasn’t joyful or expressive, not like his brother. Jungkook liked to keep to himself; Hoseok often tried to push him out of his comfort zone but the boy wouldn’t really budge. I think as he grew up, that just amplified. People who prefer being alone have their reasons, don’t they?”

They do. You know this just like anyone, perhaps as much as Jungkook. It’s comfortable being alone; there’s no one to hurt you and no one you could hurt. You wonder if his reason is the same, and if, like you, he feels the loneliness creep in every once in a while. 

You nod in silence and the conversation doesn’t continue until you arrive at Jungkook’s building. You have five minutes to get to his unit and you get there in three. When you enter, you hear grunting from the gym, and it’s shortly after when he exits and drinks the glass of water on the counter.

“What’s that?” He gestures at the plastic container next to you.

“It’s fried rice. I made it this morning because I had time to eat breakfast at home,” you say, softly smiling and then bowing at him to show your gratitude. Whatever his reason is, the act was appreciated. 

“And you’re gonna eat again?”

“I was actually–”

You stop midway. You actually meant to serve it to him in case you arrived late, which you realize is pretty ridiculous. 

“Actually what?” He asks, leaning forward on the counter now, with his bare arms from his tank top blinding you a little. 

“I didn’t know what time I was gonna get here so I thought as a last resort, I’ll bring this to heat up and serve to you but then I realized that that’s pretty stupid because it’s leftovers and definitely not high-quality ingredients and it’s… just silly. Plus, you don’t eat rice in the morning.”

With his scrunched brows, he asks, “is it good?”

“It’s pretty delicious,” you say. “I mean, I liked it. I don’t know how sophisticated your palate is… Mr. Jeon.”

You smack yourself internally for rambling. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? If it’s good, then it’s good.”

“I’m an ordinary person, Mr. Jeon. I have normal people’s taste buds.”

“So that makes me, what? Abnormal?”

“No… I–” you unknowingly pout. You shouldn’t have brought this in the first place. 

Jungkook is disarmed again at the sight of your pouty face. If this is your way of thanking him for this morning, he’ll take it. The fact that you’d brought something you cooked from your own place to feed to him is already enough to make him feel hazy, which is why he needs to get away from you right away.

“Just heat it up. I’ll have that. There’s not much food in here anyway,” he says, walking away, leaving you no room to resist.

You do as you’re told, not wanting to overthink and change anything. You do check the cupboard and see a stashed pantry, and you wonder if he’d wanted to find something to criticize about your cooking, too. 

He walks in and lets you fix his tie again, and for some reason, you feel more nervous than you normally do today. You sit and busy yourself with responding to emails as he eats his breakfast, careful not to look at him while he does.

“It’s good, a little better than how I do mine,” he says, surprising you.

“You cook?” You ask too quickly.

“Of course,” he frowns, looking a little offended. “I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?”

“Hiring people to do it for you,” you shrug. 

Peeking at him once again, you see that he’s almost finished with the dish, and you can’t help the little smile on your face at the thought that he might actually enjoy it. It’s just fried rice, but you let yourself feel the shallow happiness from this. He’s at least not berating you or anything.

He finishes his meal as you go through yesterday’s meetings. There’s not much about the Arts Center he says, just like yesterday and the day before, and you start to wonder if the issue with his father has anything to do with that. 

You let it go, opting to just follow his pace and let him talk about it when he’s ready, if he ever will be. 

The morning goes by smoothly. Jungkook meets with Yoongi in his office then reviews the reports you’d sent last Monday. He sends you an email, saying that they’ve been approved and for you to attach his signature for sign-off and dissemination, leaving you perplexed at the lack of any other comments again. 

He goes for a quick lunch at the dining hall while you eat a sandwich at the pantry, and not long after, you’re back in the car to head to Jungkook’s appointment with his best friend.

Kim Taehyung’s tailor shop boasts of classic European design. It’s elegant in all the ways that he is, as he stands by the desk in his working space, a smaller room on the mezzanine floor with an exquisite couch and displays of his work. He’s donned in an orange suit that you think only he can pull off, while his brother, Seokjin, sits on a chair in an impeccable black 3-piece. 

You know as much that Jungkook grew up with both men, but while the brothers are often a hot topic on the news because of their wealth, their successful businesses, and colorful dating lives, you now wonder how Jungkook managed to stay out of the spotlight despite being a lot of the things that they are. 

You bow at them after Jungkook introduces you as his assistant, and you’re surprised when Seokjin reaches out his hand to shake yours, bowing as well and offering you a kind smile. Taehyung does the same, and you can’t help but feel the warmth on your cheeks. They’re clearly incredibly handsome men with amazing styles, just like your boss, but they’re obviously respectful and gentle, unlike him. 

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cho,” Taehyung smiles. “So, what events do I need to dress my best friend for?”

He looks warm, friendly, and you can’t help but mirror his smile as he offers you a seat and some tea. You take out your calendar and enumerate at least three big events in the next months, which would require standout designs. Jungkook also wants four additional everyday classic suits, and Taehyung starts sketching on his pad as you speak. 

“Make one for my event, too,” Seokjin says. “I’m launching my traditional alcohol brand in Singapore in September. It’ll be a big thing so Jungkook needs a fancy piece for that as well.”

“That soon?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, it got pushed early,” Seokjin replies.

Jungkook asks you to check his calendar for any activities in the Singapore office, and you state that there’s nothing scheduled during that time. 

“There’s a landscape designer I want to meet while I’m there. Schedule one with her later,” Jungkook instructs you, and you make a note to coordinate with Lucas, who will continue to serve as the assigned assistant for the Vice President’s Southeast Asia trips. 

Taehyung finishes the rough designs quickly, given that he’s already familiar with the style his client wants. He’s done a lot of Jungkook’s suits, which you know from all the weeks of preparing his clothes, and you do admit that he looks best in these custom-made pieces.

As Taehyung takes Jungkook’s measurements - given that, as per his words, Jungkook has gotten wider since the last time - he asks if you have something to wear for those big events, too. 

“Uh, yes,” you say. 

“Are they from company events from before?” Taehyung asks.

You nod shyly. It’s not like you’re paid enough to afford a new one every time nor can you wear them anywhere else; there aren’t exactly regular fancy dinners and social occasions you get invited to.

“Have new ones made, then,” Jungkook says, his back turned to you.

“Uh, there’s no need, Mr. Jeon. The gowns still look new and they’re well-made,” you insist.

“Store-bought?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow cocked.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Kim.”

“Nothing beats custom-designed ones though. And I must say, I’m kinda good at them.”

“I, uh… it’s really not necessary,” you stutter, feeling a little too shy and definitely undeserving. It’s Kim Taehyung; his name is the brand.

“I believe it is,” Jungkook says now, turning to you. “They’re big events and we’re organizing one with the arts professionals. Some dignitaries will be coming, too, including the culture minister. I’d prefer if you looked the part of working for the Vice President, Ms. Cho. You represent me in that way.”

“I… uh, okay,” you sigh, knowing you don’t seem to be in a position to turn him down. 

“Great. Start thinking of designs, then!” Taehyung beams.

It’s some minutes later when Jungkook’s measurements have been taken and Taehyung calls for you. You sit on the chair facing his desk not far away while Jungkook and Seokjin talk about sports and this new club that opened in Gangnam. 

Seated in front of you, Taehyung takes his sketch pad and starts asking what design you want.

“Something simple and comfortable since I’ll be moving around,” you say softly. “And nothing form-fitting or revealing since, uh…”

“I understand,” Taehyung smiles, revealing a gentle side of him that the paparazzi and tabloids clearly don’t capture. 

He starts drawing your silhouette, glancing at you then at Jungkook before speaking.

“So, he’s been in this role for a few weeks now. Has he been nice?”

“Define ‘nice,’” you respond, earning you a chuckle. 

“I guess that’s my answer, then.”

“I don’t mean to say he isn’t,” you backtrack. “Mr. Jeon just has a different leadership style as Mr. Jung’s, that’s all.”

“I suppose that’s quite a difficult adjustment for you, huh?”

You purse your lips and Taehyung laughs, the soft way he does it is something new and refreshing to you. You didn’t realize how deprived you are of such gentleness, of such acts or sights as simple as a smile. Hoseok is no longer your source. Your team hasn’t been as jolly these past weeks. The only other person you talk to regularly at work is Yoongi, and while he’s definitely been smiling more, it’s a lot more teasing than it is comforting. You’ve been missing your best friends more because of that, you think - Soomin’s smile is blinding, Jimin’s is sweet and infectious. Perhaps it’s why you haven’t been smiling much yourself. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures you. “I just wanted to check on him. This whole move has been tough but he doesn’t say much. I’m guessing he doesn’t tell you, either, but he’ll definitely show it.”

“He has, actually,” you say softly, knowing now that even with his closest friends, Jungkook tends to keep things to himself. “He’s pretty stressed most days, always working and stuff. He’s been a little hard on me but I guess that’s a natural reaction for some.”

“That’s not an excuse though.”

“It isn’t, but… it’s okay. I can handle it.”

It’s not as much of a lie anymore as it used to be. Jungkook hasn’t been overly critical about things as he was just last week. He rarely makes comments on your minutes now, doesn’t correct the reports you reviewed, doesn’t talk over you or doesn’t yell. There’s been a change, definitely, and you wonder what triggered it. 

“He doesn’t really smile, does he?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Taehyung’s laughter is one of disbelief and pure amusement, catching the attention of the other two men but he waves them off. 

“He still does, just not as much,” he responds. “It kinda stopped after the breakup with Chaerin but I guess that’s what heartbreak does, right?”

“I… wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he hums. “I don’t wish it on anyone.”

You glance at Jungkook, briefly letting yourself imagine a version of him that’s a lot more carefree, relaxed, perhaps happy. Maybe it’s the loneliness and that you’d understand; that, you’ve experienced. It’s both liberating and isolating. You wonder if that’s how he’s been feeling all these years since then.

“I’m done,” Taehyung announces, showing you three designs that are exactly what you asked for. 

“These look nice. And way out of my price range,” you laugh.

“Perks of having a rich boss,” he winks. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay? You’re my client and I want you to wear these with confidence. Now, if you’re okay with all this, I’ll get one of my female assistants to get your measurements.”

You nod in response. There’s absolutely nothing you would change about those designs. And if you’re being honest, you now can’t wait for those events just so you could wear them. Hoseok had obviously paid for the gowns you had to wear for the big events, but those were store-bought that A-yeong helped you choose. Some were your own purchases, but this is the first time that you’re getting measured for custom-made clothing designed by Kim Taehyung. 

You walk towards the fitting room at the corner where one of his staff meets you. She’s meticulous, which is why it takes longer than usual just to get this done. With her silence, however, you’re able to hear the conversation happening outside, with the brothers now asking Jungkook about the same thing you’ve been wondering about.

“By the way, what was up with you last Monday?” Seokjin asks. “I thought that was gonna be night 4 of you going home with a new woman. But you passed out before you could even ask. And that was just 9PM.”

“Four nights isn’t much, though,” Taehyung laughs. “Didn’t he do that with seven women on seven straight nights when he was in Singapore? That was wild. Was it that stressful there? Or were there just so many to choose from?”

“Shut up. I’m not proud of that,” Jungkook groans. “And that was one time. It never happened again.”

“It never happened seven times straight again,” Seokjin corrects. “You were really living your life out there, huh? Stressful job, a rooftop bar in your apartment building, chauffeur and butler services 24/7, women from all over the world begging to sleep with you…”

“It’s called the post-break up stage,” Taehyung says. 

“For six years?!” Seokjin asks incredulously. “It’s either you loved Chaerin that much, you blamed yourself too much, or you just really sucked at moving on.”

“I vote all of the above,” Taehyung states.

“Me, too,” Seokjin claims.

“Fuck you both,” Jungkook groans again. 

“I think he also just missed us too much,” Seokjin adds. “Lucas was cleaning up your messes every time, not snapping you out of it. But we’re here now so I guess three straight nights is as far as you’ll go.”

“Two, if you stopped me last Sunday,” Jungkook points out. “You both always insisted that Sundays are a no-no. You were too busy with your own women.”

“May we remind you that you didn’t even make it to our table. You stepped foot in the bar then left five minutes later,” Taehyung says. “But really, what was it about Monday? You seemed angrier than usual.”

“Just… a bunch of things my father said,” Jungkook huffs.

“Did he tell you off again?”

“Not really, surprisingly. He just delivered a message basically, about what the board members were saying about me and my project. Bullshit stuff, you know? I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Did you?”

“Sorta,” Jungkook says. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s still happening, right?” Taehyung asks worriedly. “The Arts Center, I mean. You’ve been wanting to work on that since the building was abandoned five years ago.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook responds. “I guess. We already put money into it. I’ll just have to make concessions if my father doesn’t side with me on this. I hate to think he’s buying into what those old folks are saying.”

“Ms. Cho, we’re all done,” the staff member tells you, muffling the conversation outside that you couldn’t help but hear. 

It felt quite intrusive, hearing how life was like for Jungkook in Singapore, but then again, his personal life seemed to be the topic in the office comfort rooms, and you don’t know how to feel about getting confirmation about those rumors. It felt sad more than anything though, living that kind of life away from friends and family. You wouldn’t know what moving on from a breakup feels like, but you suppose people grieve a lost love in their own ways; you can’t blame them for how they choose to repair the parts of them that broke. 

But the bit about his conversation with his father is what bothers you. You’d hate to think that there’s a possibility that Jungkook’s plans won’t be fully realized, and whatever the reasons for that are, you hope they didn’t break his spirit too much. You know the plans now like the back of your hand and the more you learn, the more you believe in it. You hope Jungkook continues to believe in it, too.

You exit the fitting room, catching the end of a conversation where Seokjin suggests a wholesome weekend for the three men of just dinner and drinks. The two other men agree, and they all turn to you once you make your presence felt.

“All good?” Taehyung asks you.

“Yes,” you bow in thanks. 

“Great. The gowns will be ready at the same time as Jungkook’s suits will be. I’ll just let you guys know, okay?

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “But anyway, we have to get back to work. Thanks again.”

The brothers bid you and Jungkook goodbye, and you head back to the office with not much words said. Jungkook seems less frustrated, but the worry you feel suddenly returns. It’s the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel supported, that maybe what he’s doing isn’t enough, and that more than that, it's him choosing to deal with all this on his own, not even looking to his friends to comfort him.

Jimin and Soomin meet you for lunch at a restaurant that Saturday afternoon. The drive from Busan took longer than expected, they said, but you say you don’t mind. They’re visiting you like they always do every month, regardless of how busy they are back in their hometown, which was your home for a few years, too.

You were in the same class; your mom worked at the school, which was the only reason why you were able to attend a prestigious one in the first place. Even when you moved back to Daegu, you remained in touch with them. Despite the distance, none of you wanted to just let the friendship fade, and even when they had to stay back and you made a life out here in Seoul, they made sure to visit you as much as they could.

They’re why you were excited for the weekend to come and now, you’ll be enjoying a hearty meal, getting your nails done after, lounging at your apartment, and then heading to a club for a night out, which you only do whenever they’re around. 

“So, has the boss situation improved?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and laced with worry “Or should I storm the jerk’s house and give him a piece of my mind?”

“It has,” you chuckle. “So no need to call him names or fight anyone. I’m okay.”

“Well, you did call him a grumpy old grinch with nice hair the other week,” Jimin points out. “So… did he get a haircut?”

“No,” you laugh again. “And that was in the heat of the moment. I… I mean, he’s still grumpy but he’s not… as grumpy or unbearable. He’s been—”

“Oh hun, please don’t say he’s been kind and then give him a pass for how he’s been to you,” Soomin reprimands. “Mean people don’t just become nice all of a sudden. And if they do, that’s a controlling tactic - they want you to think they’re capable of change so you’ll soften up to them and then give them a pass every time they do asshole-y things again.”

“You watch too many shows,” you frown, although knowing her statement isn’t wrong; it’s just not something you can relate with Jungkook.

Sure, he hasn’t been the nicest, but he also hasn’t been the meanest. He’s just been… him, you suppose - a bit in the middle; frustrated at worst, quiet at best, stoic on most days. He does seem to live in his head a lot, and while you won’t go so far as characterizing him as kind, he definitely hasn’t been insufferable these past few days. 

“I’ve just dealt with too many assholes, ___,” Soomin corrects. “They’re all the same. Men are shit.”

“Except for Jimin,” you correct.

“Except for Jimin,” she concurs. 

“I accept the honor,” he bows. “But seriously, ___. How has it been? You… you seemed really sad last week and I would’ve driven here then if we didn’t have that work emergency.”

“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve experienced worse,” you try to assure them.

“You do know that having experienced something worse doesn’t mean it’s fine for you to experience something bad again, right?” Soomin points out.

“I know, but it also means that I know my threshold for bad behavior,” you say. “Jungkook was in a lot of stress and I did mess up. But I think he’s making up for that.”

“By apologizing, you mean?” Soomin cocks an eyebrow.

Your sigh tells her that’s definitely not what Jungkook has done. 

“Well, he approves my minutes and reviewed reports much quicker,” you reason. “And he doesn’t comment as much. But actually, I think he just pities me. And that’s worse.”

“Why would he pity you?” She asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I said that a tree fell on our roof and that mom got injured the weekend before my mishap,” you explain. “And then he found out how early I start my day just so I can get to him on time. He’s made adjustments after those and I… I think he’s guilty or something. And he’s just not being his usual angry self around me to make it up to me.”

“So in short, he’s still kind of an asshole,” Soomin says, prompting Jimin to snort and you to pout. “He could always just apologize if he’s guilty and realized he should treat you better.”

“Some things aren’t easy for other people to say, you know?” You say softly. 

“That’s not an excuse,” she points out.

“It’s an explanation,” you counter. “Or one of them, I guess. I don’t know him well enough, but it’s better to think that he’s a decent person who just struggles with emotions than someone who willingly makes people’s lives difficult. I mean, that’s easier to manage and accept.”

“If that helps you deal and he’s indeed improving, then maybe I won’t have to storm his place then,” she smiles, taking your hand and kissing it as she likes to do. 

She knows your habit of pressing your nails onto your skin, and she always said she likes to remind you that you deserve gentleness, too; she’ll give it if you can’t give it to yourself. 

The rest of the afternoon goes as you planned, with all the banter you’d expect from your best friends amid the pampering and then the chick flick in the background as you get ready in your tiny apartment. 

You smile at your reflection in the mirror. The high-waist trousers and sleeveless top ensemble is a refreshing sight for you, as you only really dress up like this for a night out. You’re in your usual pencil skirts and blouses otherwise, and in jeans and tops or oversized jumpers on a normal day. 

Soomin’s done your makeup and Jimin compliments you as he looks on, and soon enough, they’re ready as well to head out. 

“Where’re we going?” You ask from the passenger seat as Jimin navigates the busy streets of Seoul on a Saturday night. 

“Some new restaurant the guys discovered,” Soomin responds. “I think it’s not far from here.”

“Okay, good. Hajoon’s been texting, asking what time we’ll get there,” you tell them. 

“Geez, you were already with him last night. Tell him to be patient,” Jimin rolls his eyes. 

Soomin laughs from the backseat as she teases that he’s just being jealous, to which he points out that he just hasn’t seen you in a while so the man can wait. And you assure Jimin that you’d gladly skip a night with Hajoon to be with your best friends, no questions asked. 

You get there eventually, and you immediately spot the group because of the laughter coming from their table. There are four men; the two women are Soomin’s friends, which is how you got involved with Hajoon in the first place. You met some time last year and you’ve been hanging out with him since then - among other things - and you’ve been enjoying it, given the simplicity and lack of drama when he’s not being moody. He’s a warm body who knows how to use it and you’re a good type of relief, as he’d said; there’s really not much more you need as you just try to survive through life and make something out of yourself in however way you can. 

Hajoon waves at you from his seat, gesturing to his left to say he’s saved that spot for you. You head there after greeting your other friends, with Jimin and Soomin following you. 

Right as you sit down and greet the man next to you, you’re caught by surprise when he kisses your cheek and snakes his arm around your waist. 

“Hey, I missed you today,” Hajoon hums, smiling at you the way he did last night and this morning; it definitely wasn’t this sweet when he left for a work trip last month.  

“I… saw you today,” you frown, earning you a chuckle. 

“I know; I was still thinking about you, though,” he says. 

You give a smile - as genuine as you can make it - and then turn towards your friends to your left who are trying to hold in their laughter. 

You order a beer after he offers you a glass of wine, and then go for the pork belly when he says the salmon here is good. 

“Just craving for meat, that’s all,” you tell him. 

“Is there anything else you want? Just let me know, okay?”

You hum your yes and then turn back to your friends after Hajoon makes jokes with his.

“Since when was he this sweet to you?” Soomin whispers with wide, curious eyes. 

“Since never,” you reply. “I mean, we’ve never been affectionate outside of bed…”

“Is anything else different?” Jimin wonders, careful not to bring attention to your conversation.

You look back at how things were before Hajoon left and how it was when he was away. Nothing seemed different. You hung out at his place before he flew out, then you messaged each other every now and then during the one month he was abroad. He was more interested to talk, but given the time difference and the pressure and stress you’ve been under the past weeks, you didn’t bother much, neither did he. 

But you also think back to last night - how he picked you up from your apartment, which he’s never done before, and how he prepared a luxurious dinner. He made you breakfast this morning, too, whereas you both usually just sleep in in tangled limbs and then separate once you wake up.

“He cooked me fancy stuff but I just thought he wanted to show off what he learned during his cooking masterclass,” you shrug. “And well… he seemed sweeter than normal.”

“Maybe he hooked up with someone while he was away and he’s guilty about it,” Jimin suggests.

“He didn’t say anything about it and he knows I wouldn’t mind,” you say. “We’re not exclusive, even if I don’t hang out with other guys.”

“Maybe he’s over the fucking and wants to do the loving bit now,” Soomin offers. “I mean, he always seemed more into you than you were into him.”

“He’s hot and decent when he’s in a good mood; that’s all I need,” you admit. 

“But honestly, that’s probably it,” Soomin continues. “I think he’s hinting that he wants to be more.”

“But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re 30! When are you ever gonna be ready?” Soomin whisper-yells.

“Never!” You pout now. “I mean… Not with him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell him soon, then,” Jimin sighs. “Before it gets messy. And you hate messy.”

“What if men just don’t have feelings?” Soomin wonders out loud. “That way, you can’t hurt them.”

“So that way, they can hurt you?” Jimin points out. “No. I’m not letting any men hurt either one of you, okay? I love you both too much.”

“We know,” you and Soomin say at the same time. 

“But I agree with Jimin, ___. You’re gonna have to let that man next to you, who’s thankfully deaf, go. And then just find another person who can give you what you need,” Soomin continues. “Like, uh…” 

She looks around the semi-packed restaurant to find some random man to just point to, her eyes widening in awe as she spots a table close by with the type of men she was just thinking about. 

“Like them.” 

You laugh at her, not taking her seriously, but still, you look towards the direction of her cocked head, only to feel your throat dry up and your heartbeat speed up. Your eyes widen in reflex as they meet the piercing gaze of the man who’d given you a headache for weeks. He also happens to look unfairly handsome in his white top and slicked back hair. 

“Shit, I would totally go for them,” Soomin adds, “and I only even like men a quarter of the time.”

Your best friends look at you as they wait for a response, only to see a nervous look on your face, as if you’re seeing a ghost or something, and the way you turn to them and stutter almost seems like you are.

From the other table, Jungkook pants quietly. You finally looked his way, and he didn’t know what to expect your reaction to be - maybe a bit of shock, but definitely not this worried. Granted, you’re out with your friends at a restaurant that he and his friends frequent. It’s not the type of place they’d normally go for - this is a lot simpler, less private, and more accommodating than the exclusive restaurants and hotels they go to for dinners before heading to a club. But Jungkook loves their pork belly; he orders it every week, and tonight, he was craving for this specifically before going to a private party of one of Taehyung’s clients. 

Jungkook had seen you when you sat down, and he’d been taken aback when the guy to your right immediately kissed your cheek; it seems he’s barely let go of your waist since then, too. Perhaps the man is your boyfriend - and Jungkook doesn’t know what made him think you wouldn’t have one - but it also seems that the one to your left is into you, too, at least based on how he smiles at you sweetly but rolls his eyes at the affectionate guy to your other side. 

But other than the embarrassing obvious affection that both of them are directing at you, what made him lose his senses is how you look, and you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. Your hair is styled, your makeup is bolder than usual, and he won’t even start with how you’re dressed. It’s a lot more skin than he’s used to - you’re out, after all, and if he’ll go by what your companions are wearing, he supposes this is your stop before heading to some club to party, too. Whereas when you’re at work, you have the skirt and long-sleeved blouse ensemble that you wear everyday - still pretty, perhaps just a lot more reserved than what he’s seeing now. 

He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you entertain your suppose-boyfriend, even when you engage in hushed conversation with the man and woman to your left, and even when you stare back at him, the initial shock now wearing down to a look of curiosity. Perhaps you’re wondering why he keeps glancing at you, too.

“I told you he’s got it bad,” Taehyung laughs from the other side of the table. 

He’s noticed how his friend hasn’t said much in the last 10 minutes, his gaze directed at the loud table close by. One glance and Taehyung knew why. 

“Well, we told him,” Seokjin corrects. “He only ever acts out when he’s threatened and he’s apparently threatened by his pretty assistant.”

“I’m not acting out,” Jungkook scowls, finally breaking the staring contest with you.

“You’ve never been this much of a jerk,” Seokjin says. “So yes, you’re acting out.”

Jungkook ignores them, his eyes turning back to you, and finds you downing two shots of tequila consecutively, then using the beer as your chaser. His knuckles unconsciously clench when your suppose-boyfriend scoots closer, whispering something in your ear, his lips grazing your skin. 

Jungkook exhales deeply, trying to get a grip of himself. He’s acting foolishly. You obviously have a life outside of work, and it obviously includes going out for dinner and drinks with friends, having a boyfriend, and enjoying your youth the way he is. There’s a world outside of the routine you’ve both created, of the silence you both share, and the time you spend together, unknowingly learning about each other without meaning to, without wanting to.

“___,” Soomin calls your name one more time. 

“Huh?” You answer, finally tearing your eyes away from Jungkook, who’d unfortunately captured your attention after you noticed he was there. 

You’ve been used to his impeccable looks in his fancy suits; you’ve even gotten used to his tank top and sweatpants post-workout outfits every morning, and while you’re still not immune to that look, his night out wear fit for a party leaves you more choked up than normal. 

Maybe it’s the black jeans that you spot as he sits on the edge of the couch, or the white button-up top with the rolled sleeves up to his elbow, or his haircut that makes him look a little more mature. Maybe it’s all that and the way he’s gazing at you, the look in his eyes something you can’t quite read. Perhaps like you, he’s surprised to see you here the way you’re shocked that he’d chosen this place to eat; it’s not exactly a fancy restaurant you know he likes eating at. 

But he’s here, and so are you, and suddenly you feel exposed, as if the world outside of work that you’ve kept to yourself is baring open to the man who stands at the center of what you do everyday. And you’re not sure how you feel about that.

“I was just saying… those men are pretty hot and they look interested, too,” Soomin wiggles her eyebrows. “ I mean, they keep looking here.”

“One of them is my boss,” you finally say. “Guy on the right. That’s… uh, that’s Jungkook.”

“Holy fuck, hun,” Soomin chokes on her drink. “Why did you leave out the part about your rude boss being a fucking god?”

“Does it matter?” Jimin scowls. “He’s still rude.”

“It’s different when the guy’s hot. It makes the anger more intense, you know?” Soomin says. “Attractive people elicit more passionate feelings sometimes.”

“Excuse me, that’s not why I was angry,” you pout. “He was really being unfair.”

“Well, he was. But I think my point also applies,” Soomin argues. “I’d just like to warn you that workplace hotties are a menace. Except for Yoongi - he was heaven sent. ”

“Ah, the man who could’ve been,” Jimin sighs. “We at least knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah, this dude over here is hot but he’s mean. And that’s your type,” Soomin smirks.

“Can we… not talk about this while he’s there? And while this other dude is right next to me?” You glare at your friends, especially at Soomin whose insinuation wasn’t lost on you. “It’s so… weird.”

“Hey, we’re here for you, okay?” Jimin softens as he looks at you. “Just let us know if one of them makes you feel uncomfortable. We can always just stay at your place and watch horror movies until morning and you and Soomin can lose your voices from screaming and then I’ll lose my hearing because of it.”

His words make you laugh. There’s a tenderness in Jimin that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Even when he’s telling you to stop yelling because you live for the thrill of a jumpscare, he says it so tenderly while laughing before pulling you both in his embrace. 

“I’m okay. I’m just… I don’t know, probably just not used to seeing him somewhere that isn’t the office or his home,” you reason. “And I feel a bit exposed, I guess. This is my world and his is… right there.”

You wrap your arms around your body subconsciously, realizing only you’d done it when Jimin asks if you’re cold, offering his jacket then taking it back because Hajoon might smack him or something.

You turn it down, knowing you actually feel hot more than anything. You’re dressed up and definitely dressed in less, and somehow having Jungkook see you like this is oddly making you shy, perhaps a little too conscious.

“Just don’t mind him,” Soomin advises. “It’s a restaurant. You obviously have a social life and he can’t fault you for it, nor make you feel weird about it. Just focus on us, okay? Or on Hajoon, if that’ll happen.”

You follow her words and try to block out Jungkook. You do slightly nod at him, as well as at Taehyung and Seokjin just to acknowledge their presence, but you continue on with your meal, as the dishes arrive soon after. 

The pork belly is a winner; you’ll probably come back here for that alone. You do manage to dodge Hajoon’s attempts at feeding you, and your other friends engage with the three of you at the other end of the table. It’s going well for the most part, until Hajoon starts to act a little wary, a little tense.

“Hey,” he says, leaning close to you. “The guy on the other table has been looking at you all night. It’s kinda annoying.”

You glance at Jungkook’s table and he looks away when you do. “Oh, just don’t mind him,” you wave Hajoon off. “Maybe I remind him of someone or something.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel him tense even more, as you look up and see that he’s staring down the man on the other side. Hajoon’s had a bit to drink, and you know he tends to be cocky and irrational when he is. You groan once he shakes his head, saying he’s gonna give “that stranger” a piece of his mind because “he can’t be looking at my girl like that.”

The initial annoyance you feel turns into panic once he stands from his seat and storms to the other table. You follow him, with your friends just looking in worry. His friends are more encouraging of what he wants to do though. 

“What the fuck is your problem staring at my girl like that?” Hajoon mumbles, acting all tough when he’s never threatened nor confronted anyone like this, even when he’s drunk. 

Jungkook seems taken aback. Perhaps it’s the aggression he didn’t expect, or maybe it’s finally having to acknowledge your presence in the restaurant, just in an unfortunate way. 

“Your girl?” He scoffs. 

The way the man is speaking to him is quite annoying, but he also knows your boyfriend is slightly drunk, so he dismisses him because Jungkook doesn’t need this drama tonight, especially not in front of you. 

Hajoon hates the way this stranger is looking at him and not taking him seriously. He’d seen how he kept glancing at you, perhaps trying to get your attention away from him, and he’s really had enough. His words are slurring but this is the courage he needs to stand up for you. You’ve said before how unwanted attention makes you uncomfortable, and he’s gonna do something about it before the man gets to try anything with you. 

“Yeah, my girl. You seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?” Hajoon grunts. 

“My only problem is you making a scene right now,” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re drunk and insecure and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your girl.”

Not that you expected him to back off, but you didn’t actually think that Jungkook would further press Hajoon’s buttons. The man is drunk and insecure and indeed embarrassing, but getting told so is a blow to the ego, especially in your presence. And so you’re not surprised that this just makes him angrier, and since you’ve never dealt with this version of him before, you don’t know how to pacify him.

You didn’t actually think that Hajoon had a daring bone in his body despite being the way he is, but when he attempts to lunge at Jungkook, you’re left in disbelief. You’re quick enough to pull Hajoon back before he lands a fist on the other man’s face, but he’d been worked up enough that he hits the glass of wine on the table, knocking it over and causing the drink to spill on Jungkook’s thin white top. 

“Mr. Jeon!” You shriek, pulling Hajoon back more forcefully before pushing him to the side so you can get ahead. 

You take the napkin from the table and wipe Jungkook’s wet clothed torso, slowing down immediately as you realize what exactly it is you’re doing. 

“I… uh,” you stutter, standing straight up and mirroring his questioning eyes. 

It was a reflex for you, considering that you constantly make sure that he’s dressed impeccably. 

“You know him?!” Hajoon asks in disbelief, tugging on your hand now so you’ll turn to him.

“He’s my boss, you idiot!” smacking him on the chest as you glare at him. “And you just put my job in jeopardy and for what?”

“Well, what can he do?” Hajoon challenges. “Get you fired because of me? Does he own the company and shit?”

“My father does,” Jungkook responds. “And I’m the Vice President.”

Hajoon just rolls his eyes but you aren’t amused. You glance at your table and gesture for one of his friends to take him, so one of them does. He stands up and pulls Hajoon away before he can do or say anything else.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your head bowed down as you apologize. “I…” 

The mess on his outfit is too much; the red has stained the white top and you know he feels sticky. He looks like he has somewhere to go after this and that makes it worse.

“I– I can call Mr. Ri to get the car in here. I can get extra clothes from your travel bag,” you say, knowing that Jungkook always has a bag filled with clothes for emergency flights or check-ins. 

You get your phone and make a call, telling Jungkook that his chauffeur will be here soon. You glance towards your friends who are still pacifying a drunk Hajoon, and you decide that they can handle all that. Right now, your priority is Jungkook.

You walk out towards the car that’s on hazard mode outside the restaurant and pick out the top that’s most appropriate for a night out, which happens to be a semi-loose black button-up. You head back inside, with Taehyung and Seokjin informing you that Jungkook has gone to the washroom, so you scurry towards there and knock at the door.

“Mr. Jeon, I have your black long sleeves here,” you say as your knuckles tap on the wood. “Just tell me–” 

You’re interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, the sight of Jungkook in his jeans hanging by his waist and his unbuttoned white top catching you by surprise. His hair’s a bit damp and so is his bare torso, as you see that he’s tried to clean the wine off his body. 

You catch yourself looking longer than you should, and you immediately look away as you hand him over what he needs. 

“Please let me know what else you need, sir,” you say, your eyes glued to the pretty wallpaper as you awkwardly stand outside the washroom. 

“Jungkook,” he says, earning him a curious look. “I mean, you don’t need to be formal. We’re not at work.”

You nod, realizing it does sound weird to address him as such in a casual setting. 

“Okay… Jungkook,” you mumble, but even the way it rolls off your tongue is a bit odd. You’re not used to it, and you hope you won’t ever be. 

He closes the door and you take this time to calm yourself down. You’ve been so worried since you saw the glass tip over and mess up his outfit, and given his hot-headedness, you’re a little surprised that he didn’t fight back. He does have a reputation to uphold but even then, stopping himself from punching Hajoon must’ve taken a lot. 

The door opens and you sigh in relief; his outfit still looks good and he’s fully clothed, so there’s no lingering looks this time anymore. You take the top that he gives you, and you take the chance to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” you start. “I don’t know why he— I mean, he’s a bit drunk and he’s not usually like this.”

“You’re not the one who should apologize so don’t,” he responds. 

“Well, he won’t apologize so I will.”

“You didn’t spill the drink and you didn’t come at me. That was him,” he counters. 

You just shrug, choosing to just concede. “I’ll just return this to Mr. Ri.”

He calls your name before you turn around to leave. 

“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and your boyfriend,” he says, much too low and too gentle than you’re used to. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer softly. “We just, uh, we just hang out.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to correct this misinformation. Maybe you just want to remind yourself because you’re not anyone’s anything; hearing Hajoon claim you as yours made you want to just create that distance even more.

Jungkook wants to push it, to ask more. The man clearly acts like he’s your lover, given the physical affection and the way he tried to stand up for you. But there’s a bit of shame as you state that you and the man “just hang out,” and there’s that wonder he feels - how can you be with someone without being with them, and if turning away people who are clearly into you is a tendency you have. There’s Min Yoongi, after all, who’d liked you enough to remain as your friend when you needed one despite how he felt.  

“Okay then,” Jungkook nods. “And your job’s not in jeopardy. Don’t take responsibility for a stupid act you didn’t do.”

You bow in thanks, not much used to this side of him that’s understanding and even calm. You suppose he’d seen you worry about your job, had seen you look embarrassed over something that you didn’t even do, and perhaps he saw the discomfort over how Hajoon was talking about you. 

You’re about to walk out of the hallway when his call of your name stops you again, prompting you to turn around.

“About earlier… did I… did I make you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, the worry in his voice surprising you. 

You debate over playing it down or telling the truth, but you go with the latter. 

“A… a little,” you admit, looking away. 

You hear him sigh, and there’s a look of guilt in his eyes as you turn to him. 

“I’m so—”

The footsteps of another diner in the hallway disrupts him, and you both make way so he can use the washroom, too. Perhaps you and Jungkook had taken so long, and you don’t want others to conspire about what’s happening, so you walk out and tell him again that you’ll just return his clothing to Mr. Ri. 

From your table, Soomin and Jimin watch the awkwardness of your parting of ways, with you scurrying out the door and Jungkook returning to his seat with a deep sigh before glaring at Hajoon.

“He does sound and look like an asshole, aside from being hot,” Soomin observes. “That’s totally ___’s type.”

“Are you saying she likes her boss?” Jimin asks incredulously. 

“I’m just saying that’s her type, not that she likes him,” Soomin corrects. “There’s a difference. I still hate him for making things hard for her. I wish he would stop treating her like that. You and I know she won’t quit anytime soon. Especially because he’s a Jeon.”

“I know,” Jimin sighs. “I wish we could protect her from all this, too. But she’s always done what she wanted to do. And we wait for her to tell us when things are hard; we just hold her hand whenever it is.”

“That’s all we can do, I guess,” Soomin responds. “Sometimes though I wish she’d just… let someone else do more than just hold her hand, you know? It could’ve been Yoongi, or even Hajoon before all this mess. It could’ve been you.”

“You know that’ll never happen,” Jimin laughs bitterly, with Soomin knowing exactly what he means. “You’re only ever just her friend or her lover; you can’t be both.”

Soomin hums in agreement, as she’d seen you draw the line with the men you’d come across with. You’d make it clear if friendship is all you want; you’d be straightforward if it’s just sex you’re seeking. You give either just your heart or your body and you’re always careful not to give both. There are parts of you that you don’t want to share, that you don’t want to expose to them; there’s a kind of hurt that you don’t want to experience. 

They watch you walk back inside and then head to their table, where you sit next to a buzzed Hajoon who still has half a mind to look at you guiltily. 

“I think I’ll head back home after this,” you tell the group. “Kinda not in a partying mood anymore.”

Your other friends apologize on Hajoon’s behalf, proceeding to ask you if that was really your boss and if he’d threatened your job because of it, remarking that it would be such an asshole move of him to do that or to even get mad at you for something you didn’t do. 

You come to Jungkook’s defense; he didn’t say anything to that effect at all. Perhaps you’d been the unfair one who assumed that he would - that he’d demand that you apologize, that he’d use this against you. 

“He’s… not like that,” you say, meaning it. You turn to your best friends who have disagreeing looks. “He… he tried to apologize for making me feel uncomfortable,” you say softly. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Look, ___,” Hajoon starts, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you sigh. “I’ll just pay my bill and head out.”

You, Soomin, and Jimin all pay accordingly and then leave the restaurant, with you turning to Jungkook and his friends, bowing as a form of goodbye.

“Hey, why don’t we buy desserts at a convenience store and have our own party at your place?” Jimin suggests as you all settle in his car. 

“That would be nice,” you hum. “This outfit wouldn’t be such a waste then.”

So that’s what you do, as your best friends treat you to all the snacks you love - a usual occurrence, really, as they used to do that back in Busan to cheer you up during the days when you were feeling sad. It’s one of the things that you allow them to spoil you with and they take advantage of that, as you go home with weeks’ worth of goods for you to enjoy.

You also picked up some drinks on the way, so you play some music and dance around with your wine glasses and take shots in between. It’s too early to be drunk but 11PM might as well be 3AM. You’re all seated snugly in your tiny couch as you watch some variety show on mute, laughing at the hosts' antics even if you can’t hear anything. 

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” you huff, leaning on Soomin’s shoulder as you doze off. “Both of you are all I need. Thank you for never disappointing me.”

They know you don’t always let yourself be this sentimental. They also know that when you do, all you want is for them to listen and to hold you. And that’s what they do, as you eventually clean up and fall asleep on the mattress with them, the events from earlier slowly fading away.

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[bloodreinasbathwater]

Xo Xo Gossip Girl

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Gossip Blogger! Reader

Part 1

a:n The way I find myself digging for the perfect chapter gif only to scroll for five minutes and save my favorites is so embarrassing. I'm gonna need his girlfriend to hand over that game card... anyway hope u like this chapter.

word count - 4k

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GIF by wyattjohnston

...

HOCKEY HEARTBREAK: THE REAL REASON BEHIND THE HUGHES-DEGREGIO SPLIT

Posted by Y/N @ The Daily Whisper | 11:42 PM

Settle in, Whisper Warriors, because do I have some piping hot tea for you tonight.

You know those moments when the universe just hands you the story of the year? Well, last Saturday at Vibe, somewhere between my second cosmopolitan and watching Matt Rempe fail at dancing (yes, that's tea for another day), I quite literally bumped into none other than Serena DeGregio. And let me tell you, after a few shots of liquid courage, Hollywood's newest "it girl" was ready to spill everything about her recent split from hockey's favorite bad boy, Jack Hughes.

Now, we've all seen the headlines: "Hockey Heartthrob and Rising Star Call It Quits." But the real story? It's juicier than your mom's Thanksgiving turkey.

According to Serena, our beloved hockey star couldn't handle being the second name in the relationship. While she was booking Netflix specials and selling out concert venues, Jack was sidelined with a shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for three months. And apparently, watching your girlfriend's face on every billboard in Times Square does things to a man's ego.

"He's still stuck in that high school hockey star mentality," Serena told me, twirling the olive in her martini. "You know the type – peaked at eighteen, never had to grow up because everything came easy."

But here's where I have to play devil's advocate (and maybe it's because I've seen those ice-blue eyes up close at press events). Having covered Jack's career since his rookie year, there's more to him than Serena's bitter pill would have you swallow. This is the same guy who started a youth hockey program in underprivileged neighborhoods. The same player who spent his injury rehab volunteering at children's hospitals. And let's be real – anyone who's seen him handle a puck knows he definitely hasn't peaked.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but something about this story feels... incomplete. There's always two sides to every breakup, isn't there?

Update coming soon... if I can track down Mr. Hughes for his side of the story 😉

...

Y/N stretched back in her purple velvet office chair, admiring her latest post on the screen. Her "lair," as she liked to call it, was her happy place – fairy lights twinkling across the ceiling, framed magazine covers featuring her biggest stories adorning the coral-painted walls, and her trusty mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with Diet Coke and chocolate-covered almonds.

The story was already gaining traction, comments pinging faster than she could read them. Her phone buzzed – Alyssa's face lighting up the screen. Y/N smiled, knowing her best friend had probably already devoured every word. As the head of corporate sponsorships at Manhattan's largest sports marketing firm, Alyssa always had the best insider information – and opinions to match.

"Y/N! Have you lost your mind?" Alyssa didn't even wait for a hello. "That post about Jack and Serena is everywhere! My entire office is buzzing about it. The PR team for the Rangers is having a field day."

"Good evening to you too, bestie." Y/N spun lazily in her chair, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Never mind pleasantries. I have information that's going to make your next post even bigger." Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. "You know that charity gala at The Plaza next weekend? The one my firm is coordinating with?"

Y/N threw her head back and groaned dramatically. The motion made her neck crack, and she absently rubbed it while whining, "Don't rub it in. I've been trying to get press credentials for weeks. Even my usual connections couldn't get me in."

"Well, guess who's not only attending but is being honored for his youth hockey program?"

Y/N shot forward so fast her chair rolled back and hit the wall, rattling her framed cover of Time Magazine. "Jack Hughes."

"Bingo. And since I'm basically running the whole event..." Alyssa paused for dramatic effect. "I happen to have an extra ticket with your name on it. Perks of being best friends with someone who has to make sure all the corporate sponsors play nice with their hockey darlings."

"Shut up!" Y/N leaped out of her chair, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes in excitement. She caught herself on the edge of her desk, sending a stack of press releases flying. "Alyssa Martinez, you beautiful genius! How did you swing that?"

"Let's just say I convinced the foundation board that having an influential blogger there would be good publicity for their youth programs." Alyssa's voice took on a more serious tone. "Though after this post, I might have some explaining to do. You better make this worth it."

Y/N's heart raced as she glanced at her blog post still glowing on the screen, her mind already spinning with possibilities. "Trust me, this is going to be the story of the year."

"I'm counting on it. My reputation is on the line here too, you know. These athletes might be my clients, but you're my best friend. Don't make me regret mixing the two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Y/N was already opening her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"There's a first time for everything," Alyssa teased. "So, are you ready to get the other side of the story?"

...

One Week Later

Y/N stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of her black dress. Beside her, Alyssa was applying a final coat of mascara, her own black dress a perfect complement with its off-shoulder design.

"Stop overthinking it," Alyssa said, catching Y/N's distant expression in the mirror. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

Y/N sighed, fiddling with her delicate silver necklace. The blog post about Jack and Serena had exploded over the past week, becoming her most viral story to date. But something about it had been nagging at her, keeping her up at night as she replayed Serena's words in her mind.

"It's just..." Y/N paused, carefully considering her words. "What if we got it wrong? What if Serena isn't the victim she's making herself out to be?"

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you second-guess a source?"

"Since something doesn't add up." Y/N moved to her vanity, pretending to touch up her subtle smoky eye while her thoughts raced. "I've been doing some digging. Every charity event, every hospital visit, every youth program – Jack Hughes doesn't publicize any of it. His team's PR doesn't even push it. What kind of attention-seeking bad boy does good deeds and keeps them quiet?"

"So you think Serena's lying?"

"I think..." Y/N turned to face her friend, determination settling over her features. "I think she's a scorned ex trying to control the narrative. And maybe... maybe I helped her do it."

Alyssa's lips curved into a knowing smile. "And this sudden crisis of conscience has nothing to do with those ice-blue eyes you mentioned in your post?"

"This isn't about that," Y/N protested, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "This is about the truth. The real story." She grabbed her clutch, checking one last time that her phone and recorder were inside. "Every good journalist knows there are two sides to every story. It's time I found out his."

"Well then," Alyssa linked their arms together, leading them toward the door. "Let's go get your story, Lois Lane."

As they stepped into the waiting car, Y/N's mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd built her career on exposing the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn't just chasing a story – she was chasing redemption. And maybe, just maybe, she'd find out who the real Jack Hughes was in the process.

The Plaza Hotel beckoned in the distance, its lights twinkling against the Manhattan skyline like a beacon. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Bad boy or misunderstood hero, she was going to find out the truth – even if it meant admitting she got it wrong the first time.

...

Jack's pov

Jack's knee wouldn't stop bouncing under the pristine white tablecloth, making the water in his parents' glasses ripple like tiny earthquakes. Luke, ever the annoying little brother, flicked his ear.

"Dude, you're making the whole table shake. What's got you so worked up?" Luke's grin was nothing short of devilish. "Could it be a certain viral blog post about your 'high school mentality'?"

Jack pinched the sensitive spot under Luke's bicep, earning a satisfying yelp. "Shut up, man. At least I didn't trip over my own skates at practice yesterday."

"Boys," Ellen Hughes' warning tone cut through their bickering. She smoothed her navy dress with one hand while giving them both the look – the one that had stopped many locker room fights in their youth. "You're at a charity gala, not the rink. Act like grown men, please?"

"Yes, Mom," they chorused in unison, sharing a quick grin that made their father Jim chuckle behind his menu.

Jack let out a heavy breath, tugging at his bow tie. It felt too tight, like everything else lately – the press, the expectations, the endless questions about Serena. His leg started bouncing again.

"That's it." He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need a drink."

"Water," his mother called after him. "You have a speech to give!"

Jack waved in acknowledgment, weaving through the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. His shoulder twinged – phantom pain from the injury that had started this whole mess. Or maybe it was just his body's reaction to stress. The blog post had been everywhere this week, his phone blowing up with messages from teammates asking if he'd seen it.

He had. Multiple times. Each read made him want to throw his phone into the Hudson.

Reaching the bar, he slumped against the polished marble, pressing his forehead to the cool surface for just a moment. "Water, please," he groaned to the bartender. "Still, not sparkling."

"Trouble in paradise?"

The voice was unfamiliar, tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Jack lifted his head to find a woman in a black dress perched on the barstool next to him, stirring what looked like a cosmopolitan with delicate fingers. She wasn't looking at him directly, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Before he could respond, a flash of red appeared in his peripheral vision, and he had to fight the urge to groan out loud.

"Jackie!" The voice was unmistakable – Rebekah Chen, Page Six's most persistent reporter. Her red dress matched her lipstick, both as bold as her personality. She latched onto his arm like a barnacle, fake nails digging into his jacket. "I've been trying to reach you all week!"

Jack threw his head back, closing his eyes as if that might make her disappear. "Not today, Rebekah," he muttered, feeling every muscle in his jaw tense. His hand curled around the water glass the bartender had just set down, knuckles white.

"Oh, come on!" She pressed closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper. "Just a few questions. I can help you clear the air about that nasty blog post. Make that gossip guru eat her words." She batted her eyelashes. "All I need is a teensy exclusive about what really happened with Serena."

Jack's laugh was hollow as he extracted his arm from her grip. "Right, because that worked out so well the last time." He took a long drink of water, adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain his composure. "No comment, Rebekah. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and—"

"But Jackie—"

"Not happening." Jack's voice was firm as steel. "There's nothing to say, Rebekah. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rebekah huffed, her red lips turning down into a pout. She opened her mouth to protest again, but something in Jack's expression must have finally gotten through. With a dramatic sigh and flip of her hair, she clicked away on her stilettos, no doubt in search of easier prey.

Jack's shoulders dropped as tension bled out of them. He turned back to the bar, catching the mystery woman in black watching him in the mirror behind the bottles. When their eyes met, she didn't look away.

"That happen often?" she asked, taking a slow sip of her cosmopolitan.

Jack let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. "More than I'd like. Apparently, 'no comment' is journalist-speak for 'try harder.'" He paused, studying her reflection. "Though you don't seem like the pushy type."

"Maybe I'm just better at playing the long game." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she turned to face him properly. "Besides, the real story usually isn't found in ambushing someone at a bar."

"Exactly." He found himself leaning against the bar, angling toward her. There was something about her that made him want to keep talking. "Like this blog post that went viral this week. Everyone's got an opinion about who I am, what I did wrong, but—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you probably haven't even seen it."

She hummed noncommittally, that almost-smile playing on her lips again. "I might have caught it. Though I tend to be more interested in the stories that don't make headlines."

"Like what?"

"Like why a professional hockey player spends his injury rehab teaching kids to skate in Harlem instead of lounging on some beach somewhere."

Jack blinked, caught off guard. He'd been careful about keeping that quiet. "How did you—"

"Just someone who pays attention," she said, gathering her clutch. "The real story isn't always the loudest one, is it?"

Before Jack could process what she meant, Luke's voice carried across the room. "Jack! Mom says get back here. Speech time!"

The woman in black slid off her barstool with practiced grace. "Sounds like you're needed elsewhere."

"Wait," Jack said, suddenly not wanting her to disappear into the crowd. "I didn't catch your name."

"Y/N," she offered, and for a moment, her smile was full and genuine. "Good luck with your speech, Jack.”

She moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering. Jack found himself watching her weave through the crowd, his mind replaying their conversation. There had been something different about her – the way she'd asked questions without really asking them, how she'd known about his volunteer work but hadn't tried to use it against him like Rebekah would have.

"Dude." Luke appeared at his elbow, poking him in the ribs. "Stop staring into space. Mom's going to kill us both if you're late for your own award."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Jack followed his brother back to their table, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd. He spotted her finally, sliding into a seat near the back beside another woman in black. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced up, raising her cosmopolitan in a small salute.

For the first time in weeks, Jack felt himself genuinely smile.

...

"...and with your continued support, we can make sure every kid who wants to play hockey has that chance, regardless of their circumstances. Thank you."

The ballroom erupted in applause. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly – public speaking had never been his favorite part of the job, but at least this speech was about something that mattered.

Near the back of the room, Y/N leaned toward Alyssa. "We should go," she whispered, gathering her clutch. "We're not gonna get anything else tonight."

Alyssa nodded, already standing. "At least the champagne was good."

They slipped out as the crowd continued clapping, their heels clicking against the marble floors of The Plaza's ornate lobby. Y/N's mind was already spinning with how she'd write this up – not the puff piece everyone would expect, but something different. Something true.

"Y/N!"

The call echoed through the lobby, making her freeze mid-step. That voice – she'd just been listening to it give a speech about youth hockey programs and second chances.

She turned slowly, Alyssa's hand gripping her arm in surprise. Jack Hughes was jogging toward them, bow tie slightly askew, still slightly breathless from his speech. His hair was ruffled like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there at the bar.

"I—" he started, then seemed to realize he was still slightly out of breath. His hand came up to rest gently on her bare arm, the touch surprisingly warm. "Hey."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be back there accepting congratulations?"

He waved his free hand dismissively, though he didn't move the one on her arm. "They'll survive without me for a few minutes." His ice-blue eyes darted between her and Alyssa, a mix of nervousness and determination crossing his features. "You should come out with us. Both of you," he added quickly, offering Alyssa a genuine smile. "My teammates are headed to this bar just down the street. Nothing fancy, just... drinks. And conversation."

The way he said 'conversation' made Y/N's pulse quicken. There was weight behind it, meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

"I don't know," she started, but Alyssa cut her off.

"We'd love to," her supposed best friend said, ignoring Y/N's sharp look. "Lead the way, Hughes."

Jack's face broke into a grin that transformed his entire appearance. Gone was the serious hockey player from the podium, replaced by something younger, lighter. "Great! I just need to grab Luke and dodge my parents." He squeezed Y/N's arm gently before letting go. "Don't leave, okay? Five minutes, tops."

He was already backing away, that grin still in place. "Wait for me," he called out, just before turning.

Y/N waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Alyssa. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you the real story," Alyssa smirked, already typing on her phone. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She thought about Jack's smile, the warmth of his hand on her arm, the way he'd said 'conversation' like he was offering something more than just drinks and small talk.

"Five minutes," she conceded, trying not to smile at Alyssa's triumphant expression. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."

"Honey," Alyssa linked their arms, steering them toward the bar's entrance. "Something tells me this is going to be the best story you've ever written."

...

The bass thrummed through Y/N's bones as they approached the club, the line wrapping around the building like a snake. Jack stayed close to her side, his presence warm and solid as they bypassed the queue entirely.

"Mr. Hughes," the security guard nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without hesitation. "Welcome back."

Inside, bodies packed the dance floor, but Jack navigated them through the crowd with practiced ease. His hand ghosted over Y/N's lower back, guiding her through the maze of people until they reached a raised section cordoned off with another rope. Several men Y/N recognized from hockey highlights were sprawled across the plush booths, drinks already flowing.

"Look who finally made it!" Luke called out, now free of his bow tie and jacket. "We were starting to think Mom trapped you in conversation with the Vanderbilts again."

"Barely escaped," Jack laughed, helping Y/N up the small steps before following. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Alyssa."

The team welcomed them warmly, shuffling to make space. Y/N found herself wedged between Jack and the booth's arm, hyperaware of every point where their bodies touched. Her notebook felt like it was burning a hole in her clutch.

"I'm telling you," one of the players – Miller, according to his heated gesture at his teammate – was saying, "game seven, '94 Finals. Best hockey game ever played."

"You weren't even born yet!" Another player – Thompson – argued back. "2010 Olympics, Canada versus USA. That's peak hockey right there."

"You're both wrong," Luke interjected, leaning forward. "2018 World Juniors, outdoor game. Nothing beats playing in actual snow."

"That's because you scored the winning goal, you biased little shit," Jack laughed, his arm sliding naturally along the booth behind Y/N. The movement brought him closer, his cologne mixing with the lingering scent of his aftershave.

"What about you?" he asked, turning those blue eyes on her. "You follow hockey long?"

"My dad used to play," she found herself saying truthfully. "Nothing professional, just beer league, but he loved it. Taught me to skate before I could walk."

Something in Jack's expression softened. "Mine too. Well, him and my mom..." He shifted, angling toward her more fully. "It's different now though, isn't it? The pressure. Everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up. Luke and Quinn, they get it, but we're barely home at the same time anymore. Summer's all we got, really. And even then..." He trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features in the dim light.

Y/N's chest tightened. This wasn't the cocky player from the tabloids or the bitter ex-boyfriend from Serena's story. This was just... Jack. Raw and real and trusting her with pieces of himself she had no right to.

"I need a drink," she blurted, already sliding out of the booth. "Excuse me."

She practically fled to the bar, gripping the edge of it when she reached it. "Whiskey sour," she managed when the bartender looked her way. "Strong."

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

She turned to find Rebekah Chen stumbling slightly, clearly several drinks in. Her red dress was slightly askew, her lipstick smudged at one corner.

"Is Jack here?!" Rebekah's voice pitched high with excitement.

"No," Y/N said firmly, accepting her drink from the bartender. "He's not."

"Ugh." Rebekah deflated, then perked up again almost instantly. "But oh my god, you'll never believe what Serena told me about him." She leaned in conspiratorially, alcohol heavy on her breath. "He's a total player. Like, major cheater. She said he was always sliding into girls' DMs when they were together, coming to places like this..." She gestured around the club. "Getting with random girls behind her back."

Y/N's eyes widened despite herself. The Jack she'd just left didn't seem capable of that kind of betrayal, but...

"Yeah!" Rebekah pressed on, encouraged by Y/N's reaction. "Serena has receipts too. Screenshots, dates, everything. She's just waiting for the right moment to release them." She swayed slightly. "Guess the golden boy isn't so golden after all, right?"

Y/N's drink suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Jack's laugh carrying over the music, warm and genuine. She thought about how carefully he'd helped her through the crowd, how softly he'd spoken about his brothers.

How absolutely screwed she was if she was starting to believe in him.

...

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.” 

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade. 

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less. 

“Hurricane’s coming.” 

“Bomb’s dropping.” 

“World‘s ending.” 

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic. 

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense. 

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning. 

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last. 

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?” 

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself. 

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.” 

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed. 

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.” 

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back. 

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding. 

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood. 

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.” 

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home. 

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound. 

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon. 

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up. 

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours. 

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down. 

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!” 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you. 

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under  your breath. 

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had. 

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them. 

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions. 

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like. 

You know he’s right. 

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.” 

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.” 

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game. 

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. 

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention. 

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?” 

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf. 

“Hey!” 

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you. 

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming. 

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat. 

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold. 

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-” 

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!” 

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.” 

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them. 

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.” 

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?” 

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you. 

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.” 

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small. 

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.” 

Frankie. 

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.” 

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name. 

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?” 

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him. 

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed. 

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort. 

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks. 

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.” 

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment. 

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which. 

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.” 

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke. 

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade. 

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours. 

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football. 

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you. 

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you. 

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task,  to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales. 

You weren’t ever going to let him down. 

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you. 

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.” 

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?” 

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.” 

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend. 

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them. 

“Fine. She can stay.” 

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi. 

“Nice work, Kenz.” 

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest. 

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind. 

Frankie, Present 

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there. 

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place. 

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t. 

“Hey, Mamá.” 

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”  

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-” 

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.” 

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?” 

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.” 

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-” 

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.” 

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago. 

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there. 

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey. 

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come. 

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all. 

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person. 

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for. 

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad. 

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too. 

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!” 

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!” 

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.” 

“Perfect, you look just like him.” 

“Frankie!” 

“Kidding, kidding!” 

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same. 

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters. 

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it. 

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you. 

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now. 

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is. 

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi. 

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass. 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.” 

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth. 

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?” 

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you. 

“Fine. What flavor jello?” 

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.” 

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left. 

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.” 

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.” 

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering. 

“Your dad only eats jello?” 

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.” 

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before. 

“Um, w-why?” 

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better. 

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.” 

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.” 

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.” 

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back. 

“Your dad sounds nice.” 

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?” 

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.” 

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building. 

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys. 

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.” 

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.” 

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?” 

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.” 

“Are they as bad as mine?” 

“No. They’re worse.” 

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say. 

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter one - eddie munson

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Eddie leaves Hawkins (and his girl) behind to chase his dreams with Corroded Coffin. 2 years later, things have definitely changed.

Chapter Warnings:

Pregnancy, labor/birth, blood, traumatic birth/complications, secret baby

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N:

This is sort of a prologue, but I’m calling it chapter one. I’m really excited about this new series and I hope you will be, too!

—

“It’s my dream, baby. I can’t let this opportunity pass us by. This could change our lives.”

You had heard it over and over again. The same words coming from the same man with his wide puppy dog eyes, holding both your hands in his as he occasionally reached up to wipe your tears away again. He knew he was breaking your heart, and he hated that more than anything, but he also felt confident he was making the right decision.

You had been thrilled for him when he walked home into the trailer, screaming about how a scout had actually been to The Hideout and approached Corroded Coffin (specifically Eddie himself) after their show. The two of you stayed up all night talking excitedly, thinking of what this would mean for the band, for Eddie’s dream. Then he proceeded to give you the best sex of your life.

Things moved fast after that. It turned out the label really liked Corroded Coffin, and they wanted them in the studio immediately. And it really was a dream, at first. Eddie and the guys had just graduated and they immediately dumped all their time into the studio and perfecting their songs. You spent near every day lounging around the studio, watching the band record, a grin on your face so big it hurt watching Eddie do what he does, the happiness simply exuding from him. You loved him deeply, and seeing him beginning to really live his dream was everything you ever hoped for.

When the album was done, it released to more success than any of you could have dreamed of. Corroded Coffin was building a substantial and dedicated fan base already, they were on the radio, everyone was begging for them to perform in their city. That’s when the tour started being discussed. And their new manager began to point out the fact that there were no opportunities in Hawkins - the band would be better off moving somewhere like California.

You had never really thought Eddie wanted to leave like that. Sure he always dreamed of the band making it big, but you always assumed at the end of the day he would come home to Hawkins, come home to you. But it was obvious immediately that Eddie and the guys were completely on board with the idea of moving.

“Eddie, I can’t move to California,” you had explained, pacing around your tiny shared bedroom and huffing a humorless laugh. “My family is here. My mom and Dustin. All my friends are here. I’ve never even lived anywhere else.”

Eddie had ran his hands through his wild curls, another sigh escaping his lips. “I know, baby. But we could make a life out there, you and me.”

Tears had begun to well up in your eyes. “I would be left alone all the time, Eds. You’d be so busy with all the band stuff and being famous, and I’d be stuck alone, states away from home with no friends or family or support system.”

Eddie’s face fell, because he knew that was true. He hated the idea of being apart from you, but he hated the idea of making you follow him and be miserable, too. “We could do long distance?”

The tears actually began to fall then, and you collapsed on the bed next to him, your face in your hands. “I don’t know, Eddie. It sounds awful.”

Eddie didn’t say anything else as he started rubbing your back. He didn’t know if there was anything else to say. Those were your options, and none of them were great. But he knew if he passed up this opportunity, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

There were many variations of the same argument over the next few months as Eddie and the band prepared for the move to California and the beginning of the tour. There were a lot of tears. A lot of fighting followed by make up sex. None of the arguments ever made any actual progress, you always found yourselves stuck right back at the beginning.

Now Eddie stood in front of you, holding both your hands in his as you cried your eyes out in front of him. His heart was shattered in his chest. But the day had finally come, the bus was packed and waiting as the band said their goodbyes. It was somehow one of the best days of his life, while also being the worst.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with me?” Eddie asked you again, although at this point it was too late, they were leaving now.

You sniffled, your face already red and eyes puffy from the amount of crying you’d done in the past few months but especially today. It seemed you only got more and more emotional about the whole thing as time went on. “I can’t,” you said, which is exactly what Eddie knew you’d say.

Eddie looked at you with the pain visible in his eyes. He moved his hands to gently hold either side of your face and pulled you in, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips. Like it was the last time.

“I love you,” he said. “I will always love you.”

You were pretty sure there was nothing left of your heart to break. “I love you too, Eddie.”

He pulled you into a tight hug. You never wanted to leave that embrace - it felt so final, and you always hated goodbyes. Eddie held you until one of the crew members tapped him on the shoulder, telling him it was time to go.

He pulled away from you reluctantly. He looked you in the eyes for a moment before placing a kiss to your forehead. Then he was turning and walking away.

You watched him go, duffel bag and guitar case slung over his shoulder, the rest of everyone’s belongings and the band’s supplies packed tight under the bus. You watched as he climbed the stairs and turned, giving you one last look before you lost sight of him.

You stayed and watched until the bus drove away, down the road and completely out of your view. Taking your heart and soul with it.

—

It was two weeks later when the positive pregnancy test stared you in the face.

You couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, it did seem like that would be just your luck.

You had been feeling sick for the past week, but convinced yourself it was the nerves and emotions over Eddie leaving and the break up. You hadn’t even heard from Eddie since he left, despite his insistence that he’d call, relationship or not. You hoped he had just been busy and he hadn’t simply forgotten about you that quickly. You’d been together for two years before he left, you didn’t think you were that unimportant to him.

You cried on the bathroom floor of your new apartment for who knows how long. Your life was over, you felt quite sure. Eddie was long gone, who knows where at this point, with no plans to return. And now you were carrying his baby.

You didn’t say a word about it to anyone for a while. You had to work through it in your own head first. What did you even want to do? The thought of an abortion crossed your mind, but ultimately you felt you couldn’t go through with it. You could handle things on your own, you thought. Your waitressing job at the diner paid well enough for you to live off of, especially with all the overtime you picked up. Could you have and raise this baby on your own?

A week after the positive test, you broke the news to your mom and younger brother. Your mom cried, of course, which made you feel terrible. You had always imagined telling this news one day to be a joyful occasion, but that wasn’t your reality now. Your reality was being a single mother at 18. Dustin was in shock, but he seemed excited at the prospect of being an uncle, at least. You avoided all questions about Eddie.

Next, you broke the news to your best friends Steve and Robin, leaning over the counter of Family Video. They may have been more shocked than your family had been, and they both absolutely freaked out.

“You’re gonna have a baby,” Steve had choked out, as if that part was hard enough to say, “at 18, by yourself?”

Having the facts spelled out in front of you like that did nothing to help, and you burst into tears for the millionth time in the middle of the video store. Robin shot Steve a look before she was hopping over the counter to wrap you in a tight hug.

“What Steve meant to say,” Robin said, glaring at your mutual friend over the top of your head, “is that we’re here for you, whatever you need. You don’t have to do this all alone.”

You knew you needed to tell Eddie. And you definitely did have every intention to…but he never called. Never. Not once. And that hurt you so deeply, and made you so angry, you refused to reach out to him first. So…he never got the news.

True to their word, Steve and Robin were the best support system. Dustin, too. Your mom called you every single night needing to know exactly how you and the baby were and how you’d spent your day and that you were making good choices, which drove you a little bit crazy but at least she cared.

Your pregnancy progressed healthily, and the weeks went by faster than you were prepared for. Watching your body grow and become unfamiliar to you was…bizarre. And you missed Eddie. You started seeing Corroded Coffin popping up on magazine covers at the grocery store check out. You’d lay your hand over your growing belly and think about what could have been, what wasn’t.

Then you’d shove the magazine back in the rack and push him out of your mind.

Steve and Robin loved the belly. They found it fascinating, even if it made Steve a little squeamish. The first time the baby kicked you had been hanging around Family Video on your day off, looking through the new releases for a movie night with Dustin. You felt the strange flutter beneath your skin and you gasped, your hand shooting to that spot on your belly. You felt the kick again, against your hand.

Steve and Robin’s heads both shot up at the sound of your gasp. Robin was hopping over the counter and rushing to your side before Steve could catch up. “What is it? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Robin asked in a rush.

You just laughed, taking Robin’s hand and placing it where you had felt the kick. She looked at you strangely until you felt it again - her jaw dropped. “No way!!!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Steve asked, confused and not liking feeling left out. Robin moved her hand as you let go and grabbed Steve’s instead, placing it in the same spot. Sure enough, there was another kick moments later.

“Holy shit!” Steve said, but he jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. “It moved!”

You laughed. “That was the first kick!”

Robin cooed to the unborn baby, her hands moving back to the bump. Steve kept his distance, but watched the two of you.

“It’s weird,” Steve finally said, “like an alien. Have you seen Alien?”

Despite his squeamishness around a lot of pregnancy topics, Steve was an amazing support the entire time. He drove you to every appointment, Robin usually tagging along as well. They were there along with Dustin and your mom as you found out the gender of the baby - a boy.

Names were a big debate for a while. Not only choosing a name for your baby boy, but deciding what last name you would give him. You felt bad giving him your own last name and erasing Eddie entirely, but it also made no sense to give the baby the same last name as him when he didn’t even know of his existence and would never meet or know him.

You went into labor early, at 35 weeks. It caught you by surprise when your water broke and contractions began at 2am while you were snuggled in bed. Steve and Robin were going to take turns staying at your apartment when you hit 38 weeks, but you never made it that far, so you were alone with no transportation. You fought off a panic attack as you stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone, breathing through an intense contraction.

“‘lo?” was the sleepy reply when your call was picked up. It was obvious that Steve had been in deep sleep.

“Stevie?” you had said, knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the countertop. “The baby is coming.”

“What?” he certainly sounded a lot more awake after that. “Like, now? It’s too early!”

“I know it’s early, but it’s definitely happening,” you said.

“Shit, I- okay. Okay, shit. I’m on the way right now.”

The call ended before you were able to say anything else, so you hung the phone back on the wall. You grabbed your bags from your bedroom, feeling grateful you’d packed so early. You paced as you waited for Steve, you couldn’t stand to sit still when contractions started wracking through your body. It’s the only thing that controlled some of the pain as you remembered your breathing exercises.

Thankfully it didn’t take Steve long at all. You heard his tires squealing as he sped to a stop right in front of your apartment building. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. He was bursting through your front door moments later, sweating and looking panicked. He was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was on backwards, his usually perfect hair completely mussed up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing onto your shoulders and looking you all over as if you might have had the baby already and hid him somewhere.

“I’m okay,” you said, needing him to calm down. “The contractions are bad and they’re coming on fast but I’m okay. Your shirt’s backwards, by the way.”

Steve looked down at himself, a blush rising to his cheeks when he realized you were right. He pulled the shirt over his head and spun it around. “Sorry,” he said shyly.

Steve grabbed your bags and helped you into his car. Less than an hour later you were set up in your hospital room, dressed in an ugly gown and hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Steve sat next to you, having already called Robin and your family for you.

When things had calmed and you were relaxing in the bed between contractions, Steve looked at you seriously.

“Do you want me to try to reach Eddie?” he asked tentatively, cautious of your reaction.

The reminder of Eddie on that day hit you harder than ever. Did you want Eddie to be there? Yes, more than anything. But the reality was that he was god knows where, living his rockstar lifestyle, completely unaware his ex-girlfriend back home was preparing to give birth to their son. It was partially your fault, you knew, but still. You didn’t imagine he would have turned the bus around and quit the band to come play happy family with you, anyway.

“No,” you told Steve simply. He nodded and squeezed your hand once, although he looked like he had more to say.

When it was time to push, you were surrounded by support. Steve, Robin, and your mom stayed in the room with you - Dustin, who had no desire to see any of what was about to go down, moved back to the waiting room until it was safe to return.

The birth was more complicated than expected. You pushed for a long time, your mom wiping the sweat from your face as the pain went on seemingly endlessly. The doctor started talking about a c-section, but you didn’t want that. The thought terrified you. It motivated you to push even harder, and within the next 5 minutes, the baby was out and the room was filled with the sound of newborn cries. The doctor asked if Steve wanted to cut the cord, and he said yes without hesitating.

Your mom started bawling immediately, even Robin and Steve were tearing up at the sight of the baby, your baby boy. You tried to lean up to see him, but your head was so woozy, the second you lifted it from the pillow you felt like you were spinning. Nurses were working on the baby across the room while the doctor still hadn’t moved from between your legs - but you couldn’t get your brain to form a proper thought. Your vision was starting to get blurry and nausea roiled in your stomach.

The chatter in the room turned frantic, and you saw Steve turn to look at you in a panic, your mother’s sobs sounding less like happy crying now. You were confused as your mom and friends were quickly pushed away from your side and the sidebars on the hospital bed were lifted and locked into place. You caught some mentions of “emergency surgery” and “bleeding” as the bed started moving before everything went dark.

You woke up in a quiet, brightly lit room. You squinted from the lights as you opened your eyes, looking around you confused. You felt incredibly sore, and more alert than before but still a little out of it.

“You’re awake,” a relieved voice said, and you turned to see Robin by your bedside, looking exhausted.

You went to speak but found that your mouth was incredibly dry, your throat sore. Robin noticed immediately and grabbed a jug of water, holding the straw to your lips to help you drink. You accepted the help gratefully, and the ice water soothed your mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” you croaked out as she set the water jug back on the rolling table. “What…happened?”

Robin looked at you sympathetically. “You were bleeding really bad. They had to take you back for emergency surgery. But you’re okay now,” she added the last part quickly, seeing the panic rising on your face. “They got it under control. You’re going to be just fine.”

You nodded, and Robin looked behind you as another voice spoke. You hadn’t even realized you weren’t the only two people in the room.

“Somebody wants to meet you, if you’re up for it.”

You turned to see Steve, holding a little bundle of blankets gently in his arms. He looked even more tired than Robin, but he also looked happy. Your eyes locked in on the tiny bundle as Steve brought it closer before leaning down and placing it gently in your arms.

He was perfect. Sure everyone thinks their baby is the cutest, but this one? This had to be the cutest baby to ever exist. Tears began to fall and a huge smile spread its way across your cheeks as you took in the sight of him. You looked him all over, wanting to memorize every part of him.

He looked like Eddie. The realization sent a pang of guilt and hurt through your heart. He had a head full of dark brown curly hair, and looked up at you with the same big brown doe eyes his father had that got him anything he wanted. You realized you had just created another little person who would have that power over you. He was still so small, only born 5lbs 6oz. But he was healthy, and strong. The hospital just wanted to keep him for a few extra days since he was premature.

Your mom and Dustin returned a minute later, both relieved to see you awake and alert. Dustin got to hold his nephew for the first time, and you took a photo on the polaroid camera you packed. You got a picture of everyone holding him, and your mom took plenty of you, one including Steve and Robin on either side of you like three proud parents.

Asher James Henderson was perfect. You had decided to give him your own last name, since you were doing it alone and you were the only parent on the birth certificate.

You were terrified of being a single mother - even with the amazing support you had, it was still horrifying to think about. But honestly? You rocked it.

Asher was a happy baby, hardly ever fussed and slept like an angel. He loved spending time with you, would light up in the brightest smile every time he saw your face. He was also close with Steve and Robin, who came by every day. Uncle Dusty was another favorite, and your mom stepped into the grandma role happily and easily. Things were not the nightmare you feared they would be.

He got a bit crazier once he entered the toddler years. Reminding you of Eddie and what he must have been like as a child - which happened every single day - he was full of endless energy, completely fearless and always looking for adventure. You spent most of your time chasing after him and stopping him from climbing the furniture. But he was also the sweetest kid in the world, full of love for his mom and loved ones.

2 ½ years after Eddie’s departure, things had become easier and easier. You were comfortable with your little life, your little unconventional family. You were happy. Sure, sometimes it felt lonely, but you didn’t feel the need to date when you felt your attention should be all on Asher. And the idea of bringing a new man into his life scared you. So you didn’t.

You liked your job at the diner. You’d been there since the summer after graduation, and while it could be hard work and long hours, you loved your coworkers like family and it took care of you and Ash.

You were wiping down an empty table when the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had entered the restaurant. You looked up to see Steve rushing in, breathless, still in his Family Video uniform. He held a piece of paper in his hand as he looked around, presumably for you.

When he spotted you he came walking over with purpose, which made you furrow your brows in confusion over what could possibly be so important.

Steve reached you and slammed the paper on the table in front of you. “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

You looked down at the paper - and felt your blood run cold.

“…Corroded Coffin is coming to Hawkins?” you asked, your voice suddenly weak.

“A homecoming show,” Steve scoffed. “This weekend. I thought they were too good for us now, but I guess they can spare one little visit for us hicks.”

Steve looked pissed. Eddie’s calls had stopped for him, too, not long after he left. You weren’t surprised - if he had abandoned you, the woman he claimed to be in love with for years, then nothing surprised you about him anymore. But Steve had been deeply hurt.

Your ears were ringing. You thought you might pass out. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at - they were really coming here. Back home to Hawkins. Eddie and Asher would be in the same place and not even know the other existed.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, suddenly realizing you didn’t look too good. He rubbed your back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just…I just saw it and I freaked and I had to tell you.”

You shook your head. “No, Steve, it’s…it’s alright. I’m glad you told me. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though. It’s not like I’ll be going.”

Steve looked at you, his face etched with concern. “Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”

You bit your bottom lip nervously. “I don’t think so, Steve. I don’t think I can.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “Okay. Well I’m not gonna push you. But if you wanna go, try to talk to him…we can do that. It could be good.”

You considered his words. Should you see Eddie? Let him explain himself? …Maybe tell him about his son? The thought made you feel like you could be sick.

“You look pale,” Steve said, looking worried. “You should sit down.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine.” Steve didn’t look like he believed you, but he didn’t push the subject. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to think.”

Steve wrapped you up tight in his strong arms. “Hey, it’s your decision, sweetheart. You let me know what you want and we’ll make it happen. I’ll be right by your side either way.”

You nodded, grateful for Steve’s unwavering support as tears began to fall. Great, now you were crying and you still had 4 hours left of your shift.

Steve held you for a little longer, fingers soothingly brushing through your hair before he pulled back. “I gotta get going. I just totally ditched Robin to run over here the second that guy dropped these flyers off.” He ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “We’ll talk later, okay? It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You wanted to believe your friend’s words as you watched him go, but it was hard. You had finally found your footing on your own, and now Eddie was coming back to Hawkins and throwing everything off. Going to this show or not would be a life changing decision. Either you can keep living life as you are, ignore the show and Corroded Coffin leaves Hawkins again without giving you a second thought…or you go, talk to Eddie, and flip both of your lives upside down.

You felt thoroughly fucked.

[taestefully-in-luv]

Our Time | JJK (Seven)

Summary: After an accident and being in a coma for three months, you finally wake. But the last nine years of your life have been completely erased. You rely on none other than your best friend, Jungkook, to help regain your memories and yourself. But what happens when the truth of your missing time starts unraveling and it isn’t all it’s made out to be?

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader (Detective!Jk x Graphic Designer!OC) side pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: crime au, fluff, heavy angst, smut, romance, darker themes, amnesia au. Best friends to ???

Word Count: 12.4k

Warnings: seriously depressing (for now) swearing, mentions of alcoholism, allusions to cheating

a/n: Hiiiiiii, long time no see!! Sorry for the delay and thank you for waiting. This story is at a depressing point (lol) so forgive me! I hope you guys can enjoy this chapter too 🥺 Well, I hope you guys enjoy and  please let me know what you think! Send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist or just want to chat :]

Previous --- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An eternity has passed since you’ve last seen Jungkook…a total of six weeks. Each day has gotten equally harder as it has gotten easier. You think it’s just your body slowly getting used to his absence but your mind is yearning. Yearning and hurting.

But there is something that’s also painful like missing your ex-husband—your best friend—and it’s the videos of your life. A life you know nothing of. 

If you thought pictures were hard, videos are much harder.

But you asked for this. You asked your parents and your friends to send you old pictures and videos of times you don’t remember living.

You’re seeing pictures of you and your friends in restaurants you don’t know. Bars you don’t know. Concerts for artists you don’t know. Pictures of you in your bedroom, but it’s a bedroom you don’t know. 

You have haircuts and styles you don’t know.

In the videos, you hear yourself laughing at inside jokes you don’t know. You’re using vocab and slang you don’t know. You see yourself giggling and joking around with people you. don’t. know. And you feel more like an outsider than ever. Not just to this world but to the girl you see on screen, you are an outsider to herworld. 

Perhaps you’ve gotten too use to separating your different selves. And perhaps that makes it harder to unite with them.

Past you is current you but current you thinks of current you as future you. 

It’s all a headache to think about. 

You know they’re all you but because you’ve kept them separate, it’s somehow becoming the shackles that stops all the you’s from uniting. 

And that’s what needs to happen for all of your memories to return. You have to unite 24 year old you and 33 year old you. It’s only your sanity on the line.

Now that you’ve discovered a couple of things, the only way to go from here is to intentionally spark your memories—in any way. You have to. Because you know 33 year old you has started something...

You quickly tear your eyes from the video on screen to take a quick peak towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You’ve visited the attic a few times because of all of the memories that are stored in there.

But those boxes are filled with more than just memories.

Your eyes go back to your phone in hand as your thumb hesitantly hovers over the screen. You know you should move on to another video but it almost feels like you don’t have it in you. You don’t have it in you to stop listening to the sound of your child’s laughter when you can’t recognize it.

You don’t have it in you to stop the possibility of triggering your brain to suddenly remember him. 

You finally force your thumb to the screen and you quickly pause it. You take in a sharp breath before exiting the video to scroll through the five videos your mom sent you. You see Haru in all five. And you can see Jungkook in three of them. You chose one where you couldn’t see Jungkook. 

But this video of Haru’s giggles feels just as heartbreaking but more than anything, it feels frustrating. Because you don’t know him. 

And that feels like an unbearable heartache on its own.

Suddenly, your eyes bounce from the video thumbnails to the text your mom just sent you.

Mom 7:28am

Good morning! We’re our way to the station and should arrive in Seoul around 2pm. You’re still picking us up, right?

You slowly close your already drooping eyes, the moment way too brief before you open them again, glancing towards the living room windows where the obvious sunlight comes through. Another night you didn’t sleep. Your eyes battling your brain. You might get a few hours if you try to sleep now, at the least. 

~

“I just don’t understand how you can drink those all day,” Your mother’s eyes go from the knife in her hand to the iced coffee in yours. “I know it’s got to be giving you heartburn.” She laughs a little while shaking her head, eyes going back down to the cutting board where she chops onions.

You blink at your mom before dropping your eyes to the coffee in your hand, “Wait, is this why?” 

She chuckles again, “Must be from your dads side of the family.” She shrugs now, letting the onions slide off the board and into a pan.

You roll your eyes at your moms playful comment before sliding the coffee away from you as you sit at your kitchen island, “Anyway, dad’s kind of taking a while, no?” You glance around the kitchen as if he would suddenly appear here. 

Your mom smiles to herself while her hands remain busy with cooking dinner, “Yeah, he’s waiting for me to text him saying he can come back from the store.”

You can’t help but snort since you know exactly what she means.

Back when you were a teenager and going through life’s woes that made the whole world feel like it was ending, you would have your meltdowns. Period cramps that made you moody, a friend talking behind your back, the boy you liked was seen kissing someone else. All the things your dad left your mom to handle. He would suddenly want to go to the store and she would somehow signal him when it was safe to return—after the two of you got to talk out whatever was bothering you.

You realize she’s done it now.

“You never used to take this long to tell me what was going on though.” Your mom says quietly, eyes trained on the stove.  “Especially not about Jungkook.” She sighs as she reaches for the wooden spoon before stirring the ingredients. 

You feel something sharp inside your chest, just at the mention of his name, like there’s a sharp knife.

You turn your face to the side, something uncomfortable and electric tightens your jaw. As if it’s a burning signal that even the mere mention of Jungkook, makes you want to cry. But you won’t. “Well, mom.” You take a deep breath before looking towards her again with a sarcastic smile. “Our marriage wasn’t exactly as perfect as you thought.”

You hope this is enough for her to realize that Haru’s disappearance wasn’t the wedge that created such distance between you and your now, ex-husband. 

You stare at the back of your mom’s head as she stands at the stove, still cooking. You wonder if she’s in utter shock at the revelation that perhaps Jungkook isn’t perfect. And your marriage definitely wasn’t. You wait and wait. But you see how she starts adding in a few other things.

“I said—”

“—What marriage is perfect?” Your mom finally turns around, cutting you off with a raised brow. “I never thought that. I’ll never think that. About anyone.” She scoffs before turning towards the stove again. “I told you that you didn’t usually take this long to talk about Jungkook with me.”

You don’t say anything.

Your mom turns her head towards you for a moment, you see the corner of her lip barely start to lift, like a knowing smile wants to form but her frown decides not to budge, “You were married to him for years…you don’t think you’ve come to complain to me?”

You understand her almost smirk now. She faces forward towards the stove again.

“Maybe around six months before Haru’s…incident. You came to Busan and I could tell something was up and you needed to talk.” Your mom rests a hand on her hip, while the other reaches for the stove knob as she turns it down. “But just like now…” She turns her head to eye you again, her worries pulling her lips into a deeper frown. “You took a while to tell me.”

You don’t really react. Not as your brain processes this information.

Your mom continues, “So I know your marriage wasn’t perfect. Jungkook’s not perfect. You’re not perfect.” She exhales through her nose in a half laugh. “I’m not perfect. Your father’s not either. But what’s between us…it has to be protected.” 

“Unless that person betrays you.” You say in a low voice, eyes going to your fingers as you pick at your cuticles. “And you lose your trust in them.”

You hear your mom at the stove again as she turns it off and puts the lid on the pan. After a moment you see your mother in your peripherals as she comes to the other side of the counter and sits next to you. 

“You mentioned something similar back then.” She says quietly, her face looking ahead. “But then I thought…well, that you thought it wasn’t what you thought.”

You quickly turn your head in your moms direction, eyes on hers. What all did you say to her? “Well, it was.” You say firmly. 

Your mom’s eyebrows pull together slowly, something similar to confliction rising in her eyes. “And how exactly did Jungkook betray you?” She asks after a moment.

And it feels pathetic, the feeling of all the muscles in your face betraying your collected appearance. So pathetic that the answer to this question makes your expression twist and break off the cracking mask that is now crumbling and falling from your face. 

It takes less than an instant for your heartbreak to be written all over. 

Your mom puts a hand to your back, letting you cry it out. 

Just like you did when you were a moody teenager and the only one who understood your meltdowns was your mom. She lets you know that once again, that no matter how small or how big—you had every right to feel the way you wanted to. 

You cry, a soft pat repeating on your back as you mumble how sad you are and how embarrassing this is. 

This short cry feels more like relief in the right company rather than something that is rocking your world in the worst way.

Your mom chuckles a little, pulling away from you. “Embarrassing?”

“Yeah.” You nod with a shameless smile and damp cheeks. “I know you know the me that’s been married to him for years but in my eyes we’ve been on one date and he was our neighbor. So I feel like you should be teasing me about us but you’re here with more knowledge about my marriage than me.” You laugh as you cry more, “So it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Hm,” Your mom chuckles again, “I guess I can understand that.”

You nod while your fingers wipe beneath your eyes repeatedly, they’re only teary now.

Your mom brings her hand away from you, her fingers intertwining on top of the counter. You watch as she stares down at her hands in thought before she finally sighs and turns your way with a small smile. “Talk to me, y/n. You’re convinced Jungkook betrayed you in some way—ways I can only assume—but tell me, do you really think he’s capable of what you’re thinking?”

You study your mother’s expression for a long moment, brows beginning to furrow when you realize she doesn’t buy it. Tearing your eyes away from her, your lips twist in annoyance, “Are you saying I shouldn’t believe in my own memories?”

You hear your mom sigh again, “You remembered something unpleasant, y/n. I’m not saying I don’t believe you…but even back then,” She pauses, hoping you will look at her but you don’t. She finally continues, “Things just didn’t add up…”

You’re quick to find her eye again, “What all did I tell you?”

At this, your mother scoffs lightly, her small smile still on her lips. “Nothing that really made sense. Seemed like you just…couldn’t tell me things. But I’m not dumb, you know? You drop plenty of hints when you get talking.”

“Oh.” You blink at her, wishing you could even remember whatever hints she’s referring to. 

“But the issue is that you stopped talking. You got quiet.” Your mother looks back at her hands again, her gaze hardening. “Then when Haru’s incident happened…you shut us all out. Everyone…” She whispers, lines between her brows forming, a hint of disappointment in her voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Even Jungkook.”

You can’t help but feel that same knife start slicing open the inside of your chest at the mention of his name again. “Probably because it’s his fau—”

“—He lost Haru too, y/n.” Your mom cuts you off, her eyes that are filled with something close to anger land on you. “You both did and what’s worse is that you both lost one another in the process.”

“I don’t remember the process but I’m sure I had a hard time even looking him in the eye.” You spit out. “You don’t know what happ—”

“—Do you?” She throws back at you. “Because you have yet to give me a story that makes even a little sense.”

Your heart starts screaming like someone just squeezed it way too hard. You force yourself to look away because tears that no one invited start to form. You feel done with this conversation but before you can announce its over, your mom sighs again and her palm rests against your back and you don’t have it in you to shove her off.

“I’m sorry.” She mutters softly, almost sounding regretful. “I am. You have no idea…” You feel her hand slowly retreat from your back, “How sometimes I would just pray you wouldn’t get your memories back. So you wouldn’t…” 

Your mother’s voice grows much softer, almost too quiet to hear. 

“Seeing you heartbroken all over again hurts us, y/n. I thought it would be easier…for you. But I guess it’s just easier for us.” She admits, a sharpness in her tone that indicates her regret. “There’s no way you would live happier if parts of you felt missing.” 

You feel her words stick to your skin uncomfortably, like sweat from the hot sun rather than a run you worked for. It’s unpleasant but also unwelcomed. 

Unwelcomed because you don’t want to accept a life where that could be the case—forced to live a life even with parts of you missing.

An uncomfortable reality and possibility.

“More than…” You begin, hands lifting to gesture towards nothing. “This is more than just Jungkook.”

Your mom chuckles to herself. “Of course I know that.”

“I’m starting to wonder what would feel worse,” You glance towards your empty hands before your fingers clutch nothing softly. “Remembering my child. Or not remembering my child.” Then your lips curl into a half smile that feels so empty as you silently cringe toward yourself, “It doesn’t even feel right saying ‘my’…” you immediately halt, teeth suddenly piercing into your bottom lip. You don’t even feel right calling Haru ‘your’ child. Because you don’t feel like his mother.

You try to keep the half smile plastered on your face but the sharp shock of tears that fill your eyes betray your wants. You quickly blink them away.

“I want to hate Jungkook so bad for so many reasons,” You admit before clearing your throat, “But I mostly hate him because at least he would recognize our sons laugh while I don’t. I hate him because I blame him but at least he knows the kid that I hate him for.” 

Also an uncomfortable reality. 

“Well,” Your mothers tone lets you know she’s about to change the subject. “You had a doctor’s appointment recently, right? How did it go?”

You shake your head, “He said the progress can be really slow…and that it’s normal for the brain to block out certain traumatic events. So much…” You pause.

“So much what?”

You sigh, “So much doesn’t make sense. It has me feeling so restless.”

“I’m sorry.” Your mom releases a shaky breathy before you hear her voice crack. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know what’s the worst part?” You decide to keep the venting session going. “I just feel ashamed. I’m a parent but I don’t even know about it. I feel so lost. I don’t think if I was given a child I could—”

“This doesn’t make you less of a mother, y/n.” Your mom snaps her eyes in your direction, a fierceness in them. “You are still a parent. A damn good one at that.”

You study your mother’s expression with a fondness, because you see her sincerity. This makes your eyes sting again. “Thanks, mom.”

~

After a nice weekend with your parent’s, you decide you’ve been resting enough. You want to start working again, having too much time on your hands seems like a problem nowadays. You find yourself back at that new café.

“I’ll take a honey lavender latte.” You tell the girl at the counter, her eyes immediately widening before she nods her head in approval.

“Great choice. A personal fav.” She grins before continuing, “And I make it the best.” 

A new voice joins in from behind, startling you. “Make that two.” A man says. You quickly turn around, eyes rising towards the same man you spilled coffee on. “Oh, it’s you.”

He brings a hand to his heart, “I’m a you? That means you remember me!” He smiles at you, shaking his dark hair from his eyes. 

You bite your lip, guilt sinking in from the last time. “Well, I thought you were gonna press charges for burning you last time. So, I guess I would remember.”

He looks taken aback, his eyes going round. “Press charges?” Then he laughs, “No, no. I wouldn’t do that, who wants to deal with cops, anyway?” 

“Just the two lattes?” The girl at the counter speaks up in a sing song voice and you immediately spin in your spot to apologize to her but the man beats you to it while he pulls out his wallet.

“Should we get a cookie too?” He asks you, his head tilting a little and you start shaking your head. “You sure?” He smiles.

You’re the one taken aback. This guy is too kind. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone.

“Seokjin, you are going to buy us out again.” The girl sighs as she smiles before glancing at you. “He ordered us all out just yesterday.”

“It was for the elderly! You know they get a little cranky if they don’t get something a little sweet to eat! Hasn’t it brought more customers? You could say thank you.” He gets playfully defensive, pout on his lips and the girl gives a shrug while nodding. “Well, it does make my boss happy. And if he’s happy,” She leans over the counter and whispers. “It’s a better day for everyone.” Then she giggles.

“See!” Seokjin crosses his arms like he’s still offended. “I’m just trying to help you all have a better day!”

You guess he is this nice to everyone.

And before you know it, he’s taking out his card and paying for the drinks. You realize it but it’s too late.

“You didn’t have to pay for that…” You mumble, hand paused on your own wallet. “But thank you.”

“Hopefully you’ll have an even better day too.” He smiles at you and it feels warm. 

You take a moment to get a good look at him and you realize just how handsome he is. You remember his chest and broad shoulders from last time but now you see just how full and plump his lips are but you also like his brown eyes. 

He smiles at you again.

You’re staring.

“See you around, I guess.” Seokjin puts his wallet back into his back pocket before walking off towards a table near a window. 

You know his name but he doesn’t know yours and that feels a little bit like a shame.

But there’s no time for harmless nice guys giving you warm smiles. You’re here to work. Or actually here to retrain yourself on how to do your work. 

Your job agreed to help you relearn everything so today, you’re going to sit at a table and get trained. And the girl you knew from college that works at your job will be in contact with you if you have any questions. Mijoo. Apparently you two were a bit acquainted before you started working from home. 

When you find a table near the bookshelves, you get to work. There’s updates on old programs you were familiar with but there’s new ones too. Plus, the market is a bit different. It’s a lot to learn but you think you’ll get the hang of it quickly. Just like you did back in the day when you were just starting out.

Two hours or more has passed and you’re buried in your work. But you see a man in your peripherals and a cookie wrapped in parchment paper suddenly on the table right next to your laptop.

You look up and Seokjin gives you that same warm smile before it turns sheepish. “I ended up ordering two for myself a little while ago but I’m too full. You can have it. Well…well, only if you want it, of course.”

You blink up at him before you look at the cookie. 

“It’s okay, if you don’t!”

Your eyes go to him again and you shake your head before you give him your own smile. “No, no!” You tell him quickly, “I-I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Oh.” His lips form the perfect ‘o’ and he gives you a nod. “Nice. See ya.” And he’s smiling again before walking out of the café.

His entire aura is warm and you realize you appreciate people like him even more now. With how cold life has been.

~

After a long day of sitting at the café, you’re now sitting on the floor of your dusty attic. It’s gotten easy to figure out which boxes were stored here by your own hands and which boxes are the ones that Jungkook packed up to avoid you seeing your life. It’s mostly obvious because Jungkook’s packing is much more organized than yours. 

You wonder if this box of framed photos in front of you is so neat because he looked at each one slowly, taking his time as he looked at the memories he knew you wouldn’t remember. 

You wonder if he took his time because he misses Haru.

And because he missed you.

You manage to conceal a bitter scoff as you lift your foot and push it flat against the box, forcing it back a few inches. Your concern isn’t Jungkook right now. Stop thinking about him. Stop looking at your photos with him. Stop looking at the life you lived with him.

Right now those are your priority.

A strained sigh leaves your mouth as you eye the boxes you’ve dragged to the other side of the attic. You’ve been trying to organize everything in here so you know what’s what. Eyes slide to the left where all your household memories are. Then they slowly drag across the attic, passing by an old, dusty desk to the right side where your personal mystery boxes are.

It’s taken a few days to really separate everything. Because this attic has more than just some boxes of memories and boxes of mysteries. It also has a few too many creepy crawlers hanging in the corners. And things you’re sure 33 year old you wanted to sell and get rid of. 

Buzz.

Your eyes suddenly shoot down to your phone when it lights up and vibrates the attic floor, already seeing that it’s another message from Misuk in the group chat with her and Subin. 

Last you checked they were gushing over a new song from an artist they like who you barely even know so you don’t rush to really look. Your eyes stay on the screen until the light dims and it goes black.

You’d be lying if you said you wish you didn’t have help. Someone to guide you to some answers.

Another strained sigh before a half assed chuckle barely rumbles in your chest.

Well, ‘someone’ could guide you to some answers. And that someone is 33 year old you but unfortunately you don’t understand majority of what you’ve found. As if only parts of the puzzle are in these boxes, just edges and corner pieces and you’re missing all the pieces that fill everything in. 

Your eyes still linger on the black screen as they begin to lose focus as your mind whirls into your endless list of questions again. The boxes of mysteries are only three boxes. One of them having nothing to do with your son, you think. But the other two have caused some concern.

Something tells you that 33 year old you is really not convinced that your son is dead.

It’s clear you were investigating on your own. But your notes barely make sense. And it is more than fucking frustrating. 

You’re about to close your eyes and groan but your phone suddenly lights up again as you feel a slight vibration next to your foot. It’s another text but it doesn’t look like its apart of the group chat.

You squint at the screen but it’s too far to really read anything so you finally give in and reach for the device and bring it closer to your face. And then you feel the sudden thump in your lower belly where your heart just landed.

Jungkook 9:19pm

How are you doing?

A razor sharp sting tightens every muscle in your body, the sudden tension making your breaths stop.

More than a month and a half since you’ve last seen and spoken to him and he’s finally said something to you. 

Finally because as much as you hate him, his existence makes you breathe. And you have to breathe to live. 

Buzz.

Your hand vibrates along with your phone and you suddenly clench your fingers around it. 

Jungkook 9:19pm

I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. 

Your heart suddenly leaps up into your throat, choking you a bit as you try to breathe. Is that a confession? It already bothers you that he barely tried to explain himself and now he’s been silent all this time. And now he’s apologizing? He’s guilty, isn’t—

Buzz.

Jungkook 9:20pm

I just wish you would talk to me y/n…

That concealed scoff from earlier has finally broken free, pushing past your lips in something like disgust. Talk to him? Talk to him? You feel an uncomfortable anger start poking your skin from the inside and you squeeze your phone harder in you hand. The fucking audacity. 

There’s a brief moment when you consider chucking your phone across the attic but fortunately you only slam it to the floor. Frustration still hot on your skin, you quickly reach for a worn out decorative pillow and hurl it in front of you with a lot of strength, knocking against the old desk as it wobbles for a moment.

You release a short puff of air, head lowering and eyes closing as you try to calm yourself. You’ll admit, it did feel kind of good to release some en—

Thump.

Your eyes snap open as you tilt your head up towards the desk where the sudden sound just came. Did something fall inside? But what? You had checked the desk before. The top drawer only had a few pens and some sticky notes while the bottom drawer was empty minus some loose sheets of printer paper. And the left side of the desk is just two empty book shelves. It is basically empty.

It was probably nothing. 

You’re about to move on, mind already wanting to go back to Jungkook when the sudden thump just can’t make sense. Something with some weight definitely fell in or on the desk, right? But you’re sure there’s nothing from when you checked the other week. 

Doesn’t hurt to look again, you decide. Maybe this is your intuition talking to you.

You finally lift yourself from the attic floor, giving one last look at the boxes that are filled with your life with Jungkook and Haru before heading towards the middle where the desk is. It’s got an impressive layer of dust that you haven’t found any real reason to clean since the desk isn’t something you’d visit often. 

Giving in, you reach for the top drawer and open it, just like you had the other week, but just like last time, the drawer only has three pens, some used sticky notes with doodles and numbers lying around and one black marker. 

You knew there was nothing. Shutting the drawer, you quickly open the bottom drawer. It’s a deeper space, like you could fit a small filing cabinet. But instead, there’s only a few loose sheets of blank printer paper. 

Not convinced, you shove your hand inside the drawer, feeling around for anything strange and even trying to reach behind but you’re met with nothing. Okay. You step away from the desk for a moment, eyeing it suspiciously because you’re certain something with more weight than any of those things fell. And fell here. 

There’s nothing else here besides this raggedy pillow. You glance down at it, the pathetic thing on the floor before you groan, kicking it away from you. 

So what? You just imagine all kinds of things now? Is that the new normal? 

Suddenly not minding the thick layer of dust, you lean forward in defeat, hands gripping the edge of the desk as you support some of your weight onto it but the desk wobbles forward on its probably broken, unsteady legs. And you know you don’t imagine it when something with some weight definitely shifts inside. 

“Uh, what was that…?” You mumble to yourself, eyebrows coming together slowly as you take another look at the desk. Your eyes immediately fall to the left side where the two empty shelves are. It definitely came from this side.

You quickly squat down, eyes trained on the shelves, inspecting every single inch of the empty and terribly dusty space. “Don’t tell me…” You whisper, expression highly focused as you look at the back panel of the shelves. The shelving space is not nearly as deep as of the width of the desk. 

You blink at it, breaths now falling from your lips faster as your fingers quickly go to touch the backing panel and when it wiggles freely with enough pressure, you know you’ve found something. Feeling impatient, you jostle the thin wood around until you can figure out how to remove it.

And when it starts poking through the side of the shelf, your heart starts racing while you quickly slide the panel through the wooden desk. You feel it. Maybe it’s instinct because somewhere in your brain you know this is familiar and means something. The panel drops to the floor once its slid out but before it even touches, your hands are already digging inside.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You repeat with shaky breaths. Fingers already grasping what’s here and you feel yourself growing more and more anxious. A shoe box. An open shoe box that’s close to overflowing. You pull it out while you sit down onto the floor, the box settling right in front of you.

“Okay,” You sigh, reaching for the first item on top. It’s a small note book, the kind you’d use to make a check list of sorts. You take a deep breath before flipping it open and a few loose contents fall out. And then you feel the breath of a ghost at the base of your neck.

You pick up a folded sheet of paper along with a bent photo of Nabi. You feel the cold breath travel down your spine as you unfold the paper and read what’s written in someone else’s handwriting. 

Yun Nabi

118, Seolleungro-150, Yongsan-gu, Seoul 

 010-6203-3087

 010 3476 9876àweekends

010 9874 3456 new ##

You stare down at the worn paper, confusion clouding your mind. You want to rip her photo to shreds.

You quickly glance to the bent photo in your other hand and before you tell your hand what to do, it’s already crumbling it. Your dark gaze set on the now wrinkled woman who managed to gain Jungkook’s attention. 

Maybe it’s not her fault if she’s great.

Maybe it’s your fault. 

Your eyes stay trained on the crumbled photo but they’ve lost focus once again. Soon the balled up picture and the folded note fall to your lap as Numbness hugs you over your shoulders and as Insecurity sits next to you and whispers into your ear. 

Why did Jungkook cheat on you? 

You manage to blink but your throat feels dry.

Why did he do that to you? Why would anyone…?

You want to laugh at yourself. Because you know if this happened to anyone else you would know it wasn’t their fault. The person who cheated…it’s about them and no one else. And you want to tell yourself this, remind yourself, confirm that this isn’t your fault. 

But why do you sit here, letting Numbness hug you tighter? And why do you sit here and wonder?

You wonder…you wonder where you went wrong that you were no longer enough for him.

And it doesn’t feel fair that you’re wondering that.

You take the photograph and crumple it even more before throwing it to the side and decide to open the notebook. And you see more puzzle pieces. 

Routine

7 he wakes up….sometimes 8 

Jungkook takes him to work sometimes for fun 

Someone at work?? Who? Another list

Daycare usually Mondays & Thursdays for sure

Busiest days at work

You flip the page

Thursday the 14th, at the bus station, 

The 18th when I was going home

There was a car parked outside on the street for 3 days

The 5th

The 8th

The 12th I ran into someone who knew me but I didn’t know them

A man with buzzed hair

Something hot bubbles inside your chest and it feels like it’s burning you. Anxiety has a touch of fire. You flip to the next page.

It just scribbles like you were frustrated.

Just like you are now. 

You decide to close to the notebook. Discomfort swallowing you like a dry pill. 

But you don’t stop looking through the box. Pictures of people you don’t know. More lists of times and dates. But no context. More frustration building. 

Your head snaps up suddenly when you recall something falling so you quickly reach inside the secretive hole in the desk and feel around. Your fingers grasp at nothing until something cold is felt. You can tell what it is immediately as you wrap your fingers around the device. A phone. 

You take the cold, shiny device in your clammy hands and rush to turn it on but it’s got a dead battery. You turn the phone upside down to check what kind of charger it takes and remember that downstairs in the kitchen there’s a drawer of random charging cables. 

You need to get this thing turned on. Now. 

“Are you okay?” You immediately straighten your back, phone dropping to the attic floor,  the sudden voice a shock since you live alone. You quickly look around you, eyes darting from place to place but of course, there’s no one here. You feel sick. Especially because…didn’t that voice sound like—

“Are you okay?” Jungkook comes next to you, his eyes avoiding yours but he can’t hide the concern in his voice. You look at him, equally annoyed as he is. But still, you hear in his voice he doesn’t totally hate you. 

“It’s fine.” You mumble, fingers picking at the bandage wrapped around your palm. “It just got scraped.”

Jungkook chuckles humorlessly, “Misuk said Subin threw up in her mouth because of the blood.”

You shrug, “Okay, it was pretty bad.”

Jungkook stays silent and the same tension that’s been building since Sana’s wedding is here again. You, Jungkook, Misuk and Subin came to Busan for the weekend to celebrate your mom’s birthday but today, the day of the party, has been anything but fun. One thing after the other, but the cherry on top was around 20 minutes ago when you accidentally sliced your palm open while helping in the kitchen.

Now you’re outside trying to cool off but the last person you want to see has come to check on you.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook stares up at the tree you two are standing in front of outside your house. He doesn’t bother to try and soften his tone. Sure, it’s concerned but it’s also irritated.

“I told you it’s fine.” You answer, sounding clipped. “Just go back inside.”

“You’re mad at me if I’m inside. You’re mad at me if I’m outside.” He stuffs his hands in his front jean pockets and continues gazing at the tall tree. “I really don’t understand why you’re so up—”

“—Oh? You don’t?” You turn your head to glare at him, “Really?”

You watch Jungkook’s profile, his jaw tightening for a moment before he sighs out.

“I don’t know.” He tells you before turning to face you as well. Your eyes are narrowed but he sees plenty of disappointment in them. “Maybe I do. But I also seriously don’t.”

You look down to the ground, a moment of consideration because you kind of understand him. But then you recall last night and realize that no, he definitely should understand why you’re mad.

Things have changed between you two. Ever since Sana’s wedding, there’s been something different and enticing. Moments that feel way too charged to be platonic. But neither of you have spoken up about it. Maybe he’s afraid you don’t feel it. Or maybe you’re now just realizing you’re afraid he is the one who doesn’t feel it.

Because how doesn’t he understand that having his last serious girlfriend from Busan in your parents living room while they flirt with one another relentlessly in front of you, is not going to make you mad?

“You don’t think flirting with your ex-girlfriend in front of me wasn’t going to make me mad, Jungkook?” You throw the words at him without much care for his reaction. It’s an honest question, in your book.

“Okay,” Jungkook tilts his head back before running his hands through his hair, “So this is about Hanja.” He groans a little before giving in and taking a step closer to you. “I didn’t think it was a big deal…and you call her my ex girl-friend as if she doesn’t have a name. Hanja told me she had a lot of classes with you in High School!”

“And?” You deadpan. “Doesn’t make us friends.”

“Okay.” He nods but now he’s the one with disappointment in his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you had to be rude.”

“You invited her to my mom’s birthday party!” You throw back, “And have barely even…” It sucks that your voice gets a little softer because you just want to make a point. “You’ve barely even  looked at me since she’s been here.” 

Jungkook’s lips part and he looks conflicted as he registers your words but you don’t wait for him to get it before you continue.

“Sure,” You manage a stubborn shrug, “Maybe you’re not flirting with her but you don’t stop her when she does with you.” 

Jungkook’s brows furrow, “She hasn’t flirted with me, y/n.” He tries to assure you, his tone finally not irritated but instead the same soft as yours. “We just have history, you know? But that was what? 5 years ago? 6? 7? I don’t even know. We ended on good terms so I thought it was harmless. She’s in town too and had nothing to do…I didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

“I just…” You finally meet his eye for the first time more willingly, “I don’t know.” 

He finally relaxes his features and a pleasantly pleased smile starts tugging at the corner of his lips, “You’re…jealous.” He confirms softly.

You raise a brow at him, feeling annoyed. “So then you do understand why I’m mad.” 

“Yeah.” He agrees but you see the uncertainty in his eyes. “But I wasn’t sure. Maybe hoping but I couldn’t be sure, you know?” 

“Did you want me to be jealous?” You ask, unsure how that makes you feel but you see genuine and quiet panic all over his face while he shakes his head.

“No, no.” He tells you with big eyes. “But when I realized you were mad at me, I thought it could be because you were jealous. And,” He pauses, swallowing what you think is nerves. “That’s why I became hopeful, I guess.” 

“And why is that?” A cool breeze suddenly picks up and it feels nice against your cheeks.

“Because it might mean…” His words grow quieter, seeking your understanding of where he was going. “But without being direct…well, I can’t really be sure, you know?”

“Then why can’t we be direct?” You gesture between your bodies, “I like you, Jungkook.” It doesn’t take a lot of effort to say it, to admit it, but it does take a lot of effort to not tear your eyes away from him in embarrassment. But your gaze remains on his. 

“And there’s no way I’m imagining—”

“—You aren’t!” Jungkook panics, his fingers flying to your wrists, holding on to them as he persuades your eyes to remain on his again. “You aren’t imagining it. I know it, too.” He tells you but he looks and sounds conflicted.

“For months, Jungkook.” You say quietly, “I’ve been wondering for months if you’re going to make a real move on me.” 

He can’t help but smile at you nervously, his clammy fingers still pressing into your wrists. “I just…” Jungkook’s smile begins dropping as he explains himself, “…I’m so afraid of talking about this because it might change our friendship and you’re just,” He pauses, eyes searching yours because he needs to see if you understand. “You’re too important, y/n.” 

“You’d rather never tell me how you feel because it might change our friendship?” You ask him, ignoring the fire burning along the edges of your skin. “You would rather spend forever just wondering if I feel the same as you? Just like I’ve been wondering if you feel the same as me? Too afraid to talk about it because it…might change our friendship?”

Jungkook’s fingers finally disconnect from your skin and into his hair, his nerves only multiplying but he finds the courage to say, “If you didn’t feel the same, things would change.”

“If I didn’t feel the same then things wouldn’t have changed in the first place. Jungkook, things have already changed. And I don’t like wondering. We’re already past platonic so I’ll tell you—”

Suddenly, your head starts pounding.

A new memory unlocked. 

And it only makes you sit on your attic floor and cry.

Great timing.

~

Your fingers feel frozen, maybe even numb as you dig through another random kitchen drawer to find the correct charger for the phone you’ve found. So far you haven’t been lucky. Then again, nothing feels lucky. You’ve been quiet to yourself all day after last night. Not even a thought out loud. 

Your eyes grow watery again but you immediately slam your lids shut, squeezing tightly because you refuse to shed anymore tears. You might have to buy a new charger but you really aren’t in the mood to leave the house. You aren’t in the mood for anything except maybe hurling more old, worn out, decorative pillows at dusty furniture. But now you feel afraid for what you might find. The more mysteries you unlock, you’re afraid to unlock a memory along with it. 

It's evening now, the kitchen clock says 6:13pm. The day has gone by. You watched the sun rise this morning and now you’re witnessing it set. You have yet to find it in you to sleep today. Maybe you’re afraid you’ll slip into your bed that you once shared with Jungkook and suddenly you’ll remember all the times you’ve slept in it with him. You can’t afford any more of that. Just yesterday you were begging 33 year old you to share some of the life you’ve missed and now that she is sharing some of the years…you’re realizing you aren’t ready. 

You take a deep breath, shutting a drawer shut when you decide to order a new charging cable for the phone. Your eyes slide to the device that rests peacefully on the counter while your heart beats uncomfortably in your throat. You stare at it, wondering what contents lie inside but a part of you feels fearful of what you might find. 

Taking another breath, you wrap your arms around yourself, hugging yourself for a moment before you decide to take care of this. Sitting yourself at the kitchen island, opening your laptop, you search the phone and get the cable ordered for delivery tomorrow. This is better than driving yourself nuts trying to find it.

You close your eyes, resting your head down to the counter, wishing you could turn your day around.

Ding Dong.

Your eyes snap open. 

And something unsettling starts whirling in your belly. As if you can sense who is at your door.

Knock Knock Knock.

You groan quietly to yourself because you just know. You know exactly who it is for some insane reason. You just feel it. You stand from the stool and walk yourself to your front door. Swinging it open without even peeping through the hole to confirm your suspicions. 

Jungkook’s doesn’t look too good. For as handsome as he is, he looks rough. His skin is dry, his lips are pale and the bags under his eyes give away how much sleep he isn’t getting. You don’t care though. Not about him. Your fingers grip around the door frame tighter, your skin burning at the sight. 

“I just wanted to see how you were.” He tells you, voice so quiet you had to read his lips.  You want to scoff bitterly in his face, shut him out and make him feel thrown away. 

But your foot pushes the front door further open as you turn around to go into the living room. You’ve invited him in. Though, ‘invited’ feels like a strong word. 

You can hear the door creak open even furth from behind you, shoes are shuffling onto the floor and the door clicks shut. You hold your breath as you walk to the sofa, sitting yourself down at the very end of it as your eyes glue themselves to the black screen of the TV. 

Jungkook follows your lead and sits at the other end of the couch. In your peripherals, he looks like a big, black scribble of a thousand swirling lines and you don’t have it in you to focus your eyes on him and let him appear as Jungkook. As a person. So, you keep your eyes on the TV.

Nothing is said between you both for a long while, all your senses are heightened though as you anticipate his next words to you. The hairs on your arms rise when the click of the AC goes off as it turns on. You wonder if his next words have to do with apologizing about cheating on you. Apologize to you that you just couldn’t be enough. Apologize to you for losing your son. 

Your head slightly tilts in the direction of the kitchen when you notice the soft drip drops of water from the faucet. The distant bark from a small dog. Jungkook’s fingernails scratching his forearm. Every noise is going off in your ears, haunting you, taunting you and driving you insane. 

You only want to hear his voice. 

“Why are you here?” You finally break the noisy silence. 

“To see you.” He says, voice quiet and afraid. “You’re doing better than me, huh?”

Your palms are flat against the couch cushion before you slowly curl your fingers, grabbing nothing of the material at his words. “Do you really think you get to say that to me?”

“This isn’t fair for either of us, y/n.” Jungkook has the audacity to keep speaking. “You just don’t understand.”

You twist your head to eye him, your jaw tight as you watch him sit on the sofa, eyes cowering away from yours. “You’ll stop talking now.” You tell him as your voice becomes quiet and afraid as well. You’re livid but you speak like you’re hurt. 

“Then…” Jungkook pauses, his eyes going all around the living room now before he sighs. “Then I’ll just listen.”

You push your head back in disbelief, “I didn’t ask you to come here so I can talk to you. In fact, I didn’t ask you to come here at all.”

He finally turns his head toward you, his eyes are red and watery and you hate that you hate seeing him on the verge of tears. You watch his throat as you pay attention to the hard way he swallows. “I know. But I had to see you.” 

Suddenly, your head starts pounding, a harsh banging from inside your forehead. You quickly let your head fall into your hands when those words keep repeating inside your mind. I know. But I had to see you. I know. But I had to see you. I know. But I had to see you. 

You groan into your hands. The pain erupting on all sides of your head. The words repeating over and over, making your ears feel like they’re bleeding. I know. But I had to see you.

“y/n?” You hear Jungkook’s quiet and afraid voice. 

I know. But I had to see you. 

“I thought you didn’t want to see me…” Jungkook’s eyes are blood shot. You know he’s been drinking again.

“I know.” You mutter, “But I had to see you.” 

“Oh.” He stumbles backward, his hand widening his front door to his new, shitty apartment. You feel anger bubbling, because you know he’s drunk. You’re doing everything in your power to keep it together and he’s wasting his time drinking.

“You’ve shut out Jimin.” You tell him, cutting to the chase. “So you don’t know anything, do you?”

“W-What’s there to know? I don’t need them anymore. Also, I was fucking fired.”

You snap your eyes to his as he still stands at his open doorway. “You’re pissing me off, Jungkook.”

“I can do this on my—”

“—They’re closing the case.” You say. “They’re saying he’s…that he’s…” You pause, throat growing drier. “You know.”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook drunkenly shrugs, slamming the door shut, making you flinch. “They’re all wrong, anyway.”

You feel your shoulders growing tenser, your lips in a hard, thin line before they die into a frown. “They’re saying we should hold a funeral.”

Jungkook’s body goes still, his hanging arms at his sides suddenly rise to his face when he rubs his temples. “Excuse me?”

“They want to—”

“Just stop!” He suddenly cries out, voice shrill. You see his eyes growing redder and redder as tears fill them up. “None of you know what you-you’re talking about. Just shut up, all of you!” 

You flinch.

Jungkook’s fingers go into his hair when he starts pulling on the strands. “This just isn’t right.” He keeps muttering to himself, “I got this. I got this. I got this.” He starts pacing back and forth in front of his coffee table. “Just stop. Stop talking.”

You stand in silence.

“I said stop talking!” 

You watch him unravel.

“Jung—”

Glass breaks across the coffee table. A shattered soju bottle that he’s thrown.

You flinch again. 

You take a step back.

Jungkook falls to the floor, crying and yelling at no one. The loss of your son is much worse than you could have imagined. But you knew telling Jungkook about the funeral was going to cause something more serious to unravel. But you didn’t imagine this.

“y/n?” Jungkook voice sounds sober now. “y/n?”

Your head is about to split into sections, the pain so overwhelming.

You lift your face from your hands, your cheeks overflowing with tears. Why did you have to remember that? 

“Hey,” Jungkook stands from the sofa and comes closer to you. His hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder but just like in your memory, you flinch. He immediately frowns. “y/n…” He brings his hand back to his body. “Talk to me, I’ll just listen.”

“G-go.” You keep your head low as your eyes stay glued to your lap. “Please just go.” 

His hands freeze at his sides, using all of his self-control. Even you can feel how tense his body is, just from the heat that radiates off of it. You’re being serious. He needs to go before you spiral into one of your throbbing headaches that give you a panic attack. The kind you can manage on your own—and prefer to. 

“Please, Jungkook…” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m not feeling well now so pl—”

“—Okay.” His fingers curl into hard fists. “Call me if you need anything. Please.” He stands here for another moment, like his feet have become glued to the floor and he’s unable to move. But after a tentative sigh, they finally move. And your ears bleed again at each sound that can be heard. The click of the AC turning off, the small dog whining in your neighbor’s yard, each drip of water dropping from the faucet and finally the whoosh of the front door opening and closing shut. And you finally let go a long, long breath. 

Your head hurts and your heart hurts, the memory fresh in your mind. You never imagined to see Jungkook…like that. You barely recognized him. Does he have a drinking problem? Or did? You need to erase these images in your head, or at least scatter something pretty over them. And that’s when you get an idea that you know is pure torture.

~

One of the boxes from the attic is sat on your living floor, with your bottom plopped right next to it. It’s a box you organized yourself, you can tell. Just a box of intimate memories with your ex-husband. You pull out a letter you’ve read at least six times now…might as well make it seven.

The envelope is pink with little hearts drawn all over it and though it’s only eight years old, it looks like it’s at least 20. The envelope itself is wrinkly with random water stains and the page inside is soft and used like you’ve read this letter a thousand times. Might as well make it a thousand and one. 

You slip the paper out of the envelope, unfolding it carefully, the crinkling paper opening up with Jungkook’s handwriting written all over.

April 10 2015

Dear y/n,

Hi it’s me, your boooooyfriend. >.< sorry I’m still getting used to it. You’re probably wondering why I’m writing a letter when I could just call or text you but you seemed to think it was cute in that movie we watched the other day and so Im writing you one too!! Also, I think my peers are thinking Im working really hard on a case. I wish I was but they won’t give me anything good. I know it hasn’t even been a year since I finally landed here in the Investigation sector as a detective but they still treat me like such a rookie…blaaaahhhhh you know this already. The captain seems to think I have potential though. But ya know what? The guys here said the only thing ive done right so far is getting you as a girlfriend hahaha 

Maybe they’re right I mean they’re definitely right 

I miss you so much

Im sitting here at my desk writing you and its just making me miss you a kabillzillion times more…….i seriously aaaaahhhh im going crazy because I miss you that much 

Im so lucky youre so amazing and my favorite person to exist and so pretty so pretty 

I know we’ve only been together for a short while but what if I told you I know exactly how I feel about yoooouuuuu huh what if 

Ask me about it when I see you tonight

Love,

Jungkook Your cheerios 

You read it. Then you read it again. This is the Jungkook you want to remember.

~~

It’s the next day and you’re opening the package you ordered just yesterday. Pulling out a small box, you get it open and unravel the charging cable to the phone you’ve found. Taking a look at the clock, you realize you’re a bit behind. You wanted to get to the café at noon for work but it’s already 15 after. You quickly plug the charger into the wall and get the phone charging. It’s dead so it’ll take a while to get turned on so you decide to leave it here while you head out. 

The café is a bit busy today, more people than you’re used to, but thankfully you see an open table. You set up your laptop and get to work. Taking a pause to message Mijoo about needing some guidance if she can meet any of these days. It would be nice to have some help in person. After working for a bit, you can’t help but lift your face from the screen and dart your eyes around the place. No sign of Seokjin today. Not that it means anything but he’s got the kind of warm, reassuring smile that you could use these days. 

And just like clockwork, the quiet bell dings when he walks through the café’s front door. He meets your eye immediately and gives you a small nod and the smile you were searching for. You nod back, eyes going back down to the laptop before you take another peak towards Seokjin. He’s walked up to the counter, talking with the young girl that’s always here. After a moment she hands him a box of what you assume are desserts. Maybe he’s giving them to the elderly again.

Then he walks out.

Oh, he isn’t staying today.

That’s okay, you don’t have time to chat with a harmless nice guy anyway. You have work to do. Something to truly get your mind off of everything else you’ve been going through. You think it’s a miracle you have it in you to try every day. In another universe, you might have already gone insane. 

~

After working a little while longer, you pack your things up and head to your car. It’s a sunny day, barely any clouds in the sky and it feels warm. Warm enough to make you forget this coldness that lingers all around you, all inside you. 

You start driving home when you remember you’re supposed to pick up a few groceries so you stop by the market first. It’s not too crowded and since you’re in an okay mood, you decide to put in your earphones and walk inside with a pep to your step. You needed zucchini…what else? Bread for sure was on your list. Peanut butter, eggs, oh yeah and some chips for when you get a craving. 

You start heading to the aisle with peanut butter when you recognize someone familiar. 

“Seokjin?” You mumble his name but he doesn’t hear you. His eyes fully focused on his jams. He stands here, deep in thought before he finally reaches for one.

“Hi.” You say a little louder and he jumps in his spot.

He turns to face you, ears turning red when he sees you. “Hi.” He stares at you dumbfounded for a moment, “I just realized I don’t know your name.” Then he chuckles.

You can’t help but crack a smile, “It’s y/n.”

“Ah, y/n. Yeah, that suits you.” He tells you confidently.

“Does it?”

“Do you usually shop here?” Seokjin gestures around the aisle, “I’ve never seen you before. Or are you…” He suddenly drops his smile and looks serious. “Following me?” Then he breaks into a huge smile before adding, “Dun, dun, duuuun.” 

You feel your stomach swirl with something before you shake your head, feeling embarrassed. “No, no! I live around here actually. This is just a coincidence.”

“A coincidence, huh? A lot of those lately.” He gives you another smile, this time more teasing. “We should just meet on purpose, you know.” 

You stand here, taken aback by his words. Is he implying meeting intentionally?

He seems to feel your shift. “Unless, unless…” His eyes avert yours now, his ears turning a deeper shade of red. “Sorry. Unless you don’t want to. Maybe you’re already seeing someone.”

You shake your head quickly, “No. I’m…I’m not.” You’re not but it feels wrong to say it. “But I wasn’t assuming…anything. Like, if you were implying a date or something.”

Seokjin pouts his lips before glancing up at the ceiling, “Why not? You would have been right.”

You blink at him, taken aback again. “Oh.”

“I happen to know a pretty great restaurant. Maybe we can not coincidentally meet there?”

He’s…asking you out. 

And it pains you because… “I can’t. Sorry,” You look down at your feet before glancing towards the jams. “Umm, I’m kind of going through something and—”

“—Oh.” Seokjin nods his head quickly. “No, no. I understand…you don’t have to explain. I’m kind of going through something too and I know that a good way to get through it is some nice company every now and then.” He gives you a warm smile, all the teasing gone. “I understand you though. So don’t worry but…” He suddenly pats his pants pockets before looking delighted. “In case you change your mind…I’m learning to…how do they kids say…shoot my shot.” He suddenly pulls out a receipt and a pen and scribbles something on it before handing it to you. 

His number.

“Just in case!” He cheeses harder. 

~

“I honestly don’t think it’s a big deal.” Misuk looks at you through the camera, her face looking brighter. “It’s just a date!”

“It is a big deal.” You whine again, “I’m in love with someone else and I have a whole lot of mess going on.” 

Subin nods her head sympathetically, “That’s true. But I think Misuk means it’s not a big deal because it could be…” She pauses, clearly thinking of the right words. It’s amusing to you to see they might agree on this. “A good thing? A simple thing! A little, you know, fun thing!” 

“Exactly!” Misuk drags out the word, “You don’t have to fall in love but you’re so focused on…you know, your memories…that you aren’t living life.”

“Uh,” You begin to defend yourself, “I’m—”

“—Yes, yes.” Misuk waves you off, “You are getting back into work! And that’s good! But you really should start living a normal life again.”

“And…” Subin looks off camera, her eyes looking softer. “It’s kind of the same. You are missing your memories, yes, and I’m so sorry…but 33 year old you was the same. Divorced. And I don’t think you were in any headspace to even think about wanting Jungkook back.” She finishes quietly.

“You wanted nothing to do with him.” Misuk tells you. “So just live a little…you know, just normal things. And who knows, it might help with your memories.”

You sit still for a moment. You’ll admit that you haven’t exactly been living normally. You mostly sit around all day, alone, surrounding yourself with things you don’t understand and torture yourself with memories of Jungkook. 

“Anyway, I’ll let you guys know if anything changes.” You chuckle after you focus your eyes on your friends again. “I just got home so I gotta put these groceries ...away" Your eye notices the list lying on the counter and you realize..."Damn, and I forgot the eggs. Anyway, I’ll call later!” You sing out.

“Okay! Bye!”

“Bye!” Subin sings back. And you end the call.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe you deserve a little break or something simple and fun. You bite your lip, thoughts still lingering but you decide to reach into your back pocket and pull out the receipt Seokjin gave you. You shake your head quickly but reach for your phone and input the number and press call. You need light in this darkness.

~~

You hate feeling defeated. 

Sitting on your sofa, blanket wrapped tightly around you as your hand clenches around this cold, empty and useless device. 

The phone has either never been used or was completely wiped. You thought you could torture yourself with more information but you’ve come out of this empty handed. There’s nothing on here. No call history, no text history, no pictures or videos…nothing. You squeeze the phone harder, frustration still building. When your actual phone buzzes. 

Your eyes shoot down to your now lit up phone and you drop the useless one to the couch cushion. It might be Subin gushing about this band she’s seeing this weekend. You’ll ignore—

Buzz.

You give in, reaching for your phone and your stomach does its usual uneasy swirling.

Jungkook 9:10pm

How are you feeling?

Jungkook 9:10pm

We don’t have to talk but at least tell me how youre doing…

Your eyes slam shut, the urge to cry too strong. Because you’re hurt. You’re hurting. You’re confused. You’re angry. And you’re sad. 

Why are you so weak? You should delete him, block him and throw your whole phone away. Because your phone knows him and you don’t. 

But you’re weak because you’re going to text back.

Except Jungkook beats you to it.

Jungkook 9:13pm

Did you get hit with a headache earlier? You okay? Have you seen your doctor lately?

All these questions are giving you different kind of headache. 

You 9:13pm

Its fine, Im fine

You lie

Jungkook 9:13pm

Liar

You 9:14pm

Jungkook

You 9:14pm

Do you have a drinking problem?

You press send. You see the bubbles pop up your screen, indicating that he’s typing but they disappear. Then they reappear. And disappear again.

You 9:16pm

Jungkook?

Jungkook 9:16pm

Who told you that? 

You feel your shoulders tense.

You 9:16pm

No one told me

You 9:17pm

I just remember when I went to your place…there was a lot of alcohol lying around and the place seemed rough

You 9:17pm

And idk I got thinking. Im not trying to accuse you or anything but…is what I saw…what I think it is?

You send. It’s not a total lie. Not what you’re referring to…but not a total lie. 

You stare at the screen but there’s no indication if he���s read your message or not. No typing. Nothing. Your eyes glance at the clock and it reads 9:19pm now. It’s okay. Only two minutes. But why does it feel like eternity? 

9:25pm and all you’ve done is sit, tightly wrapped in a blanket on your couch, and stare at your phone screen, touching the screen every time it times out. And still nothing. 

But then you see bubbles pop up.

Back straightening, you breathe in and out as your eyes remain on the screen. 

He’s been typing for three minutes.

You hold your breath now. 

Jungkook 9:28pm

And if it is?

You let out a short breath, disbelief crawling all over your skin that you throw the blanket off of you and stand from the couch. Your memories are reliable. 

You feel a sting pierce your eyes but you grit your teeth and hold any tears back. This is just too much for you to accept. You walk into the kitchen, frustration raging inside your body. You step up to the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter before leaning forward, sighing out your anger. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Calming down, you immediately grab a bowl and sniffle to yourself. You’ll just do these dishes and forget all about this. 

You take another bowl, the hot water burning your fingers and palms as you absentmindedly scrub it clean. 

“Sometimes I think you wash clean dishes at this point.” Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. 

You laugh, “Not true.”

“The water is too hot, baby.” He nuzzles his face into your neck, suddenly pecking it softly. “You’re going to melt the skin off your bones.”

You realize he’s right, the water is really hot but you were just lost in thought. Your wedding is in two days. You get out of your thoughts while you set the bowl back into the sink and turn the faucet off. “I’m just—”

“I know.” Jungkook nuzzles his nose into your warm skin. “I can’t believe you’re the one who’s nervous between us.”

You sigh, small smile on your face. “I’m not nervous. But I am, a little.”

“I know.”

“Not in a bad way.”

“I know that too.”

“In a…marrying the love of my life, wow life is crazy kind of way.” You dry your hands before twisting in Jungkook’s embrace and you lean in to kiss him. “You probably know what I mean.”

He laughs against your lips, “I would be the one who knows exactly what you mean.”

Your lips twist into a sheepish smile, “I missed you today.”

“I missed you more.”

You roll your eyes, a teasing smile forming now. “Liar.”

He looks surprised for a second before rolling his own eyes, “I’m serious.”

“You’re only serious about work nowadays.” You tease him, and you are mostly teasing. It’s only lately he’s been zeroed in on a case. 

But Jungkook frowns, “It isn’t going well.” He admits to you. “I don’t know that we’ll get this one.”

“You will.” You lean forward more and nudge your nose against his, “You are the best there is.”

Jungkook chuckles, “Unfortunately I’m still in the ‘proving myself’ phase.” 

“Here too.” You continue to tease him, “Still deciding if this wedding is happ—”

“—Heeeeey, don’t joke like that.” Jungkook nudges his nose against yours now, “Tell me I’m the best here too.”

Your hands trail down his chest, eyes focusing on his. “You are.” 

“I wish Jimin would tell me that too.” He laughs a little but you know he’s serious. You take his hands in yours.

“You guys are new at being partners. Give it time, babe.”

“He hates me.” Jungkook sighs, “He thinks I mess everything up. And honestly, I can’t blow this one, y/n. The captain believes in me, which is good but my own partner doubts me.” 

You understand this is hard for Jungkook to accept. 

“Listen…” You give his hands a squeeze. “This is your first big one, right? Take it slow and I know you won’t get flustered like the last one.”

He immediately drops his hands from yours, “I can’t get like how I was with the last one.” Jungkook takes a step away from you, “This one is way too serious…the men I’m dealing with, y/n…you have no idea. I can’t mess this up.”

“Baby…” You feel bad for bringing up the last case he took with Jimin. He got too involved emotionally and when things didn’t end up well for the victim…”It’s okay. You have me to talk about this with and—”

“—But I don’t. I’m legally not allowed to. I got in trouble with sharing so much last time and…fuck,” Jungkook pauses. Closes his eyes slowly before taking a step forward and reaching for your hands again. “This is not what we need to be talking about right before our wedding. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You give his hands another squeeze. “We share our lives. With or without marriage, right?” 

 “I only wanna talk about us.” He breathes out softly, his lips inching closer to yours. “Let’s focus on you and me.” 

And your skin is burning again. It’s on fire. Too much fire, it hurts.

And that’s when you realize you’re still here at your kitchen sink, hot lava rushing to your skin, burning you as you hold the bowl you were cleaning.

You take a deep breath, taking a step back from the sink when you slam your eyes shut and let out a loud groan. You don’t even flinch when the sound of glass hits the floor because you’ve thrown the bowl. You don’t care.

Another memory. 

And it seems they’re all out of order. 

~~

Another bead of sweat dribbles down the side of Jungkook’s face, rolling right off his skin. And another miserable night. He gently throws his head back against the bathroom wall, his hairline drenched from hour two of hurling in the toilet. He’s drank too much again. Maybe some bad food poisoning in there. But even still, he knows he’s drank too much. 

He isn’t abusing the alcohol, really. Not lately. But he knows what it can do to him. He hates it. He hates himself. 

He hates this existence. 

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut before he groans to himself, knocking his head back a few more times. What is he doing? 

He misses you.

He wants to make things right.

How?

Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before trying to stand from the floor. He’s wobbly but he manages. He’s tired and he isn’t sleeping and he can’t because he knows you’re not. This is how he feels like he’s with you, the only real support he can give. 

He looks at himself in the mirror, his tired eyes staring back at him. He wants to tell that guy to fuck off, for some reason. He wants to scoff at him and offer him no sympathy. Jungkook wants to raise his hands to that man’s throat and squeeze. He wants to swear at him and curse him. His mouth twists and his eyes grow teary and he sighs. Because all he can do is cry for him. 

His head snaps up when the bathroom counter vibrates from his phone. Someone’s texted.

Unknown Number

Its me

Buzz.

Unknown Number

We need to talk

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter nine:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ warnings: none, just pure, domestic soph and jack

➴ word count: 2.8k

➴ author’s note: we’re so close to the end of IYLM,LMK that i’m feeling a little bit emotional :,) hope u guys like this one and as always, thank u so much for reading

“HAVE you guys thought about how you’re going to announce your relationship?” Grace asked, throwing herself in the chair by the fireplace.

You were all in your house, Jack, Grace, Nico and you, chatting after a dinner together. It was the 19th of December, and you were all extremely busy: Jack and Nico with the season, you and Grace with your concert next week, at the Jingle Ball in New York, on the 23rd

“I think the best thing you could do is soft launch it,” Grace answered her own question, nodding. “It would be the move.”

Jack rested his chin on top of your head. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Soft launch means hinting that you’re dating someone without actually saying who it is,” you offered, sitting closer to him. You were all on the floor, and you were between Jack’s legs, drowning in his arms.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, and you can hear the annoyance in his voice. “If I am dating Soph, I want everyone to know about it.”

You smiled, amused with his answer.

“I know that, caveman, but it would be fun to let your fans speculate.” Grace answers back, rolling her eyes.

“Bullshit.”

You and Nico laugh, watching as Jack and Grace argue back and forth over the topic.

You haven’t thought about how you’d share your relationship status with your fans. Sure, you were head over heels for Jack and you— now— knew he felt the same, but you still had your fears and worries. If you announced that you are dating Jack and you both end up breaking up after that, you knew it would cause a commotion— lots and lots of people talking about you and your bad taste in guys and how unlucky you are.

But Jack was so… he was your forever, and you knew it.

It might be soon to say this, but it is just how you feel; Jack makes you feel special in a way only your family had done before and you could see your future with him, and you actually wanted it.

Nico and Grace left shortly after that, because you needed to start packing for your trip. You and Jack organized the kitchen, putting the dishes away and wiping the counters. Surprisingly, Jack did most of the chores himself and even liked doing them.

After you were done, you both went back to your bedroom, and you started organising your things.

“Are you going to perform in sweatpants?” He asked, looking genuinely curious.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, putting another pair of socks inside your bag. “Of course not, Hughes. The outfit I’m supposed to wear during the concert is in New York, because it’s just borrowed. I don’t actually keep the dresses or the skirts and tops I wear during events.”

“That sucks,” he laid on the bed. “I’d love to see you wearing one of those little skirts while you cook lunch.”

“Pervert,” you mumbled, trying to remember if you needed anything else.

“Do you really have to go tomorrow? The concert is on the 24th, baby,” Jack questioned, for the third time today. You smiled.

“You already know the answer, handsome.”

He got up and closed your bag, before putting it on the floor and picking you up, making you laugh. He threw you on the bed, gently, and stood on top of you, his hands on each side of your head.

“I’m gonna miss you, y’know,” he whispered, before placing a gentle kiss on your lips, making your heart beat faster. How’d you get so lucky?

“Me too,” you replied, placing your hands on his cheeks. “I’m still feeling shitty for telling your mom that I wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with you guys. I really wanted to,” you confessed, furrowing your eyebrows.

Ellen called you when she found out about you and Jack, and rambled for thirty minutes about how she knew you were the right person for him and how she adored you and that you now needed to spend Christmas with them.

You expected yourself to feel overwhelmed and anxious because they were great people and you wanted them to like you, but you found yourself feeling nothing but happy when Ellen called.

But you couldn’t miss the concert and it was damn near impossible getting a plane ticket on the 25th, especially with all the snowing happening in New York. So, Christmas with Grace in your hotel bedroom it is.

“I still can’t believe you’ll be all alone with Grace.” Jack added, looking distressed.

“It’s just how my job works, baby,” you shrugged, giving him a half smile. “I’m sure that if you had to play during the holidays you would.”

He blinked twice before getting under the covers and dragging you with him, so you could be the little spoon, but facing him still.

“Yeah, I would, but it doesn’t mean I’d be happy with it.”

You wanted to tell him that you really didn’t mind that much, you loved performing and you loved to make your fans happy. But you could see he was genuinely upset about the whole situation, so you just snuggled closer and kissed his neck.

“Let’s just sleep, okay?” Your voice sounded lazy and tired, just like how you were feeling. “I leave early tomorrow and you have to go to practice.”

He didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, sighed and kissed your head. “See you tomorrow, baby.”

“Mhm,” you smiled. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Even if you thought that was up for debate, you didn’t say anything, embracing the sleep with open arms.

— ⛄️

“FIVE minutes!” You heard the stage manager’s yell in your earpiece, while you read Jack’s texts on your phone.

Texting before concerts and games was just another way of trying to be closer to each other, even when you were away. One of your fears was Jack getting bored of your relationship because you couldn’t be with him whenever he needed— sometimes you had to work on his days off and couldn’t see him.

But whenever he texted you before his games, or when he FaceTimed you before you went to bed, no matter what time it was for him, you could feel your fears stepping back. Jack was a really nice boyfriend for a guy who had never had a girlfriend before, that you had to admit.

You replied back, giving your phone to Grace before you stood behind the curtains, waiting for them to open so you could enter the stage.

The Madison Square Garden Arena was filled with people and screams. You were the opening act, so it was a huge deal. Grace gave you a good luck kiss before you stepped on stage, smiling at how many people were there.

As you step on stage, the energy is electric, with the twinkling holiday lights reflecting off the excited crowd. The first few beats of the "Nonsense Christmas Remix" kick in, and the playful, festive vibe fills the air. You can feel the audience sway with anticipation, and you smile, your mic ready in hand.

‘Think I only want you under my mistletoe.

I might change your contact to “Has a huge North Pole,”

You lean into the light-hearted, flirty tone of the song, weaving your voice through the fun, upbeat rhythm. The holiday bells add a sparkle to the track, making your performance feel like a holiday party. Every line you sing is filled with a blend of mischief and charm, and the cheeky Christmas-themed lyrics keep everyone grinning and tapping along.

You said you like my stockings better on the floor.

Boy, l've been a bad girl, I guess I'm gettin' coal (no).

Lemme come warm you up, you been out in the snow.

Baby, my tongue goes numb, sounds like "ho-ho-ho"

As the chorus hits, you play with the playful nature of the song, giving it a bit of sass while staying in tune with the holiday spirit. You make eye contact with the crowd, as if you’re sharing an inside joke. Each note you hit feels effortless, and the remix’s fun twists on the original song’s lyrics bring a fresh energy to the room.

I don't even know, I'm talkin' Christmas

I'm talkin', I'm talkin' (ah)

I'm talkin' deckin' all the halls, I'm talkin' spikin' eggnog

I'm talkin' opposite of small, I'm talkin' big snowballs.

As you continue singing, the festive mood only grows. The crowd is now fully engaged, swaying and singing along with the infectious, cheeky lyrics. Your voice dances through the light-hearted verses, especially when you hit those playful lines that make the audience chuckle. The jingle bells and upbeat tempo add a sparkle to every word, and you let your personality shine, matching the quirky vibe of the song.

You can’t help but play with the crowd, flashing a grin as you hit the fun twists on holiday references, dropping flirty lines with a wink. As the chorus repeats, you raise your mic toward the audience, inviting them to belt out the words with you. It’s not just a performance—it’s a holiday celebration, and you’re at the center of it. Your confidence grows with each note, feeding off the energy of the room, and by the final line, everyone is wrapped up in the joy and fun of the moment, feeling that special holiday magic you've helped create.

By the end, before you started saying the outro, you could feel the audience wrapped up in the joy of the season and your vibrant performance. You kneeled on the floor besides the crowd:

Tell me is that giant package for me?

Santa's too excited, he came early

Jingle Ball you're so hot I'm not worthy

The screaming was loud, even with the earpiece in. You were smiling so hard, your chest going up and down, your legs feeling like jelly from all the dancing and jumping but you were so freaking happy.

“Thank you so much, New York,” you breathed, blowing kisses left and right. “I hope all of you have a wonderful Christmas and I love you all so, so much. Thank you.”

You bowed before leaving the stage, thanking the band on your way out. You removed your earpiece, still hearing the screams outside. The backstage was a huge mess, with other artists coming at you to say “hi”, and you greeting them back.

Some random man escorted you to your dressing room, and you thought it was weird because usually Grace was the one to do this, but she was probably just busy. Thanking the man, you entered the room, ready to change into some normal, warm clothes because you were freezing—

“Hi, baby.”

Jack was standing in front of you, with his winter jacket and white teeth.

You stopped midway, covering your mouth with your hand.

Jack Hughes was standing in front of you, in the middle of your dressing room.

What.

“Jack?” You asked, even though you were clearly seeing him in front of you. You smiled back, jumping into his arms, happy when he picked you up— you were sweaty from all the dancing but you still squeezed him strongly. “Baby, what are you doing here?”

He held you closer, kissing your temple.

“I don’t know much about this boyfriend thing, but I’m pretty sure a good boyfriend wouldn’t let his girlfriend and her annoying best friend spend Christmas all alone so I thought I’d ask for a few favors.”

“The annoying best friend in question is still in the room, you fuckhead,” you heard Grace’s voice behind you and you removed yourself from Jack’s hold, turning around and facing Grace, who was now smiling back at you. “Surprise, babygirl.”

“Oh, Grace, I love you so much!” You hugged her, kissing her cheeks. “Could kiss you right now!”

“Let’s not do that, right, baby?” Jack pouted behind you, and you giggled. “Save the kisses for your man only.”

“You’re crazy,” you whispered, looking at Jack and then Grace. “Absolutely batshit. What if someone saw you?”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Grace was quicker. “Jack was supposed to be here the entire concert, but somehow he convinced the bodyguard to let him watch the show from the pit, and if that wasn’t enough, he took a picture with a fan and the fan’s girlfriend posted it on Twitter. So, yeah,” she shrugged, throwing daggers at Jack with her eyes. “Pretty much everyone knows he’s here.”

You stared at your boyfriend, only to watch him smile naughty. It was clear he didn’t give a fuck about people knowing.

“I wish I could say I knew what to do with you, but I don’t,” you told him, kissing his cheek lightly so that the lipstick wouldn’t smudge. “What about your family?”

“They actually encouraged me to come,” he put his hands inside his pockets. “Ma wanted to send a gigantic apple pie.”

“Let’s call them later, mhm?”

“Sure thing, baby,” he tilts his head, kissing you gently and quickly. “You killed it tonight. My little popstar.”

You blushed and opened your mouth to answer, but Grace was faster— again. “Guys, I’m still here. Please.”

You laughed, hugging her.

“Let’s go home, I’m still jet lagged and so fucking hungry I could eat two entire large pizzas alone.”

“New York pizza sucks, by the way,” Grace added, grabbing your clothes and handing them to you. “Can we have sushi?”

You looked at Jack, silently asking what he thought of it. He just nodded, sitting on the couch and waiting for you to change.

It was going to be a great night.

— ⛄️

“JACK, we shouldn’t be doing this, oh my God, what if I fall, what if I die here—”

You heard Jack’s precious laugh beside you. “You’re not going to die, baby. And if you fall, I’m here to catch you,” he winked at you, and you rolled his eyes, not finding the situation funny at all.

You convinced him to walk around New York, to see the Christmas decorations and drink hot chocolate, but it somehow backfired at you because the minute that man put his eyes on an ice rink, you were done.

You and Jack spent the entire 24th of December sightseeing together. New York was full of people, so you didn’t really bother hiding yourselves.

Grace said she wasn’t going to be the third wheel so she stayed at the hotel. You and Jack walked around, taking pictures and eating food that definitely weren’t in your diet plan but neither of you cared.

At the end of the day, when you were both ready to head back and order takeout, but now, you were both wearing skates.

With Jack skating smoothly beside you while you were holding onto his arm for dear life. The last time you skated on ice you were like twelve years old so your fear was understandable.

He put his hands on your waist, guiding you from behind, not letting you fall. You were still surprised with how secure he was on ice, but then you reminded yourself that he skated more than walked sometimes.

“See? You’re doing great, baby,” he whispered in your ear, and you smiled, feeling proud of yourself; forgetting completely that he was the one doing all the work. “You’re one step away from stealing my job.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, feeling more certain of your steps now. “This is actually super fun.”

He hums behind you, skating a little bit faster and taking you with him.

You were having so much fun. Jack felt warm beside you and you wanted nothing but to kiss him all the time.

He laughed at your jokes, took dozens of pictures of you, held you the entire time. He listened to your rambling about the lights and how good the city looked.

He bought you doughnuts and hot chocolate, and watched with a funny face as you shoved them in your mouth, only to complain about the hotness of the drink.

“Be careful, baby.” he said, kissing the tip of your cold nose.

“Thank you,” you whispered, giving him a kiss.

He held the side of your face with his right hand, while his left pulled you closer by the waist. You stood on the tip of your toes, trying to match his height. The kiss tasted like chocolate, sugar and something else that you couldn’t remember the name of, but it didn’t matter.

You ended up spending Christmas Eve eating take out inside a hotel room with your best friend and your boyfriend, facetiming your mom and sisters— your nieces loved Jack— and Ellen and Jim— she cooked the gigantic apple pie either way— but you never felt so whole and happy.

If it could get any better than this, you weren’t so sure.

— ♡

liked by njdevils, lhughes_06, canucks and 245,982 others

jackhughes Merry Christmas from soph and I

View all 1,990 comments

sophiamontenegro i love u

nicohischier Finally 🫡

user86 I TOLD YALL WHAAT THEYRE DATING ?!!/!/?/??:

user1 I think imma start doing drugs

user78 How tf did he pull her

user21 The way jack’s feed is hockey hockey brothers hockey and then BOOM famous popstar girlfriend is insane

trevorzegras heartbreaking 💔

jackhughes trevorzegras keep crying

_quinnhughes Congrats, Soph and Jackie! Merry Xmas 🤶

morgan.grace is this the “soft launch” we were talking abt jack😭

jackhughes morgan.grace bullshit

njdevils our future miss HUGHES 💜

user93 who even runs this account lmfao 😭😭😭

user11 we got jack hughes dating before gta6

user12 THEY’RE TOGETHER AGAIN?? WHAT ABT THAT GIRL AVA WHO SAID SHE WAS DATING HIM

user13 user12 she deactivated her account after this post so i can only imagine she was lying 🤷🏽‍♀️

+

[missnxthingg]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 - 𝑆𝐼𝑋

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Single Mom!Reader (Best friends to lovers) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando and Y/N have always been the best of friends, always there for each other through thick and thin. After years of sharing the paddock and building their own silly little family, both of them just can't hold their feelings inside anymore, even though they're are both afraid it would ruin their friendship. So who'll take the first step? 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 7.7 K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing (just a little bit) and whole lotta fluffy 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 -We finally arrived to the final chapter. I want to thank every single one of you who adored and interacted with my story. Also, I wanna thank you for being patient with the wait for the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one and I hope to see you in my other stories! My ask box and DMs are always opened if you want to chat.

smau version | series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

“Honey, I’m home”, Y/N called once she entered her flat after a long day of work and a flight. She had just flown from England to Monaco, to come home to her boyfriend and her daughter, to whom she had been away for days.

It was a common occurrence at the moment, those quick flights from Monte Carlo to Woking for an MTC day. A couple of months ago, she and Olivia have moved to Monaco to stay closer to Lando after he asked them to move in with him. It was a big step on their relationship, but one they were very happy to take. While they were still adjusting to their new life, with Ollie’s new school and Y/N home officing for most of the off-race weeks, having to fly to England on very specific days, Lando was making sure everything was properly in place for them as they were making progress.

It was all working just fine, under Y/N’s eyes. Him keeping things in order while she was gone, without having to worry if her daughter was being taken good care of. That’s why she was surprised to come home to find him crying alone in the living room.

“What’s wrong?”, Y/N frowned, already thinking maybe something bad had happened. “Where’s Ollie? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. She’s sleeping in her room”, he reassured with a chuckle, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s just… she called me daddy today”.

Y/N gasped in surprise and Lando opened the biggest smile at her. Silently, she found a place to sit next to her boyfriend, and they laced their arms together. Carefully, she placed her head on his shoulder, and they sat in silence for a second.

“How did it happen?”

“I picked her up from school, and we were talking about what she had learned today”, he started. “And she said her new teacher was talking about family members and their functions. But Ollie said that uncle didn’t really fit me, and that I fitted more the ‘dad’ description. Then tonight, before I tucked her in bed, she said: ‘Good night, daddy. I love you’. I was a mess the second after”.

“Oh, baby, that’s a good thing”, she smiled at him as she cleaned off some of the tears that were falling from his eyes. “I know you always cared about her as a daughter, and now she finally sees everything you have done for her”.

On the past few months, ever since he owned up to his words, everything Lando did was to take care of Olivia. Ever since they decided to move in together to a whole different country, he made sure she was comfortable enough to leave London for once. Then, when she said she would miss her grandparents, he found a place in Monte Carlo so they could live close by, after they agreed of moving as well. And just to make her a little happier, he decorated her bedroom the way she wanted, with flowers and teddy bears, and racing cars, of course.

It was impossible for Olivia not to see him as a father. He would move mountains and do anything to see her smile. He would be there for every mundane or big moments of her life. So of course the concept of uncle wasn’t fitting for him. Lando did anything a dad would do for her, and now he was finally being recognized as one.

Well, it's been a long time since he has been in that position for Ollie. After all, Y/N and Lando have been officially together for an entire year now, meaning that it's been an entire year of him dedicating all his time to being a father to her. It was only a matter of time before she started calling him ‘daddy’ as well.

“I think maybe we should move forward with the thing we have been talking about lately”, Y/N said, making Lando’s eyes soften even more.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely”, she smiled at him. “I think this is Ollie telling us that you are her father, and that it's time to make things legally official for all of us”.

Ever since they decided to move in together, take more steps into their relationship, Lando and Y/N have been talking about their plans for the future, including getting married and maybe having children of their own. But she suggested something that sparkled his eyes: adopting Olivia. Y/N knew the biological father would give anything to stop helping her financially, and that her daughter had someone who truly loved her like his own, to the point where she wanted him to legally have the right to take care of her if – God forbid – something happened.

It was very special for Lando, because he was finally becoming a real father. On the past year, he's been slowly learning how to be one, carefully taking every step with Y/N and Ollie, to make sure he was going in the right direction. Adopting her was a reassurance that he was doing the right thing; and that the person he loved the most in the world was trusting him enough to take care of her daughter.

“It's finally happening, right? We're finally building a family together”, he commented, sniffing on his own tears. “God, this is everything I ever wished for. Having a family with you is so special to me. I can’t believe this is finally happening”.

“Me neither”, she chuckled, her eyes brimming with tears. “I've prayed for years to find someone that would love and take care of me and my daughter. And now we finally get to see that the right person was always right in front of us”.

“Remember when we used to talk about my future kids, and I'd say you'd be the best godmother in the world? I used to think like… ‘Fuck, I love her too much to only have her just as an aunt’. I’ve loved you since the start, and now all my wishes are coming true”, he pressed a kiss on top of her head and pulled her closer for a hug.

“I wanted all of that with you too”, she admitted. “I remember you going on and on about me being a godmother, but I used to get so angry inside, because I actually wanted to be the mother of your children”.

“Soon, maybe, we can have more than one menace running around the house”, Lando assured, leaning back to look her in the eyes. “I love you. And I’m getting the best lawyer money can buy tomorrow to get things started”.

“I love you too, daddy”, she joked, pulling him for another kiss. “I think a little Norris around the house would be nice. We still have three extra rooms to fill”.

“Three babies?”, Lando arched his brows, making Y/N crack in laughter. 

“Maybe we can leave one of the rooms as a spare bedroom, my love”, she suggested, making him laugh as well. “But maybe two more, what do you think?”

“Two more sounds like a dream”, he smiled. “Wanna get this started already?”

“I’m sorry, daddy, but I just came from a very busy day at the MTC and a two-hour flight”, she groaned. “I need a hot bath, food and my bed”.

“Go get your bath prepared, I’ll make you some pasta in the meanwhile”.

The next day, Lando started working with a lawyer for the adoption papers. He was beyond the moon that Olivia was officially going to be his daughter. Almost one year later and it still felt surreal that he's creating a family with Y/N. They get to travel all over the world, taste the victory and the glory of another good season, and still get home to their perfect little family. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with that”, Lando said to Ollie, right after he sat down with her and Y/N so they could explain the process they were about to go through. 

“Mummy, what is adoption?”

“Adoption is a process to make Lando legally and officially become your father, so he can take responsibility for you and properly take care of you”.

“Does that mean you’re not my daddy now?”, she pouted, turning to Lando with worried eyes, and he immediately melted at her response.

“Of course I am your daddy, my love. It’s just something that we have to do so if something happens, I have the right to take care of you properly”, he said. “So no one can take me away from you, ever”

Ollie smiled at his response and earned a big kiss on the cheek, that made her giggle with the contact. She leaned into Lando’s embrace and sighed. 

“Okay, I like it”, she agreed, making Lando smile. She might be just a little girl, with a lot to learn from now on, but she never fails to make Lando smile with her smartness.

He felt so lucky to finally get to be the dad she never had. Of course, the adoption process was long and difficult, but it helped a lot that her biological father didn't think twice before signing the parental rights away, thinking there was no better way to stop paying Y/N monthly to raise the kid he had no interest in raising. But the process takes good six months to get done, with tons of interviews between the family and background checks to understand the kid's family environment 

While it was hard to get through the process, Lando was sure that he could do this. Y/N had never seen Olivia pampered with so much love in the last five years since she was born. On the last months settling in their new Monaco life, he made sure he owned up to being the best dad in the world; taking Ollie for walks around the city and drives on his amazing cars; getting her to school and back home every day when he was home, and making sure the mundane things became so much more fun for both of them.

Y/N was sure he was going to be the best dad in the whole world when they decided to grow the family. Because that's what he's always been for Olivia, and that’s what he's going to be like with their future kids.

When Lando finally signed the adoption papers, he never felt happier in his life. Surely, finally getting the girl of his dreams and winning a world championship is good, but nothing ever makes him more happy than officially calling Olivia his daughter.

“I have to say, Mr Norris, after hearing the conversation our therapist had with Olivia, I had no doubt on letting you adopt her. You have a very beautiful story and you deserve this role in her life”, the judge who took care of the process said to him after they signed the papers. “She gushed about you through the whole interview, about how you were the best dad in the world and that you took very good care of her”.

“Well, I try my best”, he smiled shyly at the man. “I’ve loved Olivia’s mum since before she was even in the picture, and I've been here since her first breath. Helping Ollie grow into the beautiful woman she's yet to be will be the best thing that could ever happen to me”.

“I'm sure you're doing great in this task”, the judge said. “Now go enjoy your daughter”.

“Thank you, sir. I will”

Y/N surprised Lando with a big party in their London house to celebrate this big achievement. When he came home with the signed papers, he found out that she filled the house with all of their family and friends for a nice afternoon together. She and Olivia decorated the place with colourful flowers and baked a cake that said ‘Super Dad’, to make it even more especial. Ollie even got a brand new dress for the occasion, to which she ditched for her good old McLaren shirt with her brand new last name in the back.

Lando was very surprised and emotional to see everyone he cared about gathered to celebrate them as a couple. But the tears only dared to spill when Olivia rushed to his arms with a huge bouquet of flowers, just like the ones he always brings home for her and Y/N all the time.

“These are for you, daddy”, she giggled between his arms, and he felt so warm with the gesture.

“Oh, baby, thank you so much”, he ran his hand through her hair and pulled her for a kiss on the forehead. “I can’t believe you're finally my daughter”.

“We came a long way, daddy”, Y/N lowered herself to give them both a hug and earned a kiss herself on the forehead. “Now we enjoy it”.

“I love you”, he mumbled, closing the gap between them in a sweet kiss. “I'm so grateful for our family”.

“I love you too”.

“Can we all join this big hug?”, Cisca asked from behind them, and Lando immediately shot up to hug his mother. “Oh, there’s nothing better than this. I’m so proud of you, my boy”.

“Thank you, mom”, he smiled, buried between her embrace. Lando looked back and saw his father now holding Olivia in his arms. Y/N was standing right behind them, with a hand on her father-in-law’s shoulder. “And thank you both for being here. It means a lot to me”.

“We’ll always be here for you”.

Having everyone he cared about there for him was everything for Lando. He got to have a good laugh with his family and friends, while he could get himself away from his daughter. Olivia sat next to him through the whole day and eventually found his hold to cuddle after a full day. His heart was full of love from every nice word he heard from the people he loved the most.

“I can’t believe that after all these years, you finally got what you wanted”, Max chuckled as they talked over drinks. “Now I get the favourite uncle position”.

“Always, uncle Max”, Ollie giggled, making Lando’s brother, Oliver, frown at her.

“We share a name, and he’s your favourite uncle?”, Oliver asked, making Olivia giggle. “I’m gonna need lots of kisses and hugs to forgive you”.

“Sorry, uncle Ollie”, she said, making Lando laugh. Earlier, he saw his daughter playing with his nieces, and it made everything so real. They were all a big and pretty family, like he always wished for.

It made him very emotional. Lando isn’t one to show his emotions all the time, but Y/N taught him that being vulnerable around the people you love shouldn’t be a bad thing. And telling them how much they mean to you is always a good thing. So, he decided to make them a little speech.

“I want to thank everyone who came today. It means a lot to have you here to witness something so important in my life”, Lando said as they were all gathered at the table. “I know you always come to support me, but this might be the most important thing that has happened in my life, and I am so happy I get to share it with all of you. So thank you, I love you all”.

Y/N was reserved for a more important and private speech later, when they were alone. Lando pulled her to sit in their tiny backyard once everyone was gone, and Ollie was tucked in bed, so they could enjoy this moment alone.

“You want some wine?”, he asked, pouring himself a small glass.

“No, my stomach feels funny today”, she said. “Actually, for the entire week it’s been like this. I thought it was anxiety, but now that the whole thing is past us, I’m not sure anymore”.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he frowned, patting the place next to him on the grass of their backyard. She shrugged and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it was that important. Why? Do you think I need to go to the hospital or something?”

“Well, I’m thinking that we haven’t been exactly careful in the bedroom”.

Ever since they moved to Monaco, Y/N and Lando have been living the honeymoon phase of their relationship at its fullest. They were beyond happy to have their own place now, and even more with the whole process of adopting Ollie. And of course all of that resulted in them having a deep connection in the bedroom, exploring each other’s bodies. Sometimes, they even forget about the condom, trusting too much on medication and on “pull outs”.

“Do you think I’m pregnant?”, she asked and Lando shrugged. “I’m on the pill, Lan”

“Pills can fail. And if you’re feeling this sick the entire week, maybe it means something. I don’t know”, he chuckled.  “I mean, on Olivia’s pregnancy, you were pretty much an open tap of vomit. So maybe, if you’re feeling sick…”

“Oh God, now you planted a seed in my head”, she groaned. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep with this information. What if we really are expecting a baby?”

Lando could sense his girlfriend getting anxious, so he decided that there was only one way to find out. Maybe they would turn this into a more especial night.

“I’ll go down to the pharmacy and get you a test. Then you can sleep fine and end this doubt”, Lando kissed her forehead and got up from the floor before ingesting one more drop of alcohol.

Lucky, they lived just down the road from a pharmacy, and he didn’t even have to take the car to buy the test. His blue McLaren would’ve called too much attention, especially so late at night. Lando was back home in less than fifteen minutes, only to find Y/N pacing around the kitchen, nervous about his arrival.

“Baby, why are you so nervous about this?”, Lando asked, catching her attention. He approached her and held her by the shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. “Look at me, we got this, okay? We went through one pregnancy together and this time, it will be different, okay? You’re going to be fine”.

“You’re right”, she took a deep breath. “I think I’m only nervous because I’m thinking about my last pregnancy, but I know that it will be different when we have our own baby, because I have you now”.

“And you’ll always have me”, he pulled her for a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Now, have you drank enough water?”

“I had two bottles while you were gone”, she chuckled. “So, I’m full and ready to go”.

Y/N went into the bathroom to pee on the tests and Lando stood next to her through the whole time, and they sat in silence on the floor as they waited for the fifteen minutes. They laced their hands together as she nervously bounced one of her legs up and down.

“Fuck me, this is the longest fifteen minutes of my life”, Lando joked to make the room a little lighter. 

“It’s eternal”, Y/N said, looking at the clock on her phone. Only seven minutes have gone by. “If it’s positive, have you thought about what would you want to name your child?”

“Well, I have a few options, but you can choose if you want”, he said, but she shrugged.

“I already named our first daughter. Maybe you can suggest our second child’s name”, Y/N said, and he smiled at her. He could never get enough of hearing someone calling Ollie his daughter.

“I’ve always like the name Emma for a girl, and Khai for a boy”, he suggested. “But I don’t know, I have a gut feeling we’ll have another girl in the future”.

“Emma Norris is perfect”, Y/N admitted. “Olivia and Emma are such pretty girls names. And they will be the best of friends”.

“And Ollie is going to be the best big sister”, Lando stated. “She’s going to teach everything to her sissy, and they can play together, have lots of fun”.

“Don’t forget that I can make them wear cute matching outfits”, Y/N joked and they laughed together. “We’re already planning on our kids without even knowing we’re actually expecting one”.

“We’re about to find out”, Lando pointed at the phone, only two minutes left on the clock. They took a deep breath and waited in silence for the last seconds. Secretly, now they were both praying for it to be positive. Having a kid now wouldn’t be so bad. “Can I say something to you before? Something I had been planning on saying before we started panicking”.

“Of course”, she chuckled.

“I want to thank you for trusting me to being your daughter’s father. I am the happiest I’ve ever been today, and it’s all because you trusted me with the most important role in the world”, he started. “And if the tests are positive, thank you for letting me be the father of your children. You have blessed me with two of the most beautiful presents in life”.

When the alarm rang, Y/N quickly shot off and got a hold of the three tests between her hands. All of them positive. She dropped the sticks to the floor and lowered herself as she felt her knees weak. Lando got the sticks with his hands and read the result, immediately bursting into tears.

“We’re having a baby”, he whispered, and she nodded, already lost in her own tears.

“We are”, she smiled. “A little kid that’s a little bit of you and me”.

“Guess that my dream has finally come true”, he pulled her for a hug, and they rolled together on the bathroom floor, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake Olivia up. Lando lowered himself to be close to her belly and kissed it gently. “Hi, baby. Can you already feel daddy’s love for you?”

“She can”, Y/N assured. “Emma can feel all the love her mummy and daddy have for her”.

“You think it’s a girl too?”, he arched his brows and she nodded. “One more pretty girl to make me happy. Do you think she’ll look just like you and Olivia? Or maybe she’ll have a little bit of me”.

“I’m certain she’ll at least have your eyes”, Y/N gently held his face between her hands and rubbed circles with her thumb on his cheek. “I love you, Lando. I’m so happy for the family we have”.

“I love you too, Y/N. And with you, I’d have thousands of babies if I could”, he chuckled, going back up to kiss her once again. This time, he made sure to not drop his weight over her body. “Maybe we should celebrate this somewhere else other than the bathroom floor”.

“I think that’s a great idea”, she chuckled, taking his hand so they could go to another room.

Lando and Y/N went to bed with a happy smile on their faces, and he simply couldn’t stop talking to her belly, talking to the baby about all the awesome things they were going to do together. And she just lied there, so in love with the man that’s soon going to be the father of her two kids.

As long as they were together, things would be alright.

Lando was helping Olivia get ready for school when Y/N’s water broke. It was two days earlier than they were expecting, so it caught all of them by surprise. But lucky enough, they were all ready to welcome their new kid into the world.

“Baby, daddy’s going to have to take mummy to the hospital because your little sister is coming”, Lando explained to Olivia as he buckled her into the backseat of his car. “Granny is going to be there to look out for you as I help mummy out with Emma, alright?”

“So we’re going to get Em?”, she asked excitedly, and he nodded with a smile.

“We’re going to get Em”, he confirmed. “Now be good for daddy. I’m going to go get mum and help her downstairs, okay?”

Lando was surprisingly calm in this situation, having gone through the labour stress on Y/N’s first pregnancy. Of course, this time it was very different, but he knew what to do. Monaco wasn’t big, so in fifteen minutes they arrived at the hospital to deliver the baby.

“I thought you would be more freaked out”, Y/N admitted to her boyfriend, and he shrugged. 

“I’ve done this before, my love”, he kissed her forehead as they were waiting to get into the delivery room. “Not my first daughter, although it will be the first time I know I’ll be the father”.

“Yeah, but it didn’t change the experience of when Ollie was born”, Y/N smiled, remembering the first time he held their eldest daughter in his arms. It was an image burned in her head forever, one of her favourite moments with Lando. “I can’t wait to see you holding one more of our daughters once again”.

“Me too”, he smiled.

Soon, Emma Norris was born. Y/N had an easier delivery this time, and their tiny bundle of joy was welcomed to the world. She was impressed how much a newborn could already look so much like her father. If Olivia was the spitting image of her, Em looked exactly like Lando.

“Do you want to hold her?”, the nurse asked Lando now that the baby was cleaned and dressed up. They were already back in their private room, and he nodded. This time, he didn’t hesitate for one second on asking to hold his daughter.

“Can I take my shirt off? For skin to skin contact. I heard that’s really nice”, he smiled nervously and the nurse nodded. The shirt was scrapped through the air in seconds, and he got himself a place to sit, where the nurse carefully handed his second daughter.

“There you go. You can finally meet your father properly, Emma”, she smiled at him. “I’m gonna leave you three alone for a second”.

Lando was speechless as he held his girl in the arms. Emma was even smaller than Olivia, and she rested so peacefully between his embrace, without a single care in the world. His eyes immediately brimmed with tears as he held her for the first time.

“Hello, baby girl. Welcome to the world”, he started. “I’m your daddy. We’ve been in touch through mummy’s belly for months, but it’s so good to finally meet you face to face. I love you so much”.

“She looks exactly like you”, Y/N commented from her hospital bed, where she had been watching the whole scene unfold. “It’s funny, because it takes weeks until the baby starts to looking less like a thumb and more like a person. But she’s… you! Look at her”.

Lando analysed her daughter features and smiled; Y/N was right, she looked exactly like him. He wondered if she’d grown to have curly hair like his, or maybe if she would get some features from her mum, like her eyes or something. But in general, she looked just like him.

“She really does”, he smiled up at the love of his life, happy to finally be holding a little piece of them between his arms. “I can’t describe how happy I am right now. I don’t want to ever let her go”.

And before he could say anything more, they heard a knock on the door. A little girl peeked her head inside and smiled shyly at them. It was Olivia.

“Hi, daddy. Granny said I could come up and meet Emma”, she said, making him smile widely.

“Come in, my love. Come meet your little sister”, he called, and soon his daughters were together, with his eldest running her fingers gently through the baby’s hair. “Emma, this is your big sister, Olivia. She’s going to be your best friend”.

“Hi, baby Emma”, Ollie whispered and before even asking anyone, she pressed a kiss on the little girl’s forehead. “I love you”.

Y/N had been crying as she watched the whole scene take place in front of her. If the image of Lando holding Olivia for the first time in the arms was her favourite, then this one had already dethroned the old one from her heart. The three loves of her life, all together in one place. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

Silverstone is undoubtedly Lando’s favourite race of the season. And his favourite thing about it was the fact that his entire family always attended the grand prix to give him full support. This time, it was even more especial because it would be Emma’s first time at the paddock after one year and a half since she was born. 

The baby girl had just learned how to walk properly and with her cute shoes with papaya bows, she was walking everywhere around the paddock as they arrived together for media day – a chill day so she could properly get used to the track environment. Y/N always stayed close by while Lando walked hand-in-hand with Olivia, who had got a brand-new fluoro yellow shirt from her dad’s collection.

“Jesus, she’s a menace just like you”, Y/N chuckled and Lando stopped to admire Emma walking independently of any other human being. “Seriously, she walks too fast, like she wants me to tire down”.

“I’ll go after her”, Lando pressed a kiss on top of Ollie’s head before taking Emma into his arms. “Hi, baby girl. You’re tiring mummy. I think that’s enough of walking”.

Em giggled as her father kissed her on the cheek, and he continued to carry her all the way to the McLaren motorhome, where the entire team greeted them with excitement. Some of them were emotional to see him so happy with his entire family, having known him since he was just a boy. They were emotional to see the great man he had become.

“Our new papaya girl. The Norris duo will be the best LN4 fans this weekend”, Lando said, pulling Ollie to his side. “Look, I even get the prettiest girl to advertise for me”.

“She looks more like you every day, Lando”, Zak commented, extending his finger for Emma to play. “Do you think she can be in one of my karts soon?”

“Hopefully”, he laughed. “You can put this one as a test driver already”, Lando pointed to Olivia, who earlier that month had beat him in a karting race. And even though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, it wasn’t very easy to keep up with her pace.

Thursdays on tracks were always rushed, with lots of journalists to talk to and duties to come across. But after going through every journalist on the track with Y/N, with Lando's father taking care of the kids in the meanwhile, he thought it would be good to have a walk around the track.

“Just like we have always done”, he suggested, extending his hand to Y/N. “We can use the scooter”.

“Like the little kids we are”, she giggled and agreed. It was a little tradition they had, to walk around Silverstone alone every year.

Y/N got to the front of the scooter and Lando placed himself on the back, helping her guide them slowly through the track. It was nice to walk around without anyone on the grandstands, when the track is still calm, waiting for the weekend to come around to be filled with energy. 

“Thursdays are so peaceful around here”, she commented and Lando agreed. “Happy to be back?”

“Always”, he smiled, pressing a kiss on the back of her head. “And even more happy to bring our girls here. Ollie loves Silvo, and I hope Emma loves it too”.

“Your father said she played around with everyone on the team that came to talk to her”, Y/N said. “And that she behaved so much better than she usually does, without being the little ball of energy like you”.

“She's a little muppet. I love her so much”, he giggled. “Who would've thought she would turn out to be exactly like me?”

“Well, she already has your face. Might as well have your personality”.

“It’s to balance things out, since Ollie is so much like you”, he shrugged. “A perfect family”.

“It really can't get more perfect than this”, she commented and Lando sighed, making her turn her head a little and frown at him.

“Well, there's a way to make it even more perfect”, he said. “Can you maybe pull over here?”

At that point, they were at the most distant point from the garages at the track, where no one could watch them, giving some privacy. Y/N stopped the scooter and Lando carefully place it on the side, taking it out of her hold for a second

“You're scaring me”, Y/N chuckled nervously, but Lando pulled her for a sweet kiss that made her melt in his embrace. 

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Always”, she assured and he took both of her hands in his, getting a tight grip on them.

“Y/N, the first you were on track by my side was here in Silverstone, because I begged Zak to bring you along for the weekend. Back then I was just 19 years old, but I was already so in love with you that I wanted you here for my home race”, he started, making Y/N's eyes water. “Well, any race is a home race with you, because you're always my home. You’re our home, mine and the girls. And I love the family we built; it gives me a reason to wake up every day. But I think there’s a tiny piece missing in this story, and I think there's no other place to ask this than on a track, where we spent so many of our years together. And most specially, on the track where everything began”.

Lando took a small black velvet box from his pocket and kneeled to the ground, making Y/N take her hands to cover her mouth in surprise. She definitely wasn't expecting that today.

“Y/N L/N, will you marry me?”, he proposed, and she immediately nodded, throwing her arms around him.

“Yes, of course I'll marry you”, she pulled him for a rushed kiss and so, he melted into her lips, so happy to hear those simple words that would change his life forever. “I'd marry you in every life, you muppet”.

“I love you so much. You're the love of my life, the mother of my children, and now, my future wife”, Lando said. “Now, life can't get any more perfect”.

“I love you so much too”, she kissed him again. “I can't wait to call you my hubby”.

“Hubby and wifey”, he giggled. “Forever”.

“Forever, my love”.

“Love, you have something on your chin”, Y/N caught Lando’s attention during dinner, and he turned to her, who quickly whipped his chin off with a napkin. He smiled at the proximity, and at how beautiful she looked tonight.

“I can't get over you looking so pretty as my bride”, he commented, putting on stray hair behind her ear. Lando has been so lovestruck by his fiancé on their wedding weekend, to the point where he could almost drool in front of everyone at how beautiful she looks.

Tonight, before the rehearsal dinner, he spent a good minute speechless, lost in his own world like a teenager, when he saw her dressed in white. It felt too real, and he felt like he was falling in love for her once again, just like he did years ago. Lando just couldn’t get enough of falling in love with Y/N.

Through the dinner, he couldn't keep his eyes and attention away from her. Yes, he had the opportunity to talk to many people he hasn't seen in a long time, but she was always the thing that caught his attention. Now that they were eating on a private table with their closest family, it was even more visible, because he was always gravitating towards her.

“You look very handsome as my groom too”, she finished cleaning his chin and pressed a small kiss on his lips. “Everything is just the way I've always imagined”.

“Absolutely perfect, isn't it?”, he whispered, and little Emma's sneeze caught their attention. Olivia helped her little sister wipe her nose off with a napkin, making their parents smile, leaning their heads together to admire the image.

“So perfect”, she assured. “They look like little princess. It’s so cute!”

The hairstylist had tied Ollie's hair in a pretty bun, decorated with tiny flowers, while Emma's very short hair didn’t have much to work with, but still was managed into two tiny buns, also decorated with flowers. Both of them matched their outfits, choosing the same design for the night, except that Ollie picked the blue dress, while Em chose the pink one.

“We make pretty babies”, Lando pressed his chin over her shoulder and Y/N tensed. He was always dancing around her biggest secret, one that she had been waiting for weeks to tell him at their wedding, and she was afraid he was going to ruin her surprise for him. But she played it cool and carried on, simply because she still didn’t have a way to tell him yet.

“We really do”.

“I have a surprise for you”, he said, making her frown. “But we have to be very sneaky, okay? It's something just for me and you”.

“Oh, really? Right now?”, Y/N arched her, and Lando nodded with a cheeky smile. “Okay, let's go”.

Leaving the party behind and going to a secret place alone made Y/N feel like a teenager once again. Lando had her eyes closed a few seconds later, just before they entered the place for his big surprise. Once she opened her eyes again, they were standing alone in a small chapel, decorated with flowers and candles.

“Oh my God, this is so pretty”, Y/N commented, eyes running through every detail of the decoration. “You did all of this?”

“I had help”, he smirked. “I remembered those conversations we had about having our votes private, and I thought that maybe we could get married before we get married”.

Lando opened a small box that carried their wedding rings, making Y/N gasp. It was so reckless, unique and cute; of course she wanted to do this with him.

“Just you and me”, she whispered, and he nodded with a smile.

“As it began. Just you and me”, Lando reassured. “Because it can never get more special than this”.

Y/N took his wedding ring from the box and admired it for a second in her hand. It was definitely much bigger than hers, to fit in his thick fingers. When she finally looked up, his eyes were focused on her and only her.

“The tradition is for the groom to say the vows first”, Y/N pointed out, knowing she could use this in favour to give his surprise. He had just given her a full plate to surprise him as well. Lando giggled, nodding in agreement.

“My love, I can't believe we're finally here. I want to start by saying that I'm speaking everything from the heart, because I can't be trusted around paper, or to write something, for that matter”.

“I'm definitely not marrying you for your writing skills”, she giggled, making him roll his eyes playfully.

“Vows change over the years. I kept thinking that there was no amount of vows I could do to cover our entire relationship, because we change and grow every day. And that's why I want to start by vowing to renew our vows every year. Because getting married to you just once isn't enough, Y/N, and I want to do it every year”.

“I wouldn't be opposed to that”, she shrugged, running one of her hand through his stray curls.

“But there are a few things that will never change about us, and I think those are perfect for a first wedding vow”, he started. “I vow to forever be your listener, who you can come to when things are good and bad, and I will listen to give you all the support you need and deserve. And I vow to protect you and our family under any cost, because you, Olivia and Emma mean more than anything in this world to me. I vow to give you every ounce of my strength, all my love, to keep you all happy. There's nothing I can’t do to see that biggest smile on my girls’ faces”.

“Oh, baby…”

“And I vow to love you, until the end of my days and beyond, and to find you in every lifetime, so we can be together”, he said. “Because love like yours can't be found anywhere, and I can't be thankful enough that we were put in the same room at the right time back when we were younger. Loving you is the best part of my life, and being loved by you is even better. I vow to love you forever, Y/N L/N-Norris”.

Y/N was a mess of tears after that speech; even more when he slipped the ring on her finger, giving it a gentle kiss once it was on.

“My most beautiful, handsome groom. You look the prettiest tonight”, she started, putting one of her hands on his face. “I think if I were to say every single vow I came up with over the past months, we'd be here forever. But there are some mundane things that I think are worth mentioning right now”.

Lando giggled when she opened her notes on her phone, just to remember what she wanted to say. Y/N almost burst into laughter before she started saying her vows.

“I vow to always receive you at the parc fermè with the freshest water and tightest hug after every race; and I vow to keep you well-fed with your favourite breakfast bagels that always make you moan at the taste when you have them. I vow always come to you with hot gossip and to provide you with belly aching laughs every time that I can”.

“I love you so much for that”, they laughed together as Lando pressed a kiss on her forehead. Then Y/N put her phone away, ready to speak the rest of her vows from the heart.

“I vow to be your best friend forever. I know sometimes we forget where we came from after so many things together, but I don't want to ever forget that this all started as best friends”, Y/N burst into tears, finding it very hard to contain her emotions at this time. “To be your biggest cheerleader, to listen to everything you have to say with my heart opened, and to share everything good and bad in life with you”.

Lando couldn't stop crying either. Her vows were so simple, yet so powerful. It was the most special moment of their lives, and he wished he could live in them forever.

“I vow to love you and our family to the end of my days and beyond”, she copied him. “I vow to protect our kids and take care of the legacy we are creating every day. I vow to make all three of our babies very happy”.

“Three?”, Lando’s eyes and voice softened. Her big secret was out now, and she had found the best way to surprise him. “Three babies?”

“You're going to be a dad once again, my love”, she nodded, getting his face between her hands, only to watch his tears streaming from his cheeks in happiness.

“You're pregnant”, he whispered. “For how long have you known?”.

“Three weeks. I'm almost three months in”, she revealed. “I found out when I was shopping with your sisters, and I had barely eaten my brunch when I rushed to the restroom to vomit. I knew exactly what it was, and I wanted to keep it and surprise you at the wedding. Soon we'll have another mini us running around the house”.

“Baby Khai?”, he asked and she nodded. They agreed months back, when they decided they still wanted another baby, that their next one would be called Khai, since it would work for either a boy or a girl.

“Baby Khai Norris, joining the Avengers very soon”, she joked. “I think there wasn't a more perfect way to tell you than like this”.

“There really wasn't”, he agreed.

Y/N put the ring on his finger and gave it a gentle kiss. Soon, Lando pulled her by the hips and their lips met in the sweetest kiss of all time. The best thing about having their vows in private is that he could properly kiss her without making it weird for the guests around then. Kissing her for the first time after being married was like kissing her for the first time ever, back in that club alley all those years ago. He had never felt so full of love, knowing his life was complete with Y/N as his wife, carrying one more of their kids in her belly.

They have come a long way since that first meeting at the MTC, and from all those travelling around the world with F1. And they still had a long way to go, to explore this brand-new world together and raise the most perfect children to carry their legacy of love forever, while chasing for the dream of winning one more championship together.

Life isn't always easy, but they swear it gets a little easier when you have the right person right there with you. And if showing their love for each other isn't enough, saying it did the trick most times.

“I love you, forever”, Lando whispered, his forehead still glued to his wife's, breathes mixing together.

“I love you too. Forever”, she whispered back. “In every corner of this world, in every lifetime. I love you”.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 //

𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 . 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ best christmas ever ] q. hughes

day eight of malia’s christmas fic marathon

pairing : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) gives fiancé Quinn what could be considered the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten

warning(s) : pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage

author’s note : i think this could be considered a blurb w how short it is tbh but here’s this cute lil thing :)

༺═──────────────═༻

Her hands shake as Quinn unwraps the present that is going to change his entire life. Keeping this a secret for nearly two weeks has been killing her so the fact that her fiancé is seconds away from finding out is exciting and terrifying at the same time.

It's the last present that is being unwrapped this morning while it's just the two of them in their Vancouver apartment. (Y/N) made sure it was the last present unwrapped by taking it out of the closet after all the gifts under the tree from friends and family were opened.

Quinn tosses the ripped up wrapping paper into the trash bag on the ground between them before he opens the box.

Inside is a little Canucks jersey with Quinn's number and 'C'. Quinn is clearly very confused by the tiny jersey so she says, "Turn it around, Quinn."

Laughter is evident in her voice but she doesn't know if it's because of Quinn's confusion or because she's nervous.

She watches his eyes widen when he sees the back of the jersey. In place of Hughes on the back of the jersey is the word "daddy". Quinn looks over at (Y/N) with those wide eyes. "You better not be lying to me, (Y/N)," he says so seriously.

"Eight weeks," she tells him as she rests a hand on the very tiny bump that is under the large t-shirt she's wearing. "I found out three weeks ago and went to make sure everything was okay two weeks ago. When I was told that everything with this baby was perfect, I got the jersey made."

After they lost their last little one over the summer very early on, she didn't want to get Quinn's hopes up again so she went and got every single test done that she could before she told him. The last thing she wanted was to tell him then lose another baby. It nearly broke her in June, and almost broke them.

She couldn't do that again. Not this time.

"You kept this from me for three weeks?" Quinn asks. His voice is soft so he isn't mad. She stays quiet and nods. "Is everything okay?"

(Y/N) slowly nods, still hesitant. "Baby H is growing and developing at the rate they're supposed to be this time," she assures him. "I'm healthy. Baby is healthy. I just needed to be sure before I told you this time. I know how much you want to be a dad and I didn't want to get your hopes up then my body let you down for the second time."

Tears that she didn't know formed in her eyes spill onto her cheeks. She does her best to wipe them away quickly, but he notices them.

Quinn puts the jersey back in the box and moves close to her. He pulls her into a tight hug and she buries her face into his shoulder.

"Your body just wasn't ready last time," Quinn softly tells her as he runs his fingers through her hair. "I love you. I'm so excited to be here with you for the rest of your pregnancy. You're already an amazing mom."

She lets out a silent sob into Quinn's shoulder before she pulls back. "You're not mad I didn't tell you when I found out?" she questions.

"Absolutely not," he assures her with a smile on his lips. She can see that he's genuine when he says that. "I'm happy to know now. I can't wait to go to every appointment with you now. I can't wait to see our baby when you have an ultrasound done. I can't wait to tell all our friends and family and my teammates. I can't wait to meet Baby H. (Y/N), I'm so excited."

His happiness quickly erases any anxiety she felt before he opened that box. She can tell how excited he is about the next chapter in their lives. "Glad I didn't ruin your Christmas by telling you," she jokes.

"Are you kidding?" Quinn says. "This is probably the best Christmas ever. We're going to have a baby. This is the best present I think I have ever gotten on Christmas. Knowing we're going to start the family we have always wanted together is the best present."

A smile finally forms on (Y/N)'s lips. "We're going to have a baby," she softly echoes. Quinn nods and matches her smile.

She launches herself at him, finally sharing the happiness that Quinn is feeling. He falls onto his back onto the carpeted floor and catches her in his arms. He laughs and wraps his arms around her waist. He stares up at his fiancée. "We get to finally be parents," he tells her. "Our rainbow baby."

"Our rainbow baby."

༺═──────────────═༻

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[avianyuh]

Boring | Min Yoongi

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four} Chapter Five

Summary: Your love life is going great, but you start to feel bad leaving out such an important part of your life from friends. You want to come clean about your relationship, but Yoongi seems hesitant to let anyone know.

Though your relationship with Yoongi was basically all you had ever hoped it’d be (and more), you had one little problem. The two of you had been in a serious relationship for about three months. In that time, you had told only one person, your mother. And though she had seemed excited for you as you spoke over the phone about a month into the relationship, she expressed her concern for you considering you were in a relationship with your boss. 

“What if you get in a fight? Or worse, what if you break up? Will you have to find a new job?”, she questioned. And though she had every right to ask you these tough questions, they were simply things that you just didn’t want to think about. But, you had to admit that in the very back of your mind, there were those little doubtful questions that kept you up at night sometimes. 

“Mom, I don’t even want to think about that. Even if things didn’t work out, I would hope we’d be in a good enough place where we could just be friends…”, you trailed off as you leaned against the kitchen counter in your apartment. Yoongi was away on a business trip for the week, and even though he offered you his apartment, you declined, preferring your own smaller place.  You peered over towards the front entrance of your apartment, looking down at the shoe rack. You stared at Yoongi’s sneakers, neatly tucked in on the rack, sitting next to a pair of your own shoes, specifically a pair of your flats you like to wear to work. Things were good. You were happy, Yoongi was becoming more “tolerable” according to your coworkers and the best part was that no one knew what had caused the switch. The irony was, people kept asking you if you had any ideas as to what caused the change, yet they were looking right at “the cause” the whole time. You always played it off, shrugging your shoulders and taking a sip of your coffee, or scribbling something down on your notepad to avoid discussing it further. You didn’t want to test your luck. 

But other than the occasional existential thought provoking sleepless nights, you had another conundrum. Specifically, it was the increasingly difficult task of trying to hide your relationship from your coworkers. Especially your two friends, Gina and Hana, who you used to frequently gossip about Yoongi with. And though you continued to eat lunch with them and go out for the occasional weekend outing with them, when time for small talk came about your lives outside of work, you began to start feeling increasingly guilty about the massive portion of your life you were purposefully leaving out. After all, Gina and Hana were your friends, not just your coworkers. And to be completely honest, you were really itching to tell someone other than your mother about your boyfriend. It was weird, feeling the happiest you’d ever been, yet you couldn’t share it with your friends. Two people you saw five days out of the week, sometimes six. 

So one night, after Yoongi came back from his trip, as you were laying in bed, drifting off to sleep in his arms, you decided now would be the best time to breach the subject of soft-launching your relationship with your friends. “Yoongi, you know how I told my Mom about our relationship, right?”, you started as you placed your hand on Yoongi’s bare chest. His arm was wrapped around you as his fingers traced the curve of your waist, his movements went up and down. You had to fight the urge to close your eyes, as he was basically putting you to sleep with how calm he made you feel. 

“Mhm”, was all you got in response as Yoongi continued his hand movements. His eyes were closed. You debated if you should even ask, considering the fact that he was seemingly minutes away from falling asleep. But, the other side of you seemed to be telling yourself that it was now or never. 

“Um, I won’t be here around 12 tomorrow, I’m going for lunch with Gina and Hana, remember?”, you questioned. Yoongi hummed again, his eyes still closed. “They keep asking about why I’m not around as much on the weekends…I keep wanting to tell them but I know you don’t really want to tell anyone”, you trailed off. You looked over at Yoongi, noticing that his eyes were now fully open. 

“What? Do they suspect anything?”, he questioned, slightly sitting up, his grip around your waist becoming a little looser. Your heart started to race a bit. You didn’t want to upset Yoongi. You were still in the honeymoon phase and wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

“No, no, not at all. I just feel kinda bad because I’m sort of lying to them.”, Yoongi furrowed his brows, giving you a confused look. 

“How are you lying to them? Have they asked if you’re single?” Yoongi didn’t seem to understand that leaving out something as massive as a new boyfriend could really hurt your friendship with someone. 

“Well, they haven’t asked but they’re under the impression that I��m single and I’m obviously not.”, you explained as you gestured with your hand between the two of you. “I just wish I could tell them, they’re people I see almost every day, that’s all…”, you stated, laying on your back as you turned the TV on. 

“You know telling people would look really bad. People would think you’re getting special treatment. And I have a board of people who wouldn’t be okay with the CEO dating an employee.”, Yoongi explained. 

“They wouldn’t say anything. They’re more than my coworkers.”, you said, a little disappointed. Even though you really wanted to tell your friends about your relationship with Yoongi, you knew that you had to respect Yoongi’s wishes. He did have a point, an office relationship would be a huge problem. When Taehyung found out that you helped Yoongi with the file instead of him, he was pissed at you. If it came out that you guys were dating, he’d definitely say that you got special treatment, which in your defense, wasn’t true because you weren’t dating when you worked with Yoongi. 

“Listen”, Yoongi sighed, “If you really want to tell them, then that’s your call…I don’t know them as well as you do.” You tried to conceal your smile as you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck. 

“Thank you Yoongi”, you whispered, “But”, you pulled out of the embrace, “Are you sure? I won’t say anything unless we’re both okay with telling people?”You searched Yoongi’s eyes for hesitation. He did look worried, which made you feel conflicted about telling your friends. 

“Like I said, it’s your call. If you really think they won’t say anything about our relationship to anyone else in the office, go ahead, I trust you.”, he explained, pulling you on top of him and closing his eyes again. “Now, can we go to sleep?”, he whined. 

“So dramatic”, you rolled your eyes, a smile on your face as you got comfortable in your boyfriend's arms. You gave Yoongi a chaste kiss as you rested your head on his chest, almost immediately closing your eyes and feeling relieved. No more hiding. 

~

You were sat across from Gina and Hana the next day at your monthly weekend “brunch”. In a way, you were nervous to tell them, mostly because you had been leaving out the fact that you had a boyfriend the past three months. But also that the said boyfriend is your boss. You played with your food as you pretended to pay attention to Hana’s story about the party she went to last week. 

“Oh my god, Y/N, you look like you’re not even paying attention!”, you looked up from your plate to find Gina and Hana both staring at you. 

“No, I am, I promise.”, you pleaded. Hana crossed her arms over her chest as she made a disappointed face at you. 

“Really? Then who was trying to give me a palm reading in the kitchen?”, you couldn’t believe it, she was giving you a pop quiz. You tried to answer as fast as you could to not raise any more suspicion, so you tried to recall who you remember being mentioned at the party. 

“Erica.”, you stated. Gina laughed as Hana groaned in frustration. 

“Whatever, I still know you weren’t paying attention.”, she said, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Then what was the point in testing me? I got it right”, you grinned at her. As Hana continued to act over dramatic, Gina tapped on your shoulder. 

“You know, you have been sort of quiet. Is everything okay?”, she questioned. Concern evident on her features. 

“Um, actually, yeah there is something I wanted to tell you guys. But first of all, you can’t tell anyone, okay? This stays between the three of us.”, You explained, sitting up in your seat. Your friends stared at you in confusion as you started to catch them up on everything you had left out the past three months. “So, I have a boyfriend.”, you said. Gina gasped as Hana looked at you in confusion. 

“What! When did this happen, you hadn’t mentioned anyone…”, Hana asked as Gina nodded in agreement. 

“I know, that’s why when I tell you, you have to understand that this is a pretty unique situation.” you said, giving them a serious look. 

“Geez, who are you dating? The president?”Gina questioned. 

“No, I’ve been seeing Min Yoongi for the past three months.” There, the bomb was dropped. You watched as their faces went pale. Gina claspedher hand over her mouth, Hana dropped her fork. You, on the other hand, felt a giant wave of relief wash over you. “I know it sounds bad because I didn’t tell you, but he sort of swore me to secrecy. I just had a talk with him yesterday and he agreed with me that it’s okay to tell a few people. The only other person that knows is my Mom since I told her.” you said. 

“But, why did you wait so long? Do you not trust us? Three months is a long time to leave something like that out.” Gina said, seemingly hurt by the news. 

“Gina, I wanted to tell you, but Yoongi didn’t feel comfortable because you guys work with him. He’s really paranoid that people from the office are going to find out and the news will make its way to the other board members of the company.”, you tried to explain. “I was just trying to respect his wishes.”

“Well, when were you planning on telling us? When you got engaged or something?”, Hana asked, also sounding upset. 

“No, guys please, it wasn’t up to me alone. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…” By now you were starting to get nervous. You didn’t expect them to be so upset, shocked for a few minutes sure, but not genuinely hurt by the news. 

“Y/N, we’re not mad, it’s just a long time to go without sharing something so major. Forget that he’s our boss, we just know how hard it was for you to find someone in the first place, so hearing that you’ve been seeing someone is great, we just wish we could’ve known since day one.” Gina said, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. Hana nodded in agreement. You started to feel better. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to be mad at you over your relationship. “Well…tell us about him. Around us he’s always so quiet and emotionless.” Gina giggled. “Oh wait, can I not say that in front of you anymore? Like, is it offensive now that he’s your boyfriend?” she questioned. You playfully nudged her arm as you laughed. 

“No, please don’t censor yourself around me. Trust me, I know what you mean by emotionless. That’s how he usually acts at work, he even admits to that.”

“Oh okay, so anyways, what’s he like when you're not at work?” Gina asked as you contemplated what to say to your friends. See, certain details about your relationship, you wanted to keep private. 

“He’s actually really funny. He makes me laugh, which I think you guys would find surprising. Oh, and he loves basketball and he plays piano. He’s really talented. But, he was a little closed off at first, but now he can get really clingy”, you giggled as you thought back to just this morning when you tried to  leave Yoongi’s apartment. He blocked the door and kept saying, “One more kiss”, which turned into maybe 100 kisses before he actually let you leave. 

“Interesting”, Hana said as she waved her hand in a ‘Go on’, type of motion. 

“He’s very romantic. He told me he was committed to me completely.” you said as they both made surprised faces. 

“Sounds serious,” Gina stated. You nodded as you tried to hide the growing smile on your face. “Realistically, what would happen if you did make your relationship public? Would he get in trouble?” Gina questioned. 

“I think the rest of the board would try to make him look bad. Basically try to say that he’s unprofessional for having a relationship with someone in the company. You know he’s the youngest CEO the company’s even had. He told me that a lot of the other board members don’t like that about him. 

“Aren’t you afraid that other people would say you have special treatment?”, Hana asked, now looking concerned. 

“Yeah, but I’d be more concerned if the board went over Yoongi’s head and got me fired. That would be way worse.” you responded nervously. 

“Um, not worse, that would be illegal for them to do unless it’s in your work contract. They, along with anyone else with an unwanted opinion would just have to get used to the fact that the CEO has a girlfriend in the company.” Gina snapped, which made you raise your eyebrows in surprise at how worked up she was. Gina had always been protective over you. “If you do get fired, I’m quitting too.” she finished. You both looked at Hana, waiting for her response.

“I love you guys, but good luck on your job search. I on the other hand, like money so I’d probably stay.”, Gina swatted at Hana, and you laughed as all three of you moved on to a different subject. You feeling relieved but at the same time, trying to ignore the fears of your relationship being outed from creeping to the forefront of your mind. 

[morganski-19]

part 1, part 2

Dustin visits the next day, sitting next to Wayne with the same book he’s had for the past few days. Turning to the page that was dog-eared, reading. Voices and all. Just like Eddie does when he’s practicing for one of those campaigns. Claiming that it’s better to get it down with someone else’s words so he can improvise. So he doesn’t have to memorize some script and can be in the moment. Let his mind do the workings along with the players. 

It’s one of the many parts of Eddie that Wayne sees in this kid. The dramatics, the drive. The snobbiness about certain things that don’t really matter to the rest of the world. But it matters to them, so it matters to the people who care about them too. 

If Eddie were awake, he might yell at the kid for turning the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. Even though all the books he gets are second-hand and already torn and bent in all sorts of ways. But it’s about keeping the art pristine. The author put their heart and soul into this work, it’s not meant to be sullied. Wayne saw Eddie bend the corner of a page a million times over though, he just likes making a big stink about nothing. Just to get a rise out of people, make them laugh. Wayne can imagine that Eddie liked to make Dustin laugh a lot. 

“Have the doctors said anything new?” Dustin asks after finishing the chapter. 

Wayne shakes his head. “Same old, same old. Don’t worry about it too much though, he wouldn’t want you to.”

“He wouldn’t want a lot of the things that happened over the past week. So he’ll have to deal with it.” After a pause, he asks, “How are you doing?”

That makes Wayne laugh. “You don’t have to go worryin’ about me either. You’re just a kid.”

“And you’re just a man waiting for your kid to wake up. The same way I’m waiting for my friend to wake up. At the end of the day, we’re all still people. That sometimes need a break. So, how are you doing?”

It’s scary how much Wayne sees Eddie in this kid. “It’s hard comin’ here to hear the same thing every day.” That’s all Wayne’s willing to say to a kid. 

Hard is definitely a word most people would use to describe his situation. Difficult, disheartening. Maybe even hopeless. But there’s still some hope in this old heart that keeps Wayne coming back day in and day out. Keeps him moving while only getting a few hours of sleep a day. Cause as soon as the night comes around, it’s right back to the plant. Making the money to pay for the care his boy needs to keep living. To pay for the roof over his own head enough so he’ll live to see it happen. 

Truth is, Wayne’s dying here. From the fatigue. From the endless waiting. From the slowly draining pool of hope. Nothing seems to change. Nothing gets better. Six days in a medically induced coma with no hopes of ever waking up. Wayne’s not dumb enough to think that the chances increase the more days pass without him showing any signs of improvement. 

Part of him says that this is the state Eddie will be in for the rest of his life. Wonders if it’s worth all of this just to keep him alive. If he’s really suffering in there and would be better off resting forever. But then the heart monitor keeps beeping and his brain is still active. Wayne’s boy is still in there, he’ll come back soon. 

“Yeah, I bet that’s hard. I still have hope though, I was there when he came in. He looks a lot better now.”

There’s a knock on the door that keeps Wayne from responding. It’s the Harrington boy, in normal clothes this time. Discharged. 

“Sorry to interrupt but your mom said it’s time to go home.”

Dustin dramatically rolls his eyes. “Which one, my actual mother or you?”

“Your actual mother, but I happen to agree with her. Come on, you got school in the morning.” Harrington crosses his arms, looking like he’s ready to start a standoff. 

But instead of fighting Dustin stands. “Have a good night Mr. Munson. I’ll still try to visit as much as I can even though school’s starting back up again.”

“Thanks, kid, I’ll try.”

Harrington ruffles Dustin’s hair as he walks out the doorway. Standing there for a beat before turning back to Wayne. “We’ve never officially met, I’m Steve.”

Steve holds out his hand, waiting for Wayne to shake it. Wayne debates whether that’s a good idea or not. Apparently, it takes too long as Steve returns his hand to his side. 

“I wanted to apologize for the scene I made the other day, you didn’t deserve that. I was just so shocked that they actually cuffed him to the bed. Still have him cuffed to the bed.” Steve looks at Eddie with a guilt that Wayne doesn’t understand. Like he’s the reason Eddie’s strapped to the bed. 

Wayne continues to say nothing, not quite sure what would be appropriate. Tell him that it’s ok, that it didn’t bother him. Or thank him for believing that Wayne knew was true. That his boy was innocent. 

There was more to this story than he knew. Something to do with the kid being there and the rich boy standing in the doorway looking like this is all his fault. When Wayne knows the same scars mark Steve just as much as they do Eddie. Steve made sure that everyone knew that. Using it as proof that Steve was there, and that Eddie was innocent. 

Steve was ready to offer himself up as a witness for a man that the town hates. Wayne should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t seem right. They were part of different worlds. Different status, interests. It didn’t make sense for them to be in the same place at all. Yet here they are supposedly having gone through the same vicious attack. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Steve continues when Wayne stays silent. “I’m more than happy to help out. Eddie was kind of a new friend and I hate seeing him like this as much as you do.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Wayne snaps. He hates charity, especially from this kid. For some reason he doesn’t really understand why. 

Steve is taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but you did. I know my boy and I know how my boy thinks about people like you. So don’t go ‘round gaining sympathy points from the real people who are suffering.”

“I, I wasn’t,” Steve stammers. “I would never.”

“Steve,” Dustin yells. “Get your ass moving, we’re your ride too.”

Steve sighs. “Coming, Jesus. I’m sorry for offending you. I won’t bother you again.”

Wayne shakes his head when Steve leaves, letting out a deep sigh. Maybe he was too harsh, maybe he wasn’t harsh enough. He’s not sure. 

He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

part 4

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[brideads]

CHAPTER THREE: WELM (what ever major loser!)

m.list | main page | prev | next

YN'S DISSAPERENCE | 4:12 PM "hey, maki, have you seen yn?" nobara asks, barging into maki's room without knocking.

"seriously? do you not remember last time? knocking, nobara—it's not that hard," maki says, raising an eyebrow as she puts her phone down.

nobara rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "does it look like i care about yuta?"

maki scoffs, sitting up straight and looking at nobara. "anyway, to answer your question— no, i haven't. i saw her at lunch with miwa, but i haven’t seen her since."

nobara frowns slightly and sits on the edge of maki's bed. "seriously? do you think she's mad at me? i told her i was too busy to rewatch movies with her, and she replied with a broken heart emoji. hasn't responded since."

maki raises an eyebrow, slipping her glasses back on. "she also asked you the same thing?" she says, her voice laced with curiosity. "and honestly, if she was mad at us, she'd probably block all of us and come home blackout drunk— neither of those have happened."

nobara groans, flopping onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

maki sighs, scooting closer and looking down at her. "what’s going on with you?"

nobara turns her head, a slight scowl on her face. "i’m kinda mad at yn," she admits, letting out a small huff. maki raises an eyebrow, silently prompting her to continue.

"she has this video of me. it’s from, like, musically? and she's using it to blackmail me into paying her back!" nobara whines.

maki chuckles, leaning back against the pillows. "really? which one?"

"i don’t know, i was dueting a camp rock scene—doing that 'whatever major loser' thing. i looked ridiculous," nobara admits, crossing her arms.

maki laughs a little, but then catches the scowl on nobara's face and quickly quiets down.

"why don’t you just pay her back when she asks?" maki suggests, raising an eyebrow. then she narrows her eyes slightly, looking to the side. "speaking of, you still owe me—"

before she can finish, the door slams shut as nobara storms out.

"1,220 yen..." maki mutters, rolling her eyes and grabbing her phone again.

extras!

hey guys.. testing week is finally over and i mastered all my tests who cheered !!! yn and megumi actually hanging out?!?!?! this chapter title is actually based off of me #lol in like 2017 i made a video w like my laptop in front of me playing that scene and i repeated everything and oh my god i genuinely looked stupid as hell so... MY MOM FOUND IT TOO AND SENT IT TO ME its 2:30 am please kill me megumi finished binge watching regular show and thought 'mordecai is so me core' and finally changed his pfp after like 7 years megumi's spider senses did go off during the movie but he lowk didn't realize it uh oh 💔 he missed a robbery but fear not todo saved the day I JUST FINISHED REWATCHING 500 DAYS OF SUMMER W MY BEST FRIEND..... i wasnt crying this time god bless yn is NOT a self insert i did not deinstall discord matter of fact i literally bought nitro 6 days ago #lol #richgirllife

main page: here! a/n: i hope u guys enjoy this chapter... lol... i put my blood sweat and tears into this.. a/n part 2: i had a whole other draft for this chapter but i don’t know where tf it went it was supposed to have yk… more action… 😭💔💔 FRICK U TUMBLR IT DIDNT SAVE taglist: @satoryaa @the-feral-president @qtnfer @stillnotherapy @azharyy @rijhi @digitaltrippers @walllflowerrrsss @anonymity-222 @mikikkoo @1l-ynn @2ukira @heyybaejjk @r0ckst4rjk @therealsatorugojo @cinnamontheevillittle @arionater @leaderwon @beepbopzlorp @megumiiislvr222 @chososcamgirl @drxgonspine @emostrawrobbery @essjujutsu @belovedbrinna @alsomimi @milkteeboba @izanacult @jaylenezzz-deactivated20241103 @wooomymeow @lucentwings @startwithrecords @expiredbred @nishislcve @sonotpattismith @kiss-my-asscheeks @kyliexreads @jtoddlover @veevei @2ukika @bunichuu @aegsland @swordymacaroni @laughingfcx-deactivated20241116 @megumislovedoll @shotos-angelic-whore @qhllrs @tibibibi123

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

THE SOUND OF SILENT GRAVES (X)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 15.5k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, broody/stubborn Nikto, brief smut, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind doesn’t remember the first time you looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of the flaws. Perhaps your nose was a bit too strange—lips a bit too…there the second you turned thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Fifteen. You know it started slow, like all poison does; the point to where you actually begin to pay attention to the chains around your neck. 

Your eyes hadn’t left where Nikto’s sweatpants sat so well over your hips for at least five minutes. Usually, you’d pick at those flaws here, on the cold bathroom tile with the black and white wash of nothingness. But this is distraction enough to block it out, at least for now. 

You smell like him. 

You’d noticed after you had woken up for the second time and had found Nikto gone—his thigh no longer the firm pillow to your skull. It startled you, admittingly, and you thought it was unlike him, but then your ears had picked up on the barked Russian sentences outside the bedroom door, drifting in from under the wood as your haze cleared. Best guess? He was on the phone with someone while you kept getting the rest he said you needed; you could only speculate how he got out from under you without making your eyes snap open. But, yes, it was undeniable that every ounce of your skin was bathed in his scent; marked, branded as if a sheep. 

Rotting wood coated in gunpowder, and gnawing metal that peels back flesh. 

It’s stuck in your nostrils as you itch at the side of your nose, blinking away from your reflected visage as if it’s on fire. 

Focus, you plead, and you don’t even know to whom. 

So much had happened, that the thought of your brain calming down was impossible. Nikto knew. He knew about the purpose of the parties, he knew about your doubts and fears, he knew your body. 

As you exit the bathroom, your mind slips into a dark thought—maybe learning to care about someone turns you into a bit of a stalker of your own. No one else could say they knew you as well as Nikto now does: your fears and your hopes. Not even Alyona, you flatten your lips at the realization, and you consider her your best friend. 

“Jesus,” you groan quietly after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes with a heavy sigh. 

It can’t be past noon now, and you can’t run from this forever. 

The phone on your nightstand is taken up, and, sitting back on the bed, your eyes dart and skate past the tossed party dress on the floor, wishing someone would go out and burn it already. As the visible tear in the lace catches your attention, along with the slashed corset, there’s an unmistakable twitch at your lips, that only makes your chest tighten immediately after.

Clearing your throat, you turn back on the device and try to give it your undivided, though anxious, attention. The sound of sharp Russian beyond the door gives a sliver of comfort. 

But still…why hadn’t he woken you up? There’s a sliver of confusion that takes place in your mind, but you push it back softly.

The first wave of notifications is expected, and exactly the same as it had been before breakfast. 

Kliment Fedorov, Alyona, your Mom, even the investigators—texts and calls, ranging from clipped sentences to long paragraphs. Thumb hovering over the screen, you raise your opposite hand and rub at the base of your skull, a low sound in the back of your throat. There was so much, you didn’t even know where to begin. You should be worrying about the stalker, not your job. 

But…when had you not been worried about your job?

Just another thing to make me lose my mind faster, you think. God, this is getting to a point where I’m starting to not care if they get rid of me—at least then I’d be able to make my own decisions. You start with Aly, and you quickly slap the call icon just to ease your shaky fingers of the stuttered typing they would have had to do otherwise. Phone to ear, the ringing only persists for two seconds before there’s the hurried panic of static and a frantic voice. 

“Seraph!” 

“Aly—” You try to quickly calm her down, mouth open with the half-formation of speech.

“Bastard! Why did you not call me?!” The woman snaps, and your ears twitch, your body flinching at the guilt that grows. “I have been up all night and worried most of the morning—damn you. Everyone at AMA is silent and Fedorov won’t let me into his office.” 

That’s right, you had told her you’d call her after the party—when you’d talked to her after seeing Nikto’s back tattoo. 

After you’d touched his ravaged flesh. 

Your face heats slowly, head tilting to the floor as you clear your throat. It was all wrapped in tissue paper, those memories. The storage room, the way those pale eyes had dug into your form in that damned dress, wanting to try and compliment you in his own strange way but being unable when you degraded yourself so consistently—unsure of himself. It was addictive seeing such a frenzied and numb man walking on cracking ice.

But that doesn’t make you any more sure of yourself.

“I meant to,” you hurry into your explanation, waving a hand even if she can’t see it. “You know I wouldn’t leave you wondering unless I had a good reason.” 

Alyona huffs over the line, silence falling as her anger tapers into a line. “...I need to put a bell on you, Солнышко.”

You close your eyes and sigh, fingers moving to push into your nose bridge. 

“Yeah,” your mouth utters. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea, Aly.” 

It isn’t long before there’s the low plea—that heavy insinuation. You know she’s still now, waiting for you to begin. “Tell me, then.”

Face tightening, you pause and listen for Nikto. You still hear the muted conversation, and occasionally, the stomp of heavy boots along the floors. He’s pacing. 

What’s going on out there? Who was he talking to? You wonder silently, perplexed. Nikto had made many phone calls before, and while he preferred to be in a nearby area and speak in his mother tongue, they hadn’t been as long as this—nor as snappy. Shaking your head, you suppose it’s a problem for later, and in the back of your mind, every word that he’d ever spoken to you rattles like rocks. 

You were nervous around Nikto now, and that doesn’t make any sense to you.

Doesn’t the nervous part come before getting touched in the back of some dark storage room? 

You grunt under your breath, clenching your jaw; becoming more and more like Nikto as the days pass, it seemed. 

“I didn’t sleep with Tarkovsky,” your words are breathy and low. Trying to hide. “...Nikto stopped it.” The heavy pause is enough to make your palms sweat. “Aly?”

“Perhaps I judged the beast of man too early.” You blink, tilting your head as your eyebrows draw in. “Christ, Seraph. I’m relieved, of course I am, but what will Fedorov do once he finds out?”

“He already knows,” you relay. “Nikto wasn’t…subtle about his refusal to let me go.”

“Blood?” Aly asks.

“And bone,” you sigh. 

“Shit,” the woman over the line grumbles. “Do you…” she trails off slowly. “Do you think AMA will keep you on?”

“This hasn’t happened before,” you shrug to yourself, hearing Nikto speaking louder. Your eyes dart to the door, and as you blink, your fingers run your thigh in a self-soothing motion. “I don’t know. Right now I’m debating if it’s even worth it.” A painful chuckle. “Any advice?”

“Keep the bastard around long enough to break someone else's bones.” Aly’s laugh is sharp and smooth. “Show them what happens when they do anything he doesn’t like.”

“The night wasn’t all bad,” you try to defend his personality a smidge. “He’s not some monster, Aly.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” there’s the sound of moving fabric from over the call, and Alyona is most likely in a fitting room herself, taking up your call as she rushed out of a photographer’s shoot at light speed. “...You like him, then? Truly? Or are you just enamored by his capacity for violence?”

Your body slows at the obvious jest, taking it seriously. Face stilling, you blink at the wall across from you. Everything else blurs for a moment, memories slashing to every opened car door and meal made with expert hands. Organized magazines on your tables and cleaned dishes. There was something funny about the way you enjoyed the stretch of his sin coating you like blood over the visible flesh of a masked face.

Nikto wasn’t a good person. You knew that.

“Yes,” you whisper regardless, feet shifting below you. “How can I spend so much time with someone and not like them?” Your words try to reason.

“Very easily,” the Russian woman scoffs, not wasting time. “You know what I mean, Little Seraph. Don’t try to push me off like I am stupid.” A low hum. “When you talk about him, your breath goes light.”

“It does not,” your voice tightens. 

“Denial,” Aly sighs. “The first sign.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” you groan, standing up and beginning to walk the room casually. You enjoyed the banter—the teasing: you two were good at that. 

As soft chuckles waft around, your lips twitch into a smile. “He’s not horrible. That’s all I’ll say.” 

“No beast?”

“No, no beast. A stubborn brute of a dogish ex-soldier?” You roll your eyes, and the commotion outside of the door takes on a different tone. You pay it no mind. “One hundred percent.”

“You like strays, yes, Seraph?” Alyona’s line crackles.

“I was burdened with a good heart,” you joke with a chuckle, nodding. As the second of silence draws, you reluctantly push out, “I need to check in with everything else.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” is the easy reply. The next sentence is troubled. “...If you’re kept, will you have to go to the rest of the parties?”

You don’t get to reply, because there isn’t a moment to think above the sinking in your gut and the sudden shove of the door. Head snapping up, the phone is tilted from your face as your eyes bug wildly. 

Iakov makes it three steps into the room, searching for you, before a growled shout and a ruthless hand connected with his suit’s collar. Watching wide-eyed, you see the way the pale-haired man is dragged out with a loud call of alarm.

Mouth agape, all you utter is a quick, “I’ll call you later,” before rapidly hanging up and moving as fast as you can to the door.

Shoulder hitting the frame, you stutter as you right yourself swiftly. “Nikto?”

“Go back to bed,” the black void grunts, gloved hand releasing Iakov with a violent shove. The two men are in the living room, your guard glaring with venom at your media coordinator as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor. 

“She can’t!” Iakov meets that fire with fire, strengthening himself. His face is a tone darker—eyes sharply snapping. “Fedorov has been waiting all day to have a meeting, and I won’t have my job on the line because of some entitled bra—!”

Nikto’s hand re-wraps itself around the man’s collar, jerking the fabric, and in turn, the smaller body forward until the rough fabric of the lower half of his mask is nearly brushing Iakov’s nose.

“I will cut out your tongue,” Nikto eases out far smoother than you’d heard thus far in your many days together. 

Your heart skips a beat.

“...Okay,” you say under your breath, face on fire as your coordinator freezes like a bird under a cat, a flash of rage simmering in his expression. The tension was palpable.

Truth be told, you’d never seen Iakov so unmanaged before—hair this way and that, suit ruffled not only from Nikto but from the apparent running of hands. He was always so put together. You swallow down your shaky worry. 

You’d never known him to be anything but respectful. It was like a knife to the chest to see such a rabid switch of emotions—of personality. Christ, it was damn near wrong.

“Nikto,” you say quickly, and the brute only tilts his head your way, not looking at you as his fingers tighten. Your tongue darts to wet your lips. “Please.”

Iakov is pushed back once more, and your guard grunts, light gaze unwavering as he backs up only a half-step nearer to you, widening his shoulders as the trunks of his arms cross his chest. Suddenly, thoughts of sex, power, and a stalker boil down to the sight in front of you instead, and the great confusion gets larger still.

Nikto is back in full gear, and here you are in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When had your Russian bear managed to change? Had he left the bedroom far sooner than you’d thought? And…why? Keeping the Russian in the side of your narrowed eye, you take a breath and quickly address the greater problem. 

I thought Nikto was only on a phone call.

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is low, riddled with exasperation and a tinge of stiffness. Would Nikto even have let someone in without talking to you first? It seemed unlikely.

Iakov sneers, clenching his jaw—the void beside you is silent. 

“Key.” Long fingers disappear into his suit, peeling out the gray face of a hotel room key and holding it between two fingers. Eyes pierce you, narrowed with a wave of horrible anger and swirling contempt that makes your breath hitch as if under the scrutiny of a wolf.

Your lungs hold themselves in your ribs like prisoners at the confession; eyes widening. 

Key?

Nikto levels out slowly, shifting with canid-like movements. “Walked in when we were speaking to the investigators over call.” He breathes out a rumble. “Nearly shot his head off.”

“You would have had a harder time than that, Хуй,” Iakov barks, dress shoes clicking as he slaps a foot forward. 

Heart hammering, your anxiety dances—questions muddling. Paranoia. Why would Iakov be allowed to have a key to your room? Had he always had one when you were sent out to parties?

What if he’d walked in before….?

Shaking your head at the implication, you step in before Nikto has a chance to jump the man, snapping out in a fashion that was unlike you, but came from both a place of desperation and nervousness. Your face pulls into a sharp display of panicked anger.

“Both of you shut up and listen!” Nikto freezes, eyes flashing instantly to shock. After a moment, any discernible emotion vanishes from his pale eyes, and he blinks down to you; shoulders lowering as if a display of submission.

While you can’t see it, Nikto’s heart sputters. He hadn’t expected that from you. 

Even back in Yekaterinburg, you were more prone to letting the course go calm—letting others lay themselves over you to avoid confrontation. You were still like that, of course; that was plainly seen in your unwillingness to explain before the party what was going on, but an outburst like that Nikto had never seen before. 

He watches you closely but remains mute even if his throat cages in a grunt of surprise.

Iakov freezes as well, neck snapping over like a fish on a hook. He was rageful and arrogant, you could now see it plainly. Even if he was always composed, you weren’t blind to the looks he would give you when he passed you in AMA—the discreet touches to the back of your shoulders or arms when you’d be given schedules face-to-face. 

You were stuck in a circle of distrust and lustful eyes, and the only reprieve was a man with more blood on his hands than a butcher holding a pig’s heart. 

Trying to calm yourself, you shake your head softly.

“Iakov,” you utter at the glaring face, hate and disgust stuck behind pupils. “Explain it to me.”

“You fucked it all up,” he growls, and Nikto’s gaze snaps to return to a pale face. Yet he still doesn’t interfere, hanging around like a puppy lacking his needle teeth. Muzzled. It doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking, however. “There is no deal with Tarkovsky! You know what that means, Seraph?” His hair is flattened down by a fast hand, tongue licking at his lips. “No money. Fedorov is wringing my neck! Why have you not answered the phone?!” 

“I was resting,” you mutter stiffly, face a tension-ridden mess. Glancing at Nikto and his tight pupils, the Russian doesn’t look over, only his hips moving in a small shuffle. You clear your throat with a small ache starting to form at the base of your skull. “Just got up.”

“It is past noon,” the shorter man barks. “This is absurd!” 

“Lower your tone,” Nikto utters. 

“I will speak what I will,” Iakov’s expression is like a knife as you stuff your shaky hands into your pockets. “Seraph needs to listen to what I tell her to do before—”

“Before what,” your guard interrupts, tilting his head. Around him is a false calm that somehow seems more violent than if he was yowling like a mutt. Your lips thin into a line. “Hm? Speak. You were doing it not a second ago.” 

Your coordinator stills and he wisely keeps his tongue from flapping.

“We will say it only once more,” you watch Nikto from the corner of your eye, breath trapped in your throat as his hips tighten and arms slip to hang by them; gloved hand flexing where the lack of a digit is glaring at you. “Watch your tongue.”

“I’ll call him,” you comply to Iakov’s complaints after a moment of heavy silence, face on fire and your chest being hit by every palpitation of your heart. Your mind is airy, and that scent of rotten wood is back as your legs push in on themselves. “I’ll explain what I can and—”

“Too late,” is the hissed answer. “He already gave me my workload. You’re going out tonight if you still want your job.” Your spine goes rail-straight. “This is the last chance, Seraph,” the pale-haired man spits. “This is it—you’ll put on what I have for you to wear, you’ll give yourself to the man who wants to invest into AMA, and you’ll keep doing what I tell you to. Your dog,” Iakov stares at Nikto for a long while, opening and closing his hands like he wants to say more, but only growls, “will do as he is ordered.” 

Nikto is about to punch him, you can tell by the roll and shake of his wrist. In an instant, you have your hand grabbing at his bicep, barely applying pressure beyond the initial grasp and yank. It does the trick though. 

Nikto’s body halts.

“Give me the key and get out,” you say in a monotone to the raging coordinator. 

Iakov looks like he’s going to fight on that, and your unease at his presence gets larger. The knowledge that he had access to your hotel room the entire time makes your muscles writhe with something dangerous—alarm bells. But the stalker isn’t here with you, is he? He’s back in Yekaterinburg unless there’s something you don’t know about.

Before you can pull on your guard’s arm again, Nikto pounces and slaps the key to the floor, which skids along the white tile as you gasp softly. Great hand connecting with a shouting Iakov’s collar, Nikto doesn’t let go as he begins dragging the man away like a toddler with ease, dress shoes scuffing the floor. 

Face loose, your eyes follow as the Russian grasps the door handle, yanks the barrier open, and tosses the coordinator out with a snarl. 

“You need to obey what I tell you—!” The scream is cut off as the door is slammed shut in Iakov’s face ruthlessly. A lock clicks in place, and that’s the end of it. 

Nikto stays to stare through the peephole, eyes beady and chest heaving with heavy breaths. Under the mask, his skin is taut with feral tension. 

In his youth, the Russian had been unswayable in his anger—a fact that resulted in many a school fight and bloodied faces, usually not only his own. It’s what brought him to the military, to be completely honest with himself. A lust for something he could control like a pocket knife in his hand, but bigger than two teenagers wailing on each other in some field while a gaggle cheered them on. Split knuckles and cut lips. One thing never got any easier, though. 

That damn spark of animalistic loyalty.

He’d formed some bond with you, that was certain. Mutual gain? Who knows. Bodily need? Maybe. Actual care? …Curse him, but perhaps. Yet, hold his toes over a fire if he didn’t feel a horrific rage at some man he could break over his thigh speaking to you like that. 

He feels your gaze on the back of his head even now, as he watches that media coordinator scurry off like a rat, and he flashes to the ongoing gag the two of you had formed. 

Looks like a Shrew. Little rodent.

Nikto sighs under his breath, fingers coming up to rub at his covered chin, scraping gloves against the thick canvas. He backs up with a scoff and stalks away. 

“The man is weak,” Nikto says to you, keeping a tight side-eye. “Get a better one before we dispose of him.”

You strangle down a quick laugh, mouth slowly opening as you think over your words. The comment, said in that rough and sandpaper-like accent, flows through you like water. You should be put off by it, you think to yourself in the back of your brain, especially after the explosion in the bakery and the death of your three previous guards; of Yefim.

Yet…

Your throat tightens. “You think he was being serious?” You ask. “About the party tonight? My job?”

“You are not going.” It’s immediate. 

“Nikto,” you frown, stepping forward as he brushes past you to grab his phone that was sitting on the coffee table. “There are parts that I won’t be a part of again, but I know that you know, that I need to keep my position at AMA. With any hope, showing up will be enough—I can speak, persuade, the person who—”

“Why?” he spits, shoving the device away as his pale eyes glare, head tilting. 

If you knew any better, you’d compare this to a boy pouting. Just perhaps a bit more serious. 

“Oh,” you vaguely motion with a hand, sarcastically uttering as your heart slows now that it’s only the two of you. “I don’t know—food, rent, the ability to live comfortably. You know, the usual.”

Nikto huffs, taking out his baretta and placing it on the table before the cleaning rag is slipped from his belt. He sits down near the neatly folded blanket and perfect pillows, silent. You’d have to keep this conversation going later, there was a low curiosity in your stomach. His phone—the speaking you’d heard from the bedroom. 

“Who were you talking to before I came out?” Walking forward, you listen to the click of dark metal as Nikto takes apart his gun piece by piece, setting them all down in a well-thought-out order. He glances up, and you see his lashes dip in a blink. As usual, his expression is unreadable while behind that mask. You almost missed the balaclava—at least you could see the outline of his lips that way.

“Anything important?”

“Investigators,” Nikto grumbles. “They have taken Sergi into custody, but can get nothing out of him,” he pauses, troubled though you can’t see it as your eyes widen, body going to sit beside his own before intently listening. 

“That’s perfect!” You speak, a smile overtaking your lips. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten any more texts from the stalker. Do you think that they’ll keep him there?”

“No,” you still, smile freezing. “They cannot.” Pale eyes stare into your own smoothly before they break away. Nikto clears his throat, fingers twitching as more bits and bobs are polished. “DNA does not match those found on the letters from your lockbox. It is illegal to falsely detain someone for over forty-eight hours. He will be released unless further evidence is discovered.” 

It’s a slow moment before you swallow down the sharp disappointment in your gut, attention darting from the silent Russian to the table. 

“Oh.”

Nikto’s muscles tense the longer this silence permeates, eyes unconsciously darting back from his gun to you. After a long while, he sighs aggressively, dropping the rag and the slide he had been polishing without thought as it thumps to the table.

“Птичка,” he turns, and you blink back to him just to notice the instant tension as your eyes lock. 

Such grays and blacks make up his being, that you wonder if color even mattered when it came to him—you already know those shades of in-between things, and Nikto could certainly be described as in-between. The activities of the storage room flash behind your vision, and your lips part softly. 

But something isn’t right. 

You’d thought that maybe Nikto would always be something of a blank slate to you—obviously, you could tell when he was frustrated and such, but anything beyond that was still up to your imagination. But it’s especially telling when you can understand the way he hesitates to touch you when his hand rises. 

The limb moves to your bicep before the Russian drops it back down, turning back to his rag, and gets back to work with the lines beside his eyes visible as if grimacing. Beyond the anxiety, and the paranoia, you find the hurt burns sharper than those two ever could.

Not to mention the uncertainty. 

You stare openly for upwards of three minutes, hesitant with the white noise in your brain overtaking your thoughts. 

Nikto’s head is thumping—attacking every ounce of common sense to be found. The picture on his phone; the implications. The stalker wasn’t Sergi, because Sergi was at this very moment still detained and had been since last night…how could he tell you that? A man who was already horrible with words, so used to barking out his true feelings to soldiers and civilians alike. He can’t be that with you. Not anymore. He doesn’t want to be. But he’s stubborn—he’s prideful. Arrogant. It’s easier for him to figure it out himself than burden you, and in many ways, you were the same beast.

Mutt, mutt, mutt. Golden chains around supple flesh.

Nikto opens and closes his mouth many times, not knowing how your heart is cracking piece by piece; so averse to speaking about yourself. He’d left while you were still asleep to make the phone call himself to your investigators, not able to stare at your face any longer or feel your flesh. It had made his attention slip, and his focus fail. 

The lack of control where he already had so little. He couldn’t take it, and in that, he felt dirty. Tainted. 

The knowledge that someone had a picture of you in perhaps the most vulnerable moment he’d ever seen you in was worse, still. Like the blood on his hands was smearing itself over you, dipping along your waist and hips; sinking its dripping knuckles into the tight clutch of your welcoming walls. Fingerprint marks over your navel, clawing. 

Nikto flinches subtly in his seat, a low sound echoing in the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never known the color of blood if only to not be able to imagine it along your pretty skin. 

The Russian had only been thinking about it when you were sleeping, a slow infection seeping in as it always did—the stalker had been just behind him and he hadn’t heard a thing. The thought was enough to nearly make him vomit.

It was an utter disgrace to his skills. 

He can’t be distracted anymore; not now. Not when he feels the fingers digging into his scars, the cuts, the drags of knives, and the burn of fire. He needs that control back. Some semblance of stability. 

You try not to show how much you’re taken aback—how much Nikto’s sudden distance is a physical pain to you. The dead air settles, and you feel your pulse through your skin like a wound. 

“...Anything else, Nikto?” Your voice is deathly still. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you had pushed something too far. 

“...Нет.” The Russian’s fingers are hovering over the pieces of his gun, dismantled and laid bare to the overhead light of the blinding hotel. This place is cold; sterile. You’d said it before and you’d say it again—this was not a place you’d want to live. Now…even less so. Nikto clears his throat as you stand jerkily, sending a glance that lands on your throat and not your eyes. “There is nothing.”

You nod quickly. 

“Good. I’m, uh,” your tongue wets your lips, and pale eyes try not to follow the motion even as he finds it like a siren call. Control. “I’m glad. I’ll figure out the details about the party tonight and get back to you.” 

Nikto’s shoulders froze, but by the time his damaged brain had caught up with his mouth, you were already back in the bedroom and shutting the door with a soft hand. 

A blue gaze sticks to the barrier, but not a single sound creates so much of an echo as the seconds draw into minutes. 

“Enough,” Nikto orders himself, turning back to the table. Lips shifting into a deep frown, there’s little in the way of understanding his own actions, but wasn’t that the norm? Distance lets him think—thinking means solutions. Solutions for you; solutions for him. 

But the feeling of your warm flesh is addictive, and there are moments in between the flashes of bloodshed that circulate when your brushing fingertips scrape down his back—a bear to a deer, but now he’s not too sure which is which. There’s a need to consume and eat down sustenance until his face is bloody and raw again, that half of a Glasgow smile ripped open and hanging, brutality ingrained into his psyche by way of pain and pleasure. 

You touching him was both.

Being near you was both.

Knowing about that picture he’d been sent was worse than the former.

Nikto had thought to tell you, he’d been getting better with that, but then he’d truly thought it over and in his own way wanted you to be safe from just one more violation. It was how he was—a silent, brutish, mutt-like hired gun. He was smart, though. 

And, damn him, he liked it when you smiled. 

“Focus on the task,” he grunts, his knuckles under his gloves surely white from how hard he handles the metal of his beretta, stress cleaning even if he doesn’t know it—doesn’t acknowledge it.

His tight-pupiled eyes keep dragging themselves back to the door.

—

The hotel stayed in a suffocating silence even as the stylists came and went. They didn’t say a word as the hours lengthened—nervous, if you had to guess. The story of ‘the guard who snapped a man’s wrist in one motion’ had made its rounds quickly; gossip always on loose tongues. 

You’d had a call with Fedorov. You think you had only gotten through it because you’d dug your nails so hard into your hand, that the initial scrape of cartilage had distracted you from the threat of being fired. The beady-eyed CEO had been less than pleased, and that was all you wanted to comment on; to even think about.

“I’ve heard troubling things, Seraph. Very troubling. What is this about your guard? I had thought we had come to an understanding about it. Tight leash, yes?” 

Your fingers skate the smooth front of the newest dress you’ve been given, and you play with the dangle of cold metal around your fingers. Rings. You don’t know if they’re gold or silver, nor the gems set into them, but you know they’re elegant—just as the fabric you wear is.

There’s no great slit here, not in this form-fitting sleeve of white. Two pieces of fabric move up to cover your breasts and meet at a collar around your neck of the same silk, the train extending from the back of that collar that trails the ground. Lace, of course. Your shoulders are bare, just as a good ninety percent of your back is; only stopping at the small of your back where the fabric is once more tight to you. Pearls and feathers create a beaded version of a corset, tantalizingly caressing your bare flesh. 

Your first thought is that you’ll freeze in this, but the second is how you’re going to walk in the heels—a silk strap looping your ankle before a big bow meets your eyes.

And the third is even worse.

“I think I’m losing my job tonight,” you whisper, blank-faced and knowledgeable of Nikto once more waiting where he had been before. A vicious repeat, a hopeless deja vu. 

A pawn in someone else's game.

Your fingers tap your abdomen in broken intervals. There had to be a way out of this, you try to tell yourself. 

Think. 

But your mind always drifts back to the damn ex-soldier that’s in the living room. His attitude today—his distance from you was like taking a bullet to the gut. You should be celebrating the detainment of Sergi, of possible breakthroughs even if the DNA didn’t match. 

The baker’s boy knew something, that was a fact. 

But nothing. No joy—no jokes or sarcasm. 

As you look at yourself now, you can only now recognize the expression of utter defeat you wear so plainly like a burial shroud. This was a cruel game. But there was something truly frightening about how close you and Nikto had become in such a relatively short period. Akin to soulmates finding one another, except for the simple fact you didn’t believe that was what the two of you were anymore. 

It had been a brief hope, truly. But one that you’d wanted more than anything, and you don’t know why. You don’t know why you let him touch you; let him be so near—it runs around your brain to speak itself in tongues just like the rest. Problem after problem. 

One at a time, you turn and exit the room, not looking at yourself longer than you have to. 

Nikto stands stiff by the door, already in his suit and balaclava—M13 and Beretta back where they belong respectively. The knife, you have no clue, though you know it’s somewhere. 

There are no compliments from the two of you. No speaking. So quickly something flipped on its head. Pale eyes dart, but when they meet yours, drip and drag away to the coat rack as you grab for your jacket. As your attention tries not to linger, you see him momentarily peel back his eyelids at the sight of your elegant dress but say nothing beyond a garbled sigh.

The air was so thick, that it was nearly enough to display how idiotic and childish the two of you were for acting like this.

You open your mouth and push out, “Ready to go?” 

In the hours you’d taken to get ready, the Russian had come up with a plan. 

He nods to you now and opens the door, allowing you out as he stays behind, making sure the lock clicks as you glance over your shoulder. Beginning to walk with him just a foot away, Nikto runs over his idea once more. 

With any hope, the stalker now had a personal vendetta against him for getting physically involved with you—he’d been looking up studies in his spare time while you were getting dressed; tapping his fingers along his phone stiffly. 

Only one sentence stood out to him, and it still stands out now as you go to wait in the elevator ahead of his looming form, eyes to the ground and hand massaging the back of your head. 

‘Stalkers like to get their target isolated; they’re selfish. They want the person all to themselves and dislike anyone who can possibly get in the way of that. Whether it’s a romantic partner, family, or friends, if they pose a roadblock for the stalker it can result in added stress or an urgency to act.’

Nikto moves to stand beside you, shoving a firm finger to the ground floor button and glaring at the wall, lips stiff from under fabric. 

If the man would come after him, then it would get you out of the spotlight at least for a short amount of time—perhaps it would even be enough to catch him. 

Maybe tonight, Nikto wonders silently, eyes narrowing as his feet settle. He will be there. We need to be ready. 

Your lungs breathe down a slow breath, taking in oxygen until your chest rises with the swell like a bag in the wind. This feeling is something you don’t know if you’ve experienced before beyond the sensation of having to relearn your limbs after your accident; an expectation and a draw, something just there but out of sight. 

Inebriating instability. 

Instead of your hands being shaky, now your mind was. 

Nikto is so close—so there beside you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hang off of his arm. To be something. It was pathetic of you, especially after he’d already assured you that you both would deal with the uncomfortableness of your prior affair. 

Was this his way of dealing with it? Avoidance? He didn’t seem the type, and you’d already known that he wasn’t. 

So it’s bigger, your face pulls in. But what? Why this…hesitation?

Your eyes spark. 

Hesitation, no. In the elevator, your arms tense as the small sound of the metal box meeting the ground floor echoes; Nikto also darts his head up, deep in his thoughts. You both share an unexpected side-eye, before the doors open and you hurry out on unstable feet as your face burns. This is fear. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whisper to yourself, hearing those boots behind you. 

At the Russian’s unease, you find your own doubling just as simply. 

Who could make a bear afraid of the forest?

—

As you enter the party, you go about business and try not to stay on the fact that you have just gone through one of the most uncomfortable car rides you’ve ever experienced.

Passing off your jacket and hearing the doors close behind you, your curated smile dims to an imitation of happiness, shoulders drooping. 

Nikto had only touched your arm to guide you along the sidewalk to this more humble residence—not at all like the previous party you’d been to. Every step and click off your heels had welcomed the same nervousness, however. 

You still didn’t know what you were going to do, but right now, it was more important to just calm yourself to a state of taking it moment by moment. If it all came down to it, would you need Nikto to guard you again? Order him to break more bones? Welcome the spray of black fluid and gray meat? 

“Nikto,” you address the Russian as he blinks over, fixing his hold on his M13. He doesn’t like this either—he doesn’t understand why you don’t listen to him and go to events like this. Nonetheless, he’ll follow and steer you clear of any situations you shouldn’t be in. It was his job to watch you, not force your hand.

Pale eyes level with you before they go to survey the foyer. “What is it?” 

“When all of this is over,” you utter, walking forward. “What will you do?”

The Russian pauses, heart stuttering. What would he do? That wasn’t the question he thought you were going to ask, but it’s a welcome distraction from the mess of his head. 

“Go back to KorTac,” he breathes, elbow brushing yours with his voice like rocks. “The contract will be over. I will not be needed anymore, да?”

You tilt your head, licking at the corner of your lips to push back the bead of fear that had settled into your stomach. “That makes sense,” your mind pulls a flat-falling tease. “But who will tell me what color of the paintings on the wall?”

Nikto’s hidden face is a stiff reflection of your own, scars tight. It’s a strange thing, he understands, the pressure on his chest that grows stronger. He’s so used to keeping secrets…why was this so hard for him?

“The blonde woman will be at your side, no doubt,” he grumbles, looking away from the image of your beauty and the silk of your dress. “She will tell you. I am not the only one able to understand the need for it.” Those feathers and pearls make a strung corset of utter angelic purity. 

Blood on my hands. 

He’d already tainted you enough, hadn’t he? When did sex suddenly become important to him? Weighted with…with care. There were so many times he could carelessly get his fill and leave with nothing mattering to him—just another way to get off and forget the formalities of waking up next to someone and making breakfast. 

But wasn’t that exactly what Nikto had willingly done with you? Willingly sat near you for breakfast, willingly allowed you to coax him into bed to be a pillow, willingly touched you? Like a loyal beast, he had. He had. 

You were a horrible creature. A beautiful, lovely, creature. Disgusting. Awe-inducing. As holy and as blasphemous as all of the monsters that sit on his shoulders; the ones he cannot name.

Nikto’s fingers pull into soft fists, and his gloves stretch. He grunts as your face falls a bit at his reply, your head nodding as he clenches his jaw until his molars scream. 

You were messing with his head again. It wasn’t like he wanted you to not understand his motives—he needed to focus. 

“I didn’t think Iakov was like that,” you change the subject as you both awkwardly move into the party, voices moving along the airwaves as you enter the large living room. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Men like that care about money and power,” Nikto answers, keeping your body nearest to the wall as he sticks to your right. “He will never forgive you for letting him lose it.” Pale eyes jump from one set of curious gazes to another. “It is not in his nature. Waste of skill.”

“Isn’t money what everyone wants?” You mutter, staying close to him and nodding politely at those who look your way with digging gazes. “That's why I’m here.”

“You are not the same,” is the swift answer, shifting vision stilling on a man with blond hair that moves through the crowd, camera sitting around his neck as dark eyes meet Nikto’s own. The guard blinks, and the individual is lost to the crowd.

Looking at you, the Russian’s eyes narrow. “You are not selfish, did we not explain ourselves enough earlier?” 

“You said I was good,” you explain slowly. Not good enough to keep?

“I did,” Nikto grunts. “I say what I mean. We do not lie.”

“Too prideful for that,” your mouth pulls into a smile. “Aren’t you, Big Guy?”

His eyes swirl, low amusements littering the pale orbs like a sly cat. “Да, вот именно.” 

You huff, not understanding the words, but knowing they’re agreeing with you. It’s as if a glass wall is dissecting the space between your bodies. You can see Nikto—hear him and feel his presence, but you can’t touch him; can’t get the smudges off without a rag. A blurry mess of black and white, not a slash of color to be understood. 

This separation was thin but still there.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You have to finally push as you stop near the back of the room, as far away from anyone as possible, but it isn’t at all private. Eyes turn and fingers shift over wine glasses. It was quieter here, too. Not so blatant in its display of choking wealth, but still rich if decor was anything to go off of. 

Nikto’s amusement vanishes instantly, and he’s back to a careful blankness.

Stopping as well, he only waits a second before uttering, “I do not tell you many things, Seraph.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you bounce off of him, hands moving up to motion softly as your face twists. Shame hits you in the chest, and you take a shaking breath. “...I knew it would end up being like this if you found out about all of it. All your job stated was a simple protection contract, not some—”

You stop yourself. 

Pale eyes don’t blink once as they keep themselves tight to you. Nikto lets his mind calm before he speaks. “Why are we here?” 

Your brows shift, and you open and close your mouth. “I don’t know. I’m hoping my boss might give me some credit for just showing up and not—”

“Then we are going now,” he growls, attention flying from one prying person to the next. There are too many eyes here—too many ears. Nikto knows who might be lurking. 

“Why,” you lightly push back, chuckling sarcastically. “I’m not in any danger, Nikto. At every turn, there aren’t any stop signs at the side of the road—at least here I have a grab at good wine and company that doesn’t hide the truth from me.”

Pale eyes flare. People start to turn your way. There’s a pause as if there’s something the Russian wants to state, but it fails on lips that you barely see rise from under his balaclava.

“I told you I do not lie, woman,” Nikto grunts, stature ridgid from where it spreads like a steady corruption; a shadow lengthening. 

You had always avoided confrontation—always. You hated it, and, currently, you hated this as well. But the stress was getting to you, the threat of losing everything on top of your own life. Nikto had become a lifeline, and now he was trying to pull back. 

Why?

Your face turns, and you stalk away. “Then do me a favor and stop telling me half-truths.”

—

If steam were able to come out of your ears, you would have filled the room with that heavy layer of your anger. Nikto was still stapled to you—unable to leave after what he now understood might come to fruition at these events if he did. 

So, you both stood. 

Silent.

Stoic.

Unsatisfied.

A dog without a bone left longingly glancing as if its eyes could speak all the words that needed to be explained on a human tongue. 

Your hands push at the base of your skull, massaging the forming headache that had grown from when Iakov had let himself into your hotel. You can’t wait until these parties are over—until you can get another call from the investigators saying that your stalker has been apprehended with Sergi’s statements. There needed to be a happy ending to this; needed. 

This can’t be all your life is meant to be. 

You didn’t come here thinking that you would be sleeping with someone. Currently, as you’re sipping down the second glass of wine brought to you, you can see the head of the man you’re supposed to be attending to. 

Borya Belov, or something close to that. Your coordinator had sent a text, but you’d barely looked at it and the picture attached. Large and middle-aged, he was up and coming in the city, generating impressive amounts of money and influence through his iron and steel plants. He knew your CEO, too—old family friends. 

Your eyes tear themselves away before he can look in your direction, frowning heavily. A rock and a hard place. 

You were foolish if you thought that by you being here it would allow you to keep your job without handing yourself over. It seems you’ve been foolish a lot lately. Your gaze sneaks to look at Nikto and only finds a rigid pole in his place. No under-the-breath jokes or knowing glances. No indecipherable emotions. It was just blank.

Shaking your head lightly, you bring the wine glass to your lips and take a large sip, letting the swell of it fill your mouth before it slips into your throat; tasting the bitter edge. With all of the blatant mess of emotions, it wasn’t any wonder why anyone hadn’t come over to talk to you. 

“All of these things are the same,” you speak to yourself quietly, trying not to sweat as Nikto’s body shifts closer when Iakov walks past the two of you stiffly. The pale-haired man sends you a dark look and you bite your tongue, eyelids narrowing with unease. 

Get dressed, speak gossip, get used, repeat. 

Already the trap had settled, routine following like a pet. 

Your fingers run over the glass in your hand, nails dragging as Nikto’s eyes stare from the side, thighs tightening before he rips his attention back to the party. He grunts and tilts his head, shoulders rolling. 

Focus.

It’s in the atmosphere of a taut rope that you hear the thin conversation from not that far away. 

“Look at him.”

Your ears quirk, but you don’t think of it much as you drink down the last dredges of your wine, licking at the corner of your mouth—careful of the lipstick. It was a group of women all turned into one another, muttering quickly and giggling even more so. 

“Which one?”

“The big bastard, obviously. How much do you think he eats, hm? I’m betting an entire kitchens worth a day.”

Pausing, your spine slowly begins to straighten up, face stuck staring into the wall far across the room. 

“I bet he’s hideous under all of that. Look at the mask—see?”

The round of muffled laughter behind silken gloves makes your heart jerk inside of your ribs as one of the photographers passes by Nikto and you, fiddling with his camera in his hands.

Beside you, the Russian either hears what’s going on and ignores it, or can’t and is simply not moving because he found someone in the crowd to pay attention to. 

Looking over now, you’d place your bet on the first. 

Nikto’s eyes are void, tiny pupils stuck in on themselves as he stares at nothing—his M13 is strangled under the grip of black gloves, and that little sliver of skin you see from his wrist has visible tension in it. He cracks his neck silently, sets his feet, and pretends.

Watching as he’s so apt to do to you, your anger-ridden face steadily freezes the longer your ears strain themselves to hear above the clink of glasses and useless chatter. Work and pleasure are zapped from your mind.

“You think so?”

“I am willing to bet on it—a thing like that is hiding its face because it has to. No soulmate, either. Go up and speak to him; I want to see.”

“But…what if he does have a soulmate? That woman beside him, isn’t that the one from Yekaterinburg? They could be—”

Nikto’s fingers twitch, eyes flashing. 

“If I had a soulmate that had to hide his face from me, I would think he was a beast. No one would want to be within five feet of that.”

Few things made you angry. 

Liars, cruelty, and the rest of the normal points that were on the list everyone keeps. But there was something particularly special about how you hated someone talking about Nikto like that. Forget him hiding something from you, forget his distance and his inability to speak about his emotions—you still cared about him deeply. The words he’d said to you, how he carries himself; his blunt honesty. 

Your heels are hitting the ground before you can remember you’re here to not make a scene.

“Excuse me,” you say, slipping into an easy smile as you nearly trip over your own feet as you settle near the group. All of their eyes widen, some turning around to lock gazes with the sudden arrival. “Could you repeat yourself for me?” You chuckle without humor. “I swear I had thought I heard you talking about my guard over here.”

Your chin moves to allow your eyes to settle over your shoulder, looking back at Nikto who had walked two steps after you initially before seeing where it was you were stomping to. His wide eyelids are snapped back like book covers, darting from you to the women as if utterly confused.

“That one,” you point casually before turning back. “The, uh,” your body leans a bit closer, hand coming up to your grinning mouth, “beast.” 

The gray shade on some of their faces darkened, a few stuttering through a Russian and English jumble of words. 

You blink at them as a familiar shadow begins to sit over you, heavy boots connecting to the floor. Your face burns, but there’s truth in your words—in your conviction. 

“Seraph,” Nikto says quietly in warning. 

“One moment,” is the response he gets. Pale eyes are stuck to the back of your head. He doesn’t know what to do, but in his throat, there’s an airy feeling stuck there that he can’t describe. It swells in his chest first, spreading through his veins.

Nikto was always used to being the one to stand in front of you. 

His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know how to tell you to stop—that it doesn’t matter. The bigger question he should be asking is if he wants you to. The man wasn’t unused to comments. He can take it. But that fire behind your eyes rendered him speechless.

“His name is Nikto,” you say firmly. “Not that I expect you to remember it,” you tilt your head, looking them up and down. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

Huffing, you’re acutely aware of everyone watching, and your previous anxiety over your work is null. Disgust breeds like death flies. 

None of this was worth it. 

“Nikto,” you utter purposefully, setting your glass down on a side table and stepping behind. One of the Russian’s hands hovers over your back, the weapon resting on his chest clicking as it shifts. “We’re leaving. I don’t know why we came in the first place. There are more important things to worry about.”

“...Understood,” he levels, voice deep. Nikto blinks a few times, face under his mask layered with heat. There was no focusing when it came to you—his iron will was being smoothed down like a rock in water. 

You push past Borya Belov without a glance, looking to the side to see a shock-stricken Iakov burning you with his orbs. There was nothing for you here. 

Heels clicking over the floor, your dress ripples out behind you, unable to think beyond the deep insult you had taken on Nikto’s behalf. What gave those women the right to say anything? Especially about his appearance. 

When physical looks meant so much to you, you dreaded that being placed on someone else as well. Even if it was apparently obvious that Nikto suffered just as you did.

“You did not have to do that, Птичка.” A hand grasps your upper arm and guides you away from the table you were about to run into as you both enter the hallway stiffly. “It does not affect us. Useless opinions—they do not reflect my character.” Jumping only slightly from being ripped from your thoughts, your head darts over. 

You frown into a hidden face, Nikto stuck on the site of your pulled expression. 

Cute, he silently thinks in that jumbled mess of a brain before his memories flash to the sight of that picture on his phone. The hand leaves you in an instant, moving back to his M13.

“I know I didn’t,” you breathe sharply, shaking your head. Closing your eyes, your shoes halt as you stop.

Nikto follows suit, pausing before turning back with a furrow of his brows.

It’s a special thing, the way your desperation bleeds into your sentence. “Will you tell me what’s going on with you, or not?”

He stares, body pausing under your attention. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, far enough away from the main living room to indulge in a bit of horrific truth. “I like being with you,” your words slip. “I mean with you, with you. Y’know? I like you near me—watching over me. I don’t want this to become something that jeopardizes what we’ve built up. I’m not asking for a relationship, or even for you to tell me that you care about me, I just…” you fail to finish, eyes breaking off to glare at the floor; fighting against the sting. “You’re making my head spin,” your words dip lower, and Nikto flinches. “Just…tell me what’s wrong. You’re not acting right, and you’re worrying me.”

You don’t think you’ve been looked at this intently before now. Not by boyfriends, not by flings, or crushes. It’s a bare thing, Nikto’s eyes. A landscape of pale gray tundras and white snow—you don’t know what he’s thinking as he stands there like some Greek statue; Aries personified and dropped right in front of you.

You want that blood of his, that malice and incurable damage. Not to fix it—not to change what’s already scored into flesh—but just to see those eyes soften as they had a handful of times before.  

A war god and a white bird. 

Nikto’s throat bobs in a slow swallow as you finish, pulse hammering as his gloves suddenly constrict his hands far too much. He doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want to explain why his distance is more for his benefit than yours. 

You push once more.

“What are you so afraid of?” 

“You.” He grunts stoic-like, and all of it falls into a swift silence thereafter. Your breath is taken on one great rapturous theft. Nikto stares as your jaw slackens, mind going blank. 

He darts his eyes away and tilts his head. 

“...Come. We do not want to be here any longer.” The Russian’s body is next to yours and in a fast movement, you find yourself being gently prodded along to the front door, jacket grabbed from the side of it and settled over your shoulders. 

Grasping at the corners, this moment is verging on irreparable—you’ve never found yourself so thrown off course besides when the inevitable advances from the stalker had come to you. 

Your hands shake in unsteady intervals as you blankly stare ahead. 

Me? 

The car is cold when you get into it, pulling your jacket closer as you slip across the seat—Nikto grabbing the long trail of your dress and making sure it stays inside. The man sits next to you, grabbing and slamming the door with a fist thumping the window twice. 

Under you both, the engine starts up and the tires push against the concrete. 

Your eyes ogle Nikto, and not once do they leave them even as the Russian pointedly ignores you by keeping his head locked forward. His body moves to the turning of the car, and your phone in your jacket pocket is going wild with call after call as his feet shift to steady himself unconsciously. It’s all a blur of needless sound and emotion. 

“Me?” Your voice finally finds itself; breathless. 

Nikto doesn’t react, spine so straight, the seats of the vehicle don’t touch anything. His fingers over his gun twitch before he grasps the cold metal harder to stop them. 

The Russian tries to halt the way his eyes want to gravitate to meet yours, trying to think over every face from the party and who had made any attempts to get near to you; just in case something pops up tonight. Yet, the hitting pain in his ribs is akin to something ripping them open with a fork, mutilating an entrance to his heart just to take and grasp it in soft hands.

He was never taught gentle love. Nikto was taught to grab and rip at it, to claw into it with fangs until there was blood on his face, seeping down his throat to settle in his stomach—hoping it might find a way to spread to his soul. 

Iakov had a key, the man catalogs, trying to fight his quivering fingers as you just can’t seem to look away from him with those eyes of yours. Does he have motive? Perhaps. We need to add him to the list regardless. I did not see any repeating faces from last night here unless they were in another room or waiting outside. 

Pale attention briefly pauses to the driver of the car, strong jaw clenching.

Drivers? Stylists? Who else could be here and not be noticed even by me? 

Eyes flash to the previous party again, back to the crunch of bone under his grip. Hands trailing flesh, ripped lace, and silk that pools at his dress shoes. The feral rubbing of a gun between two panting bodies. It should have been enough stress relief for the both of you—Nikto wasn’t lying when he equated the affair to something he could look past. He wasn’t new to flings; he considered himself a master of them in his youth. It wouldn’t have made him think any differently about the job, except for that one pin-pointed problem:

He was right behind us. 

Nikto’s mouth goes dry, anger brewing. He blinks to stare out the window, and your gaze is still present as if a knife to his throat.

It doesn’t leave once.

—

The hotel room is seeped in an eerie level of silence. 

You’d long since called Iakov—said a firm and swift answer of, “I’m done with the parties,” and hung up before the yelling could start again. 

You’re not even sure if you still have your job at AMA, but that’s for a later date, it seems. Not having an income was worse than the emotional turmoil that had settled right on your chest.

Leaning in the window seat of the bedroom, you keep your legs tucked in close to you with the curtain stuck at your back, head resting against the glass. White lights twinkle, but the places that aren’t illuminated are too dark to focus on—an amalgamation of shadows like a veil. The night was always difficult for you and your sight, but right now you think it’s best to just sit here and stare, even if it’s at nothing. 

Your eyes drag slowly along the thin view of the street below, feeling the cold seep in through the glass, softly easing the headache that pulses at your temple. 

“He’s…afraid of me?” The door to the room is slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the living room making its way in. Your face twists. “What does that mean?” 

You pose no threat to him without something like a gun, so it couldn’t be that. And what had changed since this morning? He’d let you lay next to him—see a part of his face. You’d traced his tattoo with willing fingers; Nikto hadn’t pushed you away then. 

What had happened? 

There’s a small squeak of the metal hinges of the bedroom door, and your head rises quickly. 

Nikto stands there, in only a white button-down shirt and his dress pants; normal mask re-stiuated. Blinking gently, a thick pause emanates before you glance down at his hands and see a soft display of an olive branch. 

The gruff hired gun holds a tiny, white, tea-cup. 

“Magnolia,” he huffs, not moving an inch as he motions with his hand, the ceramic material clinking. 

You stare, oversized shirt all to cover you besides your undergarments. You’d long since lost the sense of embarrassment of bare skin—particularly yours. 

Pale eyes slip to caress the image of your flesh bathed in the sliver of warm light, your curious eyes stuck on him as his feet re-situated themselves. 

“You remembered?” You ask, trying to sound casual beyond the surprise. 

Nikto blinks, voice muffled. “I do not forget when it comes to you,” he hums, accent thick. “Drink.”

Softly standing, your bare feet hit the coldness of the floor, yet you feel it little. Walking over to stand in front of him, your hand reaches only to bounce off the small tea plate instead, fingers flinching back lightly from the miscalculation. Your face heats, and you’re about to utter a quick apology before Nikto’s hand captures yours. 

Gasping under your breath, the warmth that seeps through his glove goes bone-deep as he manually wraps your digits around the handle. Nikto grunts in satisfaction and lets you take it to you, keeping the plate which he lowers his hand with.

After a moment, you clear your throat and say while staring down at the liquid, “Where did you get this?”

“Bag.” Your brows tighten.

He sighs gently. “We packed it. You forgot, yes?” 

“Oh,” you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t even realize I had left it behind. Thank you, Nikto.”

The Russian nods once, and then pivots to walk back to the living room, leaving you standing there as the sound of rummaging items in the kitchen echoes. Holding the mug, the tea rippling under your unsteady grasp, your head shakes itself in slow exasperation. The man wouldn’t talk about this unless you pushed him…but would that break the unsteady relationship you’d been trying to build?

“All of this is so confusing,” your lips mutter before your body follows after Nikto, slipping out into the light of the room as you blink rapidly in response. 

Locking sights on Nikto as he cleans up the counter, your form is wracked with an impending sense of nervousness. Damn him and his mask—you didn’t have something you could hide your emotions behind. 

It was times like these when you wished your mother was warm enough to ask advice from, that your father wasn’t back in the USA with limited involvement due to the peaceful contact order. You were alone here, except for Aly. But this was something that only a parent could help you with, and you were fresh out of those. You doubted that your mom knew everything going on—you weren’t about to tell her you’d allowed a ruthless killer to get you off in a storage room after you’d seen him snap a man's wrist back. 

Nor that you enjoyed it. 

It falls on me, your breath is thin as you breathe it down, steadily moving to set the teacup to one of the many tables holding useless decorations. You scowl at the boring interior design unconsciously before your focus locks in. 

What you had to do was bring up your points clearly and smoothly—

“Why are you standing there doing nothing,” your eyes widen as Nikto fluidly turns to look over his shoulder directly at you. His gaze narrows behind Kevlar and canvas. “If you want to say something, speak.”

“I want you to tell me what’s gotten you acting like a constipated bear,” you blurt out. 

It’s almost funny the way his eyes flinch. 

Nitko grinds out, “We do not understand.”

“You do,” you huff, crossing your arms as your voice bounces off the walls. “I don’t have infinite patience, believe it or not.” Inside of your sockets, you feel your gaze soften; voice lowering to the level you’d raised it. “I think I’ve been honest with you, Nikto. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. You know that. I need an explanation,” you take a breath, “and you’re going to give it to me.” 

Pale eyes move to the side, and you visibly see the large Russian’s body fighting itself both internally and externally. You had noticed a few things from the time you’d come under his protection, some obvious—Nikto valued cooking and a clean place to rest; he liked reading, and a silence built on mutual respect. Nikto’s fingers twitched when he was either nervous or trying to focus. He tilted his head when he needed to think. 

You liked to think that you knew him quite well, despite it all. You especially knew his fraying patience. 

Nikto’s shoulders roll, bones cracking from under the button-up. His masked face is the only thing he feels gives him protection. A cover. 

“It is not something,” the man begins slowly, trying to convince you, “that you need to concern yourself with.” 

Your lips thin out, feet taking you forward as you shiver from the cold of the hotel. 

“Nikto,” you utter again, softly knocking your side into the counter before you can stand in front of him yourself. He looks down at you, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. 

You know the horrors that live under that fabric. The great scars—the burns that had slipped into your dreams as you’d laid on his thigh like a child afraid of the dark. You can remember the dips of them under your fingertips; the trauma that bleeds still. 

You’d called him beautiful, and of course you had, but the very base of it still left you cold with a betraying sense of sickness. Same with the lower half of his face, which you’d only chosen to see a glance of. It was a deep rolling of your stomach. You cared more for the marks he had put on, willingly, himself; the tattoos. Dark ink.

But that didn’t stop you from reaching out to him—responding to that addictive pull that had always seemed to be there from the moment you’d first met him in the Consulate Building. 

Your fingers hover over Nikto’s pec, right above his heart as you swallow saliva and stare with parted lips. Piercing eyes give way to nothing, but there’s a knowledge in the heart that beats above your waiting touch. 

You tilt your head and wait silently.

Nikto’s pulse moves his flesh, and he can feel every drop of blood under his skin. 

“It does not need to be explained to you,” he tries again, his firm words now only comparable to the sensation of rocks thrown along the sand. Salt-stained throat raw as your fingers brush his shirt. “Seraph,” Nikto attempts a tone of authority.

“Call me by the other one,” you mutter, and it’s pathetic the way he responds to your request in that hotel kitchen. Like a soldier following an order. A whining little dog beholden to a white-lace collar.

“Птичка.”

Your smile makes him want to rip himself away from you and take a cold shower, maybe stare at his scars; even break his mind again before it slips away to thoughts of your curling lips and your shining eyes. 

“That’s it,” you whisper, and your hand flattens over his heart as his gaze breaks away to the simple contact, blinking in confusion as his flesh pulls tight. “That’s the one.” 

But he was more surprised when he didn’t flinch rather than when he shivered. 

It’s only after a small moment of nothing that he lets himself bathe in the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume as it slips under his mask. A mask that has seen far too much death for you to bear. Then he’d want you to bear.

Your words make his bones ache.

“Tell me,” you urge, as perfect as a bird’s dew-coated feathers.

Nikto’s vision is stuck only to you, and his greatest fear is that this is all it will ever be bound to—not by honor, the man had no such thing, but by utter devotion. There was no lying about it now as his lips parted, those cut and torn-up things like a ragged jigsaw puzzle of pain. He cares not about soulmates or brain trauma. Blood or bile.

He cares about the sound a silent grave will make when his bones are the ones that chain themselves to rest beside yours. 

Mutt.

Now that, maybe, would seem an honor-coated title to carve into his corpse, but only if it was in reference to his affection for you.

“Picture,” Nikto grinds out, fighting to step closer to the addictive sensation of your touch. The warmth. The pound of blood. You listen silently, and not once do those eyes separate.

“Sent to my phone.” He pauses, and suddenly his voice is very low—you can feel it in your chest as it rumbles the walls, the floors; the bedroom door. It’s difficult to say how you feel when he explains it to you, there’s something relieving in knowing, though. Yet, it still makes your throat close in on itself. “Of us.”

“From the stalker?” You ask, already knowing the answer but hoping it might have just been a fluke. 

Pale eyes don’t blink.

“Да. From him.”

You take a large breath, nodding as your fingers quiver over Nikto’s dress shirt, creasing the fabric slightly. He takes a quick glance down at them again, and his own twitch at his sides.

“...Don’t tell me the details?”

“Never,” the Russian sighs, clenching his jaw. “Я бы этого не сделал. We did not want to explain, regardless.” 

You shrug as well as you’re able, hand beginning to slowly slide off of him. “Still,” your lips pull into a steady smirk, though it lacks enough amusement to make it convincing. “I’m glad you told me—I was getting worried that it might have been by fault you were acting strange.” 

“My emotions are,” Nikto struggles for the correct word in English, grunting as his mouth closes under his mask. He glares at the wall behind you as if a toddler without a snack.

You tilt your skull, tiny chuckles wafting out of your mouth. 

“Stuck, Big Guy?”

“Enough,” he grumbles, feet re-situating themselves from under him. 

Your hand is only a millimeter away from his flesh before his grip finds your wrist and brings it back, digits caressing to press into your pulse. You blink quickly, air getting stalled in your nose. 

Nikto’s eyes slowly dip to stare at your hand, and you notice the shades even more clearly now that you’re so close to him—though they’d always just be pale gray to you, there were moments when you wondered the true color. A silly dream, seeing as you wouldn’t know how that color would look anyway, but, still. 

The Russian’s large fingers turn your wrist. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters. If having your bodyguard check your pulse was something that you found attractive, now was only the realization of it. 

Your face suddenly feels like you’re walking on the sun, and a small noise in the back of your throat makes Nikto’s attention leave the fast thump of your blood.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Your breathless question eases out past your lips like a soft flutter of wings. 

“Hm,” Nikto hums, and you can also see his throat bobbing. His hold squeezes, his face looming just the tiniest bit closer to yours. 

The Russian takes a chest-rising inhale and speaks.

“I am not good,” he mutters, eyes moving the dips and drags of your face—it feels like his gaze is touching you when he stares like that; studying your visage as if he’d be tested on it. “We are not…” He blinks, and his pupils are small voids of inky corruption. “Perfect.” 

You wonder how often he’d found you in his mind, and feel both foolish and hopelessly lost in his shadow.

“I never said you were,” you murmur back, seeing the wickedness in his heart. Painted on his skin. “I think it’s lovely.” 

Here is where this should end—you’d both had your fun previously. You’d been sipping your sugar water like a little hummingbird; reveling in the intimacy of that storage room. You should be thinking about the stalker, about your job, about what will happen tomorrow when you open your eyelids to light through the curtains. 

Not about how Nikto’s fingers would feel digging into your hips. Not the panting of fast breaths. Not how the color of his eyes would be, perhaps, the most beautiful shade you could ever hope to imagine in your damaged brain. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, body light. He’s as still as a statue above you, not saying a thing. “What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

And then you’re being picked up as if a doll by the back of your thighs and hefted up with a throaty huff akin to a boar. Your forehead connects with his, and your arms wrap his neck to hang off with crossed wrists. 

“Blue?” Your legs tighten around his waist, squeezing as the man’s nose pushes into yours. Breath bounces off the mask, your eyes flutter at the firm press of fabric prodding at your underwear. You fight a small whine, bodies tight to one another. “Your hair?”

“Brown,” is the puff from under the mask, and tiny pupils dilate the longer you hold eye contact.

Your hips roll, and Nikto’s strained grunt reverberates against your chest. “Tell me it in Russian.”

“Карие.” He growls, fingertips digging into your flesh like the teeth of a bear trap. Nikto thumps past the place where you’d set your tea, completely forgotten by everyone just like the previous tension was. 

When the two of you were together, things managed to get out of hand quickly—at least, emotionally-wise. You both were utterly hopeless, just as the room was now far from the cold monochrome wash of white. It was bathed in spraying sparks lit behind your eyes when one of Nikto’s hands staples itself to the base of your back, just above the curve of your tailbone, and angles your core further into the growing prod of his erection. 

You gasp as your pelvis jerks, face twisting up with your pulse impossibly increasing. 

“You are curious,” Nikto pants, pushing past the bedroom door with a shoulder as the handle smashes into the wall. Not that you care. “You push me, Woman. Leave my head loose and my body aching.” You feel the way your core burns, aches, nearly, as your underwear gets wet with the anticipation of flesh. 

Your lips sear Nikto’s soul when they push to the canvas of his mask—just as they had in the storage room though now it’s harder to feel. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Big Guy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, eyes half-lidded. 

That pull between the two of you only seems to increase as you’re dropped back to the bed, head pointedly planned to slap a pillow as you involuntarily gasp. Your shirt is ruffled up to your breasts, and the sheets are around you like a cocoon of expensive finery—eyes darting to Nikto, you find his gaze easily standing beside the bed. 

He stares at you like you’re the greatest meal ever placed in front of him. Forget the items he cooks, forget the things he’d eaten, even forget the way it satisfies him; nothing could compare to even the thought of what he now has. 

You’re staring at a man with blood on his hands and wishing he would spread you open already. 

Nikto’s chest bounces with a pleased noise, gaze shifting to study your bare legs and arms—the stain that coats your underwear, spreading by the second as your thighs tighten in on themselves to trap the chill. Your face is on fire, and your lungs heave.

His ravaged hand grasps at your knee, coaxing them back open as he says a simple order with a raw voice, “Keep them open.” 

You’re not embarrassed with how you listen, letting the limbs be forced back to display your instinctual need to the large Russian. Your thin whine is choked back as his fingers run up and down your clothed core, teasing. 

Nikto chuckles, and you shiver. 

“We do like it,” he breathes out in response to your previous comment. Pale eyes dart to find and lock with yours—not leaving as his index and middle finger find your clit, pressing firmly and lightly rocking up and down. Your hips jerk as you bite on a shocked moan, relishing in the sudden ricochets of electricity that run your bones. 

Head tilting back, you bite your lip and pant out, “Nikto, yes.”

His fingers leave just as quickly as the words do you, and your desperate eyes move with near pain until your hand darts to grapple onto Nikto’s wrist like a cat. He lets you try and guide him back firmly, to no avail, before you grit your teeth and glare at him, opening your mouth.

Yet, the Russian’s hidden face finds your ear with no trouble and leaves your upcoming words frozen.

“But we like it better when you are too choked on pleasure to think at all.” 

Nikto moves back, taking his other hand and making yours release him before he steps away. He blinks, watching your aroused state as you stutter over your sentence; smirking to himself and tilting his head as if you’re an exhibit in a museum. The man grunts, now free grip able to slide to his belt slowly and fiddle with the buckle.

“Y-you’re horrible,” you grumble, eyes unable to stay on the image for long before you have to slash it away so you can breathe. The clinking of metal

“We did warn you,” Nikto pauses, his voice so laced with smugness that it seemed an insult. “Птичка.” 

Your lower body shifts, trying to satiate the urge for stimulation. 

Breathing heavily, you raise your forearm and put it over your eyes, expression tight as you try and focus. Your ears twitch to Nikto’s steady undressing, hearing the pull of dress pants and the unclipping of a thigh holster. Each sound sends a pulse directly to your weeping slit, and it becomes so strong that Nikto can only watch as your other hand slips under the elastic of your panties. 

He stops himself instantly, his eyes pulling back as he pauses. Slipped out of everything besides his shirt, boxers, and obviously his mask, Nikto’s shoulders tense wildly at the sight in front of him.

Your body is tight as you begin to breathe heavier, lips slightly open as your fingers idly roll your bundle of nerves a bit harder. Hips jerking every so often, your fingers stretch the fabric of your garment as your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, jaw clenching and eyes closed from under your forearm. 

Nikto is firmly planted, the firmness in his boxers now seemingly to a point of no return—his fingers twitched to dig into your skin, his eyes stuck to how you were playing with yourself. Clothed in only a large shirt that was bunching up further to allow a glimpse of your breasts and hearing those tiny little noises escape your mouth…

“Harder,” Nikto grunts, his own hand slipping into his boxers as he hisses in pleasure at the state of himself. Firm in his grip as he wraps his fingers around the hot pulse of his cock, groaning when his thumb slips along his tip to collect the beads of pre-cum.

Your breath hitches and through your soft pants, you sigh as your arm slides, “I think I know how to—”

Your fingers twitch harshly as your eyes flutter open to lock onto the scene in front of you, causing you to moan before it strangles off with a quick noise in your throat. Eyes wide, you watch Nikto begin jerking himself off one slow stroke at a time, his thighs tense as his other hand moves to unbutton his shirt one at a time.

There was something so inherently intimate about seeing the other in the throws of self-pleasure, half-clothed and desperate for something that can’t be named. The chain of events was building, and some concerns needed to be addressed, but it isn’t fair to have to put your life on hold for them—necessary, yes, eventually. But Nikto’s eyes were so hellishly pale, and your hands were shaking, and the scent of sex was permeating inside of your nose. It’s different than the storage room, it’s hinged on the knowledge that this bear of a man is afraid of you, which in and of itself is unfathomable, and that he was in such a sour mood simply because he had been trying, once more, to spare you from the unseen threat. 

He had done it with the birds in the box, he’d done it when you’d gotten the first pictures sent to you, and he did it every time he let you hang off of his arm. 

You push your digits across your clit harder and whine out as Nikto’s open dress shirt slips to his waist, the cuffs rolled up as bare skin meets the darkness of the room. That sliver of light from the door was all that was needed, the barrier having slowly crawled its way back from where the Russian had shoved it, to witness the bulge and dip of scar tissue—the shades of hyperpigmentation. 

And you wanted to drag your nails along all of them.

“Смотреть на себя,” Nikto’s chest heaves, the bulk of his frame just the same as when you’d touched along his back. His hand inside of his boxers stutters, and his eyes flinch closed for a moment, masked face tilted. “Хорошим слушателем. Good for us, hm?”

“Touch me,” you ask, unconsciously mirroring Nikto’s pace as the sensitivity of your core heightens, leaking out to stain your underwear to the point it’s no use to keep them after this. Your spine is tight—begging to be arched just as your cunt begs to be filled. It tightens over nothing, and you whimper with a push of thin breath. “Please, Nikto, you filled me so well last time.”

His eyes glint, that Russian pride bleeding to fill the cup in his abdomen. Nikto smirks, but you can’t see it above the large hand that goes to grip your face, angling it to him as his other hand continues with the wet slapping of his cock. You want to see it—you want to watch it. Damn him he’s making this into a game of cat and mouse.

“What is that? You like when we fill your tight cunt, Птичка?”

Your face burns, and your eyes study his own as your pace below increases—rotting wood taking root beside sweat and pheromones. 

Nikto’s grip squeezes and you hear the rutting of flooded skin more clearly as he looms over your body, both fucking yourselves for no other reason than liking the sight and the sounds of the other.

“Answer.”

“Yes,” you stutter, unable to stop the thin noises from your mouth that follow—the cord in your abdomen pulling until taunt. “God, yes.”

“Not God,” the Russian chuckles before he groans, forehead connecting with yours as it rocks to the rabid abuse of his own hand, trying to imagine the sensation of your walls against them instead of his calloused fist. Your flesh would be softer than his ever could be, and the knowledge of that is enough to reduce him to a mindless beast. His breath hitches tightly, his hand moving rapidly, unconcerned about how fast his release is finding him just by hearing your little pleas. “No, Seraph, there is no God in this room.”

When he drinks down the sounds you give him he feels your body tense one final time, your lips flattening as your eyes flutter—only seconds away from your orgasm, perhaps. 

Nikto’s hands leave your face, and so does his forehead. You barely notice, truth be told until it’s not a second later that fingers are gripping the hand down your panties and dragging it out just as your hips begin rising off the bed. 

“No!” Your desperate keen echoes off the walls, eyes snapping open to rip your head down to the scene. Nikto was lacking his shirt, boxers are gone, and as he staples your arm beside your head, his body drags itself atop yours until his weight is as firm as stone. “Nikto, why did you—?”

“Hush,” he utters, knocking your leg up over his hip in a swift thrust that leaves the leaking tip of his dick prodding against your sopping cunt. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, painting only to have your breasts shove into a sweaty chest.

“So close,” you beg, the feeling of your release draining away, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied. 

Your hips roll in a play to find friction, and the feeling of Nikto’s happy trail seems promising as you grind up into it, but there’s only so much you can do when the man’s other hand snags your waist and pushes you down.

You glare heatedly up into blown and smug eyes. 

You know better than to ask him to remove the mask, and now that you look at it, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was something alluring in those eyes, set into the dark void around them, deadly and numb, yet showing more emotions than anyone else would be able to tell besides you. 

“Let us help,” Nikto pushes himself up, grinding into your core as your glare breaks away into blown need. “I have something better than fingers. Show you how good it can be, yes? Show how you are supposed to be treated, Little Bird.”

Your hands slide up to his shoulder blades and he groans under his breath, taking in the sensation of nails along flesh, catching on the scars until they settle. Had he not imagined this before? Had he not fantasized? Desired? Sinful, yes, but he’d do it again if he could still feel the wet fluids of your arousal coating his abdomen. If this was the outcome of Nikto becoming locked in his own stoic emotions, there was a part of him that was greedy because of it.

There was no possible way that this was going to continue…right? 

His ears twitch to your voice as your legs shift to wrap the top of his hips, dragging his pelvis ever closer until he’s fighting the wave of agony by not having your cunt pulse around him. 

On your part, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.

“Then show me.”

It’s easy to slip the tip of himself inside of you—there’s enough fluid to render even the thought of dry friction impossible. Nikto's body shudders at the sensation, though it’s only a small portion of what you both need.

Your head rocks back, fingertips digging into the Russian’s shoulders as you both curse at the stretch of your folds. You hadn’t been able to gawk at the build of the man tonight—both too desperate for release—but thinking about how he gives small thrusts to help himself along, his eyes not moving from you unless to blink, you’d safely say he was well-endowed.

“Fuck,” your lips quiver, sweat at your brow. Through the whimper, you moan, a large thumb finding your clit and rolling as the sound of squelching echoes between the groans and whines. You’re both nothing but damn animals. “Could have,” you gasp, and Nikto stops before you shake your head and pull him closer. “Could have given a girl a warning, Big Guy.”

His strained chuckle only makes your core welcome him more, and the feeling of textured veins and warm flesh steadily driving itself home was addicting. Sex had never felt as fun as this. As safe.

Nikto made it safe.

“Apologies,” he grunts out, great form above you before you feel the nested base of his pelvis connect with yours. 

You both shake and your face is open with a pleasure-driven emotion as the Russian slides his head to your shoulder, his breath echoing from under his mask into your ear. He licks his lips, grip on your waist and arm pulsing with steady intervals of—tense, release, tense, release…

“Are you—”

“Fucking hell, please start moving,” you gasp out, grinding into him as the string on Nikto’s caution flees like a loose animal. 

His hand travels back from your waist to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, and as he staples his forehead to yours, he grinds out a quiet, “да,” and moves himself out of you nearly all the way as your eyes roll to the feeling. 

When the bed starts knocking the wall, there’s little to the imagination as to what’s taking place, and the steadily rising sounds mean nothing as sheets rustle and skin slaps faster, both sensitive from such near releases earlier. There are mutters in Russian, fast, harsh things that hold no venom—slow mutters that make your legs go numb long after both of you had finished. 

Nikto was right: for such a brute, he did know how to treat a woman. Well, maybe he just knew how to treat you right. 

Multiple times.

TAGS:

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[xzinbdg]

oh dad? idk

synopsis: yn as a single mother never really wanted to look for the father it was just a one time thing at a party and she was doing alright by herself but ever since her daughter turned four she started asking questions that even she doesn't know the answer to.

as soon as you texted sunghoon your next step had to be telling haru what's going to happen. the only problem was that you weren't sure how to approach the situation. haru was a smart little girl but that didn't change the fact that she was only 4 years old. would she understand what you're trying to say? well no matter what you still had to tell her. you made your way to the living room where your daughter watched the tv.

- hi baby

- hi mommy - the little girl smiled upon seeing you

- there's something mommy has to tell you so please focus on mommy okay? - haru nodded and shifted her attention towards you.

- there's someone very special that you will meet today, it's your daddy - haru's smile grew as she listened to your words

- daddy? - she said happily.

- yes, so let's start getting ready okay? - you said smiling and in a minute the little girl was already running to her room to pick the prettiest outfit.

to say that sunghoon was nervous was an understatement. as he started getting ready his mind went blank for a minute. what if she doesn't like me? what if she cried because I wasn't there for her when she was growing up? then his mind went even further "what if im a bad dad?" he quickly tried to get rid of those thoughts and finish getting ready.

as your car reached the parking lot your heart started speeding up.

- mommy are we here?

- yes honey - you couldn't help but smile at your excited daughter.

sunghoon was already waiting at a table for you two. nervous as ever looking at all the people coming in hoping to see your face quickly. and finally he sees you and the little girl holding your hand looking around. he got up and waved to you. seeing him you signal your daughter that it's her father, and their eyes meet. sunghoon doesn't even realize that he's crying until you ask him what's wrong.

- ah it's alright, i guess the emotions kinda got to me - he says wiping his tears and crouching down to the little girl now hiding behind you because of shyness.

- hello haru - sunghoon says - i'm your daddy - he sends her a smile and she smiles back.

- hi daddy - she looks up to you and you signal her to hug her dad which she excitingly does and sunghoon hugs her back immediately. the three of you enjoyed nice dinner with your daughter asking sunghoon a ton of questions that he was more then happy to answer.

- should we go get some ice cream? of course if your mom says yes - both of them looking at you in anticipation.

- let's go - you smiled.

you have to admit that the sight in front of you was something you had secret dreams about. it's not like you had troubles with haru by yourself but seeing her with her dad was a happy sight. and you're glad that she likes him which did kind of surprise you. haru was always very shy in front of strangers and it took a long time for her to open up but with sunghoon she was very open from the start. maybe it's because he's her dad?

chapter 10 - hello

previous ☆ next ☆ masterlist

author's note: they met 🥹 ngl i kinda felt emotional writing this... 😭💕 yns last tweet 👀

genre: smau, crack, strangers to lovers, parents au

pairing: sunghoon x mother!reader

taglist: @softiehee @beomgyusonlywife @cha3w0n-hearts @mixtape-racha @viagumi @electrobutterfly @alwayswook @smg-valeria @enharts @fantastichoagieuniversityhairdo @lhsvibez @they2luv1naia @oopshee @cyberstephzz @oshakyao @enhaz1 @papichulomacy @tobiosbbyghorl @ikeusimp @msauthor @heeheesang @hyunjinheartbreakprince @mnxnii @junnysbae @enhacolor @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @danielleism @d-dilemma @dummyf @missychief1404 @sumzysworld @randomanothercreature @jung1w0n @nujeskz @moonshoon @seunghancore @nshmrarki @whateverhoon

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Eleven: Fall Into Me and I'll Catch You Darlin'

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 5k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings. Joel is his own warning. Angst/despair, fluff, smut - this chapter has the works. Please excuse my lack of medical knowledge. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

This is it, folks, the final chapter! Just the epilogue left now. Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. I have fallen in love with this little family and I hope you have as well.

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Ten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Four days. Joel hadn’t left your bedside in four days, so immovable that the nurses took pity on him and asked an orderly to setup a cot for him in your hospital room.

You still hadn’t regained consciousness and Joel was losing his god damned mind over it.

The list of your injuries a mile long, among them a bunch of broken things – ankle, nose, ribs, wrist. That’s what you were right now, broken, and you had a hard road to recovery ahead of you. Joel agonized over your condition, freaking out when you had to go back into surgery shortly after coming out of it the first time. He’d barely laid eyes on you before they hauled you away again, machines beeping chaotically at whatever went wrong. You developed a hemorrhage, the doctor later told him, but they caught it in time.

Joel hadn’t stopped crying in four days, except for a brief time when Sarah was discharged. He held her for hours, trying his best not to smother or hurt her as she sat on his lap next to your bed. Aside from a purple cast on Sarah’s broken wrist, her limited injuries were already healing. Joel’s worry over his sweet little girl lessened a bit and he trusted Tommy, your dad, and your best friend, Emily, to watch over her while he sat vigil at your bedside. They brought Sarah by to see you twice a day, every day so far. Still, you hadn’t woken up.

He lost it the first time Sarah saw you lying there, barely recognizable from the injuries you sustained. Face bruised and swollen, body wrapped in casts or dressings. Sarah worried that you were dying, nearly inconsolable at the thought that you might die, might leave her, and her dad, forever. She couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing the only mom she’d ever known, ever wanted.

Joel had to leave the room at his daughter’s visceral expression of the pain she felt, her inconsolable weeping a reflection of his own anguish. He left Tommy to deal with it, and slid down the wall in the hallway, just a little way down from your room, shoulders shaking from the strength of his own sobs as the sound of Sarah’s caterwauling carried through the air. JB was the only one who could reach him through his pain, the understanding of one father for another as they both shed endless tears over you. He sat next to Joel, right there in the hallway, and wept with him, whispering words of praise of how strong you were, how much you loved them all, how you would pull through.

Joel fought hard to believe those words, to trust in JB’s hope as he was quickly losing his. He raged inside at how unfair life could be until he exhausted himself emotionally and fell into a dreamless daze in the cot next to you. When the sun rose above the horizon, he stopped trying to sleep, stopped pretending that he could while you remained unconscious.

“Come on, son. Go home and shower, take a nap in a real bed. You haven’t slept in days. I’ll watch over Spud, and you’ll be my first call if anything happens,” JB insisted the morning of day 5 at the sight of heavy bags beneath the younger man’s eyes.

Opening his mouth to argue, to adamantly refuse, Joel snapped it shut at the concerned look on your dad’s face. He gave into the exhaustion then, all the fight fleeing him, and he stood with shoulders hunched. He was completely deflated, emotionally and physically. “Ok, you’re right. I at least need a shower.”

“That you do. I could smell you down the hall.” Joel’s lips twitched at JB’s comedic effort, but he didn’t have it in him to smile or laugh. “Go on, git. Emily’s at your house with Sarah. She’ll stay while you nap – please try to get some sleep. I don’t want to see you for at least three hours, ya hear me, son?”

Joel nodded and kissed the small spot on your face free of bruising, slinking from the room with one last glance over his shoulder at you. He noticed how your dad kept calling him son – a new development since the accident and it warmed his heart in a way that he sorely needed during this torturous time.

The drive home a blur, his limbs functioning on muscle memory alone, Joel stumbled through the front door of his home with just enough energy to great Emily and Sarah.

“Joel!” Emily exclaimed, jumping from her spot on the couch to pull him into a tight hug. She adored him from the first second you introduced them, finding the man dreamy in that way that was a perfect match for you. It tore her apart to see him falling to pieces over your current condition. “JB commanded that I send you right to bed. Give Sarah a kiss then git goin’.”

Too drained to be disgruntled about being given orders in his own house, he swept Sarah up with tired limbs, ever mindful of her cast. “Hey baby girl. I love you. Have you been good for Miss Emily?”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m always good. Is she any better?” Sarah asked in her sweet, young voice that pulled taut at his heartstrings.

“Not yet,” Joel choked on the words, unable to fight the tears stinging the back of his eyes at his daughter’s worried face. He set her down on the couch before trudging up the stairs. Aching to climb into bed – as empty and cold as it would be without you – but he jumped into the shower first to wash the past few days away.

If only it was that easy.

Joel collapsed on the unmade bed, barely managing to throw a pair of sleep pants on after the quick shower. He was dead asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

An hour later, he pried his eyes open, clutching to the warm body clinging to him. For a brief moment, his mind thought it just another normal morning waking up to you at his side. Reality crashed down on him, hard, before he even had the chance to enjoy the thought. Sarah’s frame clung to him like a spider monkey in her sleep. She must have joined him for a nap at some point and was still out cold.

Her steady breathing lulled him back to sleep for another couple hours until Emily woke him with a shout. Joel bolted upright at the echo of his name, heart thumbing in his chest as he jostled Sarah in the process.

“Joel!” Emily called again as she reached the top of the stairs and peeked into his bedroom. “She’s awake!”

Mind still fighting through the fog to wake up, he stared at your best friend with owlish eyes.

“JB just called. She’s awake! You gotta get back to the hospital!” Emily stepped fully into the room, tossing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt at him to get him moving.

“Dad!” Sarah’s uninjured hand nudging him into action as she exclaimed. “Can I come with you?”

Finally, Joel’s mind kicked into gear. You were awake. He had to see you, but first, he needed to get dressed. “Not yet, baby girl. Lemme see how she’s doing and maybe you can see her tomorrow. We don’t want to overwhelm her, okay?”

Flopping back onto the mattress with a pout, Sarah muttered, “Okay,” as Joel eased out of bed with a groan.

It started with muscle twitches. Fingers flexing. A small grimace creasing your battered face. The process to consciousness was a daunting one that ended with fighting against the intubation tube. Even once a nurse came in and removed the tube, you still fought to come fully back to yourself.

“Dad?” Throat dry and raw, you could do little more than croak despite the rising panic. Your eyes darted around the room in confusion, landing first on your dad before taking in the plain white walls and clinical equipment. You were in the hospital, that much was obvious, but you couldn’t recall why. A thick fog wove through your mind, leaving you trying to make sense of anything, everything.

“Hey Spud. Sleeping beauty finally awakens,” your dad teased, his voice gentle but, even with a foggy brain, you picked up on the worried undertone.

“What happened?” It hurt to talk but you needed to know.

“You don’t remember? Of course you don’t, you got a pretty good knock to the head,” he muttered half to himself before tenderly taking your hand between both of his. “You and Sarah were hit by a drunk driver. Does that ring a bell?”

Like a light bulb coming on, things came back to you, brightening the dark corners of your memory. The ride home from school, going to get ice cream, the sudden and unexpected impact as you proceeded through a green light, the car rolling once, twice, then… nothing. With the memory came your brain’s recognition of pain and your body’s aches made themselves well known.

Everything hurt.

Seriously, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, to lie still. It hurt to just fucking exist.

“Oh my God, Sarah? Is she okay? Where is she? Where is Joel?” You glanced around the room as if waiting for them jump out from behind something, the panic returning as you gulped for air.

“Calm down, honey. The little nugget is okay. She’s home, Emily’s watching over her now. Joel’s on his way back. I’ll let him tell you how she is, but just know that she’s fine.” JB spoke in short, clipped sentences, not wanting to overwhelm you further, one grizzled hand stroking your hair back like he did when you were sick as a kid.

You tried to sit up but abandoned that idea the moment the room spun, the throbbing pain too much. Fuck, your face hurt like hell.

“Don’t do that, Spud. While Sarah might be okay, you were seriously injured. I’ll let the doctor explain when he comes in, but you shouldn’t try moving or anything just yet. You’re pretty banged up,” he explained softly.

You met your dad’s eyes, and you could see at once the toll your condition took on him. You had so many questions, but you couldn’t process them quite yet. The pair of you sat quietly for a little while until the doctor joined you, explaining the laundry list of injuries you sustained. No wonder everything hurt. They gave you more medicine for the pain now that you regained consciousness – you couldn’t believe you were out for so long – and things started to make more sense in your brain.

You’d be stuck in the hospital for a few more days before the doctor would even think about discharging you. As much as hospitals sucked, you knew it best you stay put when you couldn’t even sit up with collapsing back in pain.

Joel burst into the room shortly after the doctor left. Sipping at a cup of water your dad held for you, you nearly choked at the sight of him. You’d never seen him look so disheveled, so run down, his normal scruff grown out into a near full beard after a week of not shaving, eyes bloodshot and sunken, curls a messy, wild halo around his head.

“Oh darlin’,” Joel said as you attempted to smile at him. The bandages covering portions of your face and the swelling from the repaired break in your nose made it hard, but your eyes sparkled with happiness at the sight of him.

“Hi Joel,” you croaked in return.

He practically launched himself at your side, knocking JB out of the way so he could sit bedside. Hands hovering, afraid to touch, tears glistened in his eyes. “I was so fuckin’ scared. Thought I was gonna lose you.”

Tears sprung to your own dry eyes as the fingers of your uninjured hand tangled with his. The mere tickle of tears in your nose was damn near excruciating. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Startled, Joel’s dark chocolate eyes searched your face, completely baffled. “Darlin’, what? What in the world are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You blubbered as Joel and your dad stared at you bewildered. “I almost got Sarah killed!”

Joel cracked a smile then, the first one in nearly a week, before leaning forward to place a tender kiss upon your chapped lips. “The hell you did. You didn’t do anything but take care of her. None of this was your fault, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t shake the guilt though, not even days later when the doctor discharged you. Sweet, little Sarah waited for you with a bright smile and a mylar ballon that read Welcome Home as Joel and JB helped you into the house. The sight of the purple cast on her right wrist wiped the smile from your face. How could Joel not see that this was all your fault?

You could hardly hug the girl as guilt overwhelmed you.

Emily and Tommy stood behind Sarah as you wobbled through the front door, smiles not hiding the winces at the healing trauma on your face. Emily could tell at once that you were on the verge of breaking down, unable to take your eyes from the healing contusions on Sarah’s adorable face or the cast on her wrist.

Stepping forward, Emily pulled you into a hug, ever mindful of your healing ribs and incisions. “It’s so good to see you awake and in one piece!” she whispered in your ear. “None of this was your fault, you know that right?”

She knew you too well. You choked on a sob, burying your head in her shoulder for several minutes until you had your emotions back under control.

“Do you wanna sign my cast? Daddy got special markers for it! I wouldn���t let anyone else sign it before you came home.” Sarah held a silver Sharpie up for you, flashing those puppy dog eyes at you. Unable to deny her, you took the marker with a trembling hand and drew a heart on the topside of the cast, your name scrawled sloppily beneath it.

Delighted, Sarah handed Joel the marker next and, with a quick glance at you, printed his name above the heart you drew, adding Sarah’s next to yours so that it now read Joel hearts you & Sarah. The tears returned when both Sarah and Joel gazed at you with unabashed affection.

Perhaps they really did not blame you for the accident, for Sarah’s broken wrist, for all that you put them through in the past week and a half. You weren’t sure if you deserved their love, but you basked in it, allowing it to wash over you and heal your soul.

Six weeks of convalescing at home under the tender care of Joel and Sarah, and you finally felt like yourself again, emotionally, and physically. It took a while, but Joel managed to convince you to set free the irrational guilt you felt over the accident, aided by the news that the drunk driver pleaded guilty.

Wanting to celebrate your recovery and the removal of your and Sarah’s casts, Joel planned a small gathering for July 4th. Just the Millers, JB, Emily and her husband, and Maria – the attorney Tommy fell head over heels for last year finally gave into his advances and they were happily living together now. She was a gem and fell right in with the group, giving as good as she got.

“Darlin’, just put that down, I’ll get it,” Joel insisted as you pulled a plate full of raw steaks from the fridge.

“Joel, I’m not a delicate little flower who will break under the weight of a few steaks,” you teased lovingly. Placing the plate on the counter, you turned to Joel and slipped your arms around his neck. Fingers threading through his curls, you pulled his head down, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

Joel’s large hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass as the kiss intensified. “Mmmm, I love you, darlin’,” his deep voice rumbled against your mouth. A knock sounded on the front door as he placed another kiss on your lips. “Now, let me take care of this while you welcome our guests.”

Before long, everyone gathered in the backyard. Your dad, Joel, and Emily’s husband Ed stood around the grill while Joel cooked the steaks and Sarah showed off her swimming skills to Maria and Tommy. You and Emily sat on the patio with glasses of sangria just watching everyone you love.

“I know I’ve said it a million times already but thank you again for being there for them after the accident,” you said as you watched Joel manning the grill with confidence. “I know it couldn’t have been easy and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.”

“Always, that’s what friends are for.” Emily smiled at you. “You really got somethin’ good here, you know. That man, he was a complete wreck while you were in the hospital. And that little girl, she worships the ground you walk on. Those two would do anything for you and I know you would do anything for them.”

You heard from your dad how hard Joel struggled while you were in the hospital, how he barely slept, refused to leave your side. Emily reiterated it all and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would have done the same if anything happened to him or Sarah.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you said after taking a sip of the fruity red wine concoction. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”

“That’s good, really good.” Too busy making googly eyes at Joel, you missed the knowing look Emily shot you.

“She can’t keep her eyes off you, son,” JB teased. “You ready to do the thing?”

“What thing is that?” Ed asked curiously.

“Imma ask her to marry me,” Joel mumbled, already feeling a little nervous. “I got the ring in my pocket, just waiting for the right moment.”

“Good on ya, man!” Ed replied. Turning to JB, he added, “I take it he has your blessing?”

Nodding, JB grinned at his future son-in-law as he replied, “He sure as hell does. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to take care of my little Spud.”

A flush rose along Joel’s neck and moved onto his cheeks at the praise. “Alright, alright. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I don’t wanna risk her overhearing something. I want it to be a surprise.”

The other two men nodded in understanding. “Just one last thing,” Ed said. “You should ask her during the fireworks. I brought my good camera; I’ll make sure to get great shots of it for you and the fireworks will just add to the ambiance.”

The steaks were grilled to perfection, Joel nailing that medium rare sear that you loved, and Maria’s macaroni salad was a hit. Once everyone devoured their food, you jumped into the pool, letting the water ease the lingering ache in your bones while your dad and Emily insisted on helping Joel clean up. Before long, everyone else joined you in floating around to kill time before the town’s fireworks show began. The house was perfectly situated to see them from a distance, so you didn’t have to fight the traffic to find parking in town to see the show.

Drinking in the sight of Joel shirtless, swim trunks sitting low on his hips, you licked your lips hungrily. He dove into the deep end of the pool, swimming underwater until he reached you in the shallow end. Popping up next to you, he slicked his wet curls back from his forehead with a grin. Fuck, he was handsome.

“Hey beautiful,” Joel greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

Smile so broad your cheeks hurt, you nodded. “Today has been wonderful, thank you, Joel. This was exactly what I needed.”

“I’d do anything for you, darlin’. You know that, right?” he implored, pulling you close so that you could wrap your legs around his waist beneath the water’s surface. “I’ve never been so in love before. You have completely changed my world.”

“I could say the same about you, babe.”

“The fireworks are gonna start soon. Watch to watch them from the patio?”

“Sure,” you replied. So caught up in Joel, you didn’t notice everyone watching you both with broad smiles as the two of you climbed out of the pool.

Settling into one of the cushioned outdoor chairs, the soft glow of the string lights from that special date all those months ago glistening on your damp skin. Joel moved his chair closer and sat, holding his right hand out for yours, he grinned when you twined your fingers with his.

Suddenly, Tommy appeared in front of you both, carrying a fresh glass of sangria for you and an ice-cold beer for Joel. “Here you both go.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you said gratefully.

“You ready?” he asked, his dark eyes glowing warmly in the low lighting.

“For the fireworks?” you replied, slightly confused. “You bet!”

Tommy smiled indulgently, sharing a look with Joel before moving to the poolside to help his girlfriend out of the water.

Glancing around at your friends and family, you found everyone watching the two of you. You had the feeling something was up, that there was something you were missing. Before you could dwell on it, the first bursts of light exploded in the sky, the whistling boom echoing distantly.

Mesmerized by the show, oohing and ahhing with everyone, you didn’t see Joel slip from his seat to kneel next to you. As the finale began, he said your name, drawing your attention away from the sky.

An audible gasp left your lips as he gazed at you, love lighting up his tanned features. Your eyes darted around the yard to find everyone watching you instead of the fireworks, Ed snapping away with that fancy camera of his.

“Joel, what—” you began breathlessly before he cut you off.

“Do you remember that song we danced to, right here in the yard, beneath these very lights?” His smooth voice gave no hints of the nervous energy flowing beneath his skin.

You nodded, recalling the memory fondly. “That was a beautiful night.”

“It was, and I hope to have many more just like it with you.” Still kneeling, he reached his left hand into his pocket and your breath hitched. Your heart nearly dropped when you merely pulled his phone out, tapping at the screen until music began to play in the background.

Taking your hands in his, Joel began to sing along, his deep voice the perfect contrast to the artist’s.

“On the day that I met you,

The world had just spit me out.

On my way to the bottom

Sure I’d never be found.

Then you saw me for me

Made me believe in myself.

On the day that I met

It all turned around.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes, but for the first time in weeks, they were tears of happiness, not pain or guilt. You clutched at Joel as he went to pull his right hand free, and he chuckled.

“I fall more in love with you every single day. I don’t know how I ever got to be this lucky, to find someone like you, who fits so perfectly, so seamlessly into mine and Sarah’s lives.”

You finally loosened your grip so he could pull his right hand free, digging into the zippered pocket as you swiped at the tears coursing down your face.

“You are the woman of my dreams, the one I was sure didn’t exist until I met you. If I promise to fall for you over and over again, will you promise to be my wife, to be Sarah’s mom, to love us from now until forever?”

Gazing into his dark, gorgeous eyes, misty with tears of his own, you nodded. “Yes, yes. A million times, yes, Joel. I’d love to be your wife and Sarah’s mom.”

You were sobbing as he beamed, slipping a beautiful, understated princess cut diamond ring on your finger. It fit perfectly and your heart swelled, the love in you threatening to spill over, to burst straight from your chest. “Joel, it’s so beautiful!”

Joel stood, pulling you with him until your feet left the ground and he spun you in a circle once, twice, before setting you down on solid ground. You lurched forward, sealing your love, your promise with a heated kiss.

As if they hadn’t all witnessed every second of what just happened, Joel looked over at everyone and declared, “She said yes!”

The small group of your favorite people made a racket with their whoops and whistles, JB shouting above the rest, “About fuckin’ time, son!”

Unable to contain herself for another second – she had been incredibly patient, after all, letting her dad do the asking instead of her – Sarah burst from Tommy’s grasp, launching herself at you. Joel helped you sweep her up for a tight hug.

“It’s official now, right?” Sarah questioned, nearly vibrating with excitement. “You’re gonna be my mom now. I finally get to have a mom and not just any mom, but you. The best one I could have asked for.”

Just when you thought the tears ebbed away, the waterworks started once again. “Oh, my sweet, perfect girl. I promise to try my best to be worthy of such an honor. I couldn’t have asked for a better girl to go on this adventure with.”

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Emily said, her voice catching as tears ran down her cheeks as well.

“Agreed,” Maria chimed in with a sniffle and Tommy pulled her close with a dumb grin spreading across his face. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about how he’d propose when the time came.

You and Joel couldn’t keep your hands off each other once Sarah went to bed and everyone left. Your need for each other was too mighty to fight, not that either of you wanted too anyway. He treated you like glass the past six weeks, afraid to hurt you, to aggravate your injuries. You understood, but that didn’t stop the desire, the need for him and it frustrated you that he would not give in. Now that you were mostly healed, you wanted him to make love to you like he used to.

Readying yourselves for bed, you climbed onto the mattress, straddling Joel’s hips where he laid back against the pillows. Half hard already at the mere sight of you naked before him, he grasped your hips to grind your core down on him.

“I need you, my love. I need to feel you inside me. It’s been too long,” your voice a breathy whine against his mouth, your lips touching but not yet kissing. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel gasped as you shifted against his now fully hardened cock. “Take what you want, sweetheart.” He watched with lust blown eyes as you slid his sleep pants down his hips, and he kicked them off to lay in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

So wet and needy, you didn’t even need foreplay. Sealing your mouth to his, you swallowed his groan as you slid down on his cock. Pausing for a moment once he was balls deep inside you, fingers threaded through his luscious curls, you sighed in contentment.

“I feel so fucking full, Joel,” you moaned, finally starting to move. “I’ve missed this so much.”

Joel gazed at you, completely enraptured and unable to speak. The words stuck in his throat, he just watched you move on him, his hips shifting upwards to meet your movements. It felt so good he knew he wouldn’t last long, shifting his hand between you to pluck at your clit as you rode him.

“Come for me, darlin’. I need to feel you come apart around me,” the words burst from deep in his chest, dripping with need as he got closer to the edge. Thumb moving frantically against your clit in that way that drove you crazy, he made you come apart within minutes.

“Fuck, Joel!” you gasped, burying your face in his shoulder, biting down on the flesh to stifle your moans. Waves of pleasure washed over you so strong you couldn’t move your hips anymore. Joel took over, thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm as your walls fluttered around him.

You sunk your teeth further into the meat of his trapezius, the shock of pain like a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. His movements grew sloppy as his balls tightened and he came with a guttural growl, sucking at your neck as rope after rope of cum splashed inside you.

Breathless and satiated, you stayed in place, allowing the aftershocks to roll through you both. You brought your hands up to cup his face, the patchy scruff of his beard tickling your palms. The diamond ring on your left hand sparkled in the dim lighting and you grinned down at Joel, so full of love.

He pulled you down to lay with him, his softening cock slipped out of you in the process, and you both ignored the mess as you cuddled together.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You felt the words rumble from deep in his chest as he spoke them, pulling you impossibly closer until your sweaty skin melded to his. “I fuckin’ love you, darlin.”

Smiling sleepily, you murmured your love for him, your excitement over being engaged, the beauty of the ring he chose for you, until you fell asleep mid-sentence.

Your dreams were no match for the life you and Joel were creating together.

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